
Spanish lessons are going pretty well. We're both taking two hours a day of private instruction. I'm having the weird sensation, though, that my Spanish skills are actually regressing. Maybe my teachers should be paying me.
The real lessons seem to come from (get this!) life. The lock on our door was hard to work from the get-go, but it got even stickier after I wedged a bunch of wooden matches into it to keep the knob lock from closing. Finally a few days ago we couldn't get the door open at all. Our favorite portero (whose name we don't know – he’s one of the ones who’s not Mario, the slightly grumpy grey-haired guy) fetched a locksmith. This brought us all manner of lock-related vocabulary (locksmith = cerrajero, lock = cerradura, Ohmygodwhatarewegoingtodonow! = Diosmioquepodemoshacerahora!, etc.). The cerrajero arrived about 15 minutes later, dismantled the lock (shaking his head in wonder as he shook the splintered matches out of the lock box), squirted some WD-40 in it and reinstalled it. The charge for the housecall was 40 pesos (about $13).