Can you ever be fluent in a foreign language?

A couple of weeks ago, at one of my local bars in Antequera, a waiter asked me something as he served our glasses of wine. I didn’t catch it, so I asked him to repeat what he’d said. After the third time, I still hadn’t understood and clearly wasn’t going to. This guy has a thick Andalusian accent and sprays out about a thousand syllables per minute, but we usually communicate without problems.

There’s also a local character, we call him ‘Gummy’, who roams the streets asking for cigarettes or change. I never understand a word he says either, except for ‘eurito’ (a little euro) or ‘cigarillo’ (cigarette). In my defence, he has no teeth. Not understanding a waiter I speak to several times a week, after having lived in Andalusia for almost ten years, felt like a real setback.

I would describe my Spanish, both in terms of comprehension and speaking, as ‘very proficient’. But the incident in the bar helped me realise something that I’ve suspected for a while – that I’m still a level or two away from fluency. According to the Common European Framework of Reference for Language (CEFRL), a learner achieves the highest level (C2/‘Mastery’) when they can ‘understand with ease virtually everything heard or read’ and ‘express themselves spontaneously, very fluently and precisely, differentiating finer shades of meaning even in the most complex situations’.

I understand a lot but not always ‘with ease’ – and sometimes, clearly, not at all. When it comes to speaking, grammar is my main weak point. I didn’t learn Spanish at school and only attended a few classes when I arrived in Granada. Instead, I learned en la calle, or ‘in the street’ – from Spanish friends, transactional settings, billboards, apps and subtitles. Two Spanish girlfriends also taught me a lot, and that’s definitely the most fun way to learn a language. But the osmosis method has its limitations, and I haven’t yet acquired the grammatical command required for fluency.

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Another aspect of the CEFRL definition of ‘Mastery’ that deserves attention is ‘spontaneity’ – i.e. not having to gear yourself up to speak in your second language. When, like me, you have a high level but aren’t fluent, contextual factors can still make you feel like a toddler. Unfamiliar topics of discussion; arguments or stressful situations; speaking on the phone; accents, including those of Andalusian waiters; and group discussions in which everyone talks over each other – all these things present difficulties. Fluency protects you against the vagaries of context.

Flawless comprehension, grammatical mastery and a large vocabulary all contribute to fluency, but they don’t define it. How you speak is also important. According to the Dictionary of Applied Linguistics, speech is fluent when it has ‘the qualities of being natural and normal, including native-like use of pausing, rhythm, intonation, stress, rate of speaking, and use of interjections and interruptions’. In these respects, my spoken Spanish is fluent, or very close to being fluent.

When at ease, I can speak rapidly, without having to translate back and forth in my mind. My accent instantly gives me away as an expatriate, of course, but it has been complimented by Spaniards. I roll my Rs, shorten my vowels and hack my Js. Sometimes I even swallow the endings of words or roll a couple together, like Andalusians do. These aspects of linguistic facility come from cultural immersion, from mimicking native speakers. My sister also lives in Andalusia, and once told a Spanish friend that she was considered well-spoken in English. ‘Well, when you speak Spanish, you sound like a farmer,’ came the response. A wonderful compliment, even if it wasn’t intended as one.

Cultural immersion is also required to absorb the non-literal ways in which words and phrases are used. Several years ago, as I browsed the shelves in a local shop, the owner came up to me and said ‘Que haces?’ – literally, ‘What are you doing?’ Wasn’t it obvious? ‘I’m, er… Well, I’m shopping,’ I stammered. That was when I realised he was asking ‘What’s up?’ or ‘How’s it going?’, and all I needed to say in reply was ‘Todo bien, gracias!’ Another natural response would have been ‘Bueno, aqui estamos’ – ‘Well, here we are’. I certainly wasn’t being accused of shoplifting.

Spaniards have an ingenious way of avoiding the kind of encounters parodied so brilliantly in an early Mitchell and Webb sketch. When acquaintances pass on the street, they say ‘Hasta luego!’ (‘See you later!’) to each other and keep walking, thus ensuring that the conversation’s over before it’s even begun. I used to say ‘Hello!’ in these contexts, but now I call out ‘Goodbye!’ like the locals, sometimes with great relief. These might seem like insignificant examples, but they contribute to cultural fluency, without which there can’t be fluency in language. The same goes for nailing the subjunctive, if only it were something I could learn by osmosis.