by Andrew Coln

Created on: September 19, 2008   Last Updated: November 01, 2008

When I first saw her there, holding a sign with my name on it, I thanked God I now spoke Spanish. My parents always spoke to me in Spanish. I always answered them back in English. That was our dynamic. I did not want to speak the language and denied it most of my young life. I was thinking about this as I pulled up to the Shooter's restaurant parking lot in Fort Lauderdale, about to interview for a job in Mexico.

Pouring over my resume, my interviewer Alphonse asked all the right questions about experience and goals while he assessed me for this position. I knew I had the skills for the job, and we shared kitchen and managerial war stories from the different eateries and bars and clubs we'd managed in the past.

"I think I've found my man for the job," he said as we shook hands like old college buddies at the end of the interview. "By the way, I forgot to ask about your Spanish."

"Y que quieres saber?" I responded. "Mi papa es de Puerto Rico y mi mama es costarricense. Llevo toda mi vida hablando este hermoso idioma."

"I figured as much," he answered in English. "See you in six months in Cancun."

Yes, I had denied the language when I was younger. In college, however, a chance stroll by the Spanish language department at the University of Florida led me to take my first Spanish course. I soon realized that 17 years of learning by osmosis at home had its merits. I went directly from Spanish 1001 to Advanced Spanish Literature and Composition, where I discovered an entire world of the subtleties of the Castilian tongue. Reading One Hundred Years of Solitude in its original language is a completely new experience in Surrealism. I reveled in my new language. I did not learn a languageI found a calling. I just did not know who or what was calling.

I stepped off Mexican flight 473 in Cancun in March of 1993. The company sent one of its bright new managers to meet me at the airport. Her name was Gabriela, complete with a velvet voice, hazel eyes and a cascade of auburn hair. She was doing her best to make me feel welcome, and it was working. She pulled over to the side of the road from the airport. "I want to show you something," she excitedly said to me. Her enthusiasm was contagious. I bounded out of the van. We were on the top of a lookout point with a postcard panoramic view of the Caribbean Sea. It was so beautiful I could not even speak. Something inside me told me I had found my home.

I asked her to dinner that night. She invited me to go with her the following day to visit nearby Isla Mujeres, where we spent the entire day on the beach, riding around on bicycles, and walking around the craft markets. That night we had dinner back in Cancun, my way of thanking her for my warm welcome. After that night, I knew I was undeniably in love. This comes from a man who denied himself love most of his life. We spent every minute of every day together, both at work and away.

Sometimes people ask me if a romantic adventure lured me here. It did. My love for the Spanish language made it possible. Gabriela, my romantic adventure, just turned over in the bed next to the computer desk to ask what I was doing up so early when I should be back in bed. She is so right. The adventure continues.

* translation from Spanish: "And what would you like to know?" "My father is from Puerto Rico and my mother is Costa Rican. I've been speaking this beautiful language all my life."

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