On suffering a linguistic identity crisis

So, I’ve been in Spain for a week and a half and already I’m suffering a linguistic identity crisis. Here’s the deal:

In Spring 2007 I spent a semester in Buenos Aires, Argentina, where I learned to speak in a mangled version of castellano porteño. My Spanish took on an Italian lilt and all of my y’s and ll’s began sounding like a sh. I adopted the voseo. Expressions such as “¡Qué quilombo!” and “Mira, vos…” insinuated their way into my daily conversations. When I was hurried I was “apurrada” and when something was annoying “me dio bronca.” I wrote with a “biombe” and got water from the “canilla.” You get the point.

Upon my return to the States, many of these linguistic habits stuck. New ones, however, were added, thanks to my Peruvian roommate. Since it seemed a bit odd outside of Argentine company to call something cool “bárbaro,” I took on the more generic Latin American “chévere.” From time to time I called my “almuerzo” a “lonche.” I'm sure that there were others that I didn't realize at the time.

Now in Spain, even the most basic daily tasks are confusing linguistic experiences. At the grocery store, peaches are “melocotones,” peanuts are “cacahuetes,” and potatoes are “patadas.” My computer is an “ordenador” and my cell phone is a “móvil.” When I want to travel, I need to take a “bus.” I should say "adios," not "chau," when I leave a store.

This is not to say that these words, or in fact most of the vocabulary I’ve encountered is unfamiliar to me, since I learned most of it in high school. Neither do I find it unpleasant. But having become accustomed to using certain colloquialisms and pronunciations, I’m finding it difficult to find firm footing on this different linguistic terrain.

The question is, how do I proceed? Do I dig my heels in and refuse to budge from those Latin American linguistic habits I hold dear, or do I change for the sake of being better understood or of respecting the local linguistic culture?

My instincts tell me that I do not want to change, but sadly I think that it is somewhat unavoidable, at least on certain fronts. As someone learning Spanish as a second language, my vocabulary and pronunciation is a hodgepodge of regional dialects and styles. My habits, not as deeply ingrained as they would be for a native speaker, are transitory: they come and go depending on the particular environment I’m in at the time. Also, like the Scotsman who toned down his Glaswegian when talking to Americans and Aussies, perhaps it is only common courtesy for me to do what I can to make myself more easily understood.

In the end, though I feel attached to Argentine Spanish and would very much like to maintain it, I have to admit that since I’m still learning the language, I am vulnerable to a slow but steady process of Peninsular infiltration, perhaps equally by force as by consent. Nevertheless, my Latin American allegiances still strong, I will not go down without a fight. So, dear friends, to cheer myself up until next time, I think I’ll read a Samanta Schweblin story and find myself some really good facturas.

For a great Argentinean-Spanish (read: Argentine Spanish to Peninsular Spanish) dictionary, check out this website.