I took four years of French but did not find the teachers inspiring. So I switched to Spanish in tenth grade, and continued my studies at SUNY-Binghamton, earning a B.A. in Spanish, 2 courses short of a masters degree. I taught Spanish 101 my last semester at SUNY-B.

Maudy and I went to Chile during my Freshman year of college. His extended family treated me like a cousin. I fell in love with his cousin Yanina, who could not speak English. Yanina looked similar to Ingrid Bergman, and took an interest in me, which I found hard to believe. It took some convincing that Maudy was not altering the translations (I confirmed Maudy's translations with Yany's brother, Milton). Yanina definitely inspired me to learn Spanish ASAP, so than I could speak to her directly, on the already decided next visit to Chile. When I finally did, the goddess became a woman. In medicine, I find mysteries so magically alluring. Its magic disappears when the case is solved. Love works the same way. The magic of love comes from the journey in solving its mystery, and will build upon itself everlasting only if each solved mystery is replaced by another.

I wasn't able to speak conversational Spanish during the trip, so I relied on my translator Maudy to do all the talking. The trip was a rip. I discovered pisco, the Chilean alcohol beverage derived from grapes. We drank a good amount of it our last night in Santiago, figuring we'd sleep during the 17-hour plane-ride back home to New York. We sang songs and played guitar all night. I learned "Cancion para mi muerte" by Sui Generis (which I still play today), and I taught Juan Carlos (Maudy's cousin) "Something" by George Harrison, and some other Beatles tunes.

We celebrated our last night until the sun came up, then headed for the airport. Maudy and I were exhausted, and cranky. We were flying stand-by. I turned to Maudy and said "Ask the lady if there are any seats on the plane." Maudy turned to me and said in a stern voice "No. You ask them!" Maudy was weary and tired of translating. I responded, "I don't know how to say it, Maudy. C'mon, ask her." "No," he said. So off I went, up to the counter, and asked the lady at the desk: "Hay asesinos en el avion." I didn't realize that I had actually said "There are murderers on the plane," by substituting asiento (seat) for asesino (murderer). The woman instantly picked up her microphone and made an urgent announcement over the airport loudspeaker. Suddenly, men in military uniforms came running toward the counter from both directions, rifles in shooting position. I was wondering what was going on, whether we were in danger, and should run. I turned to Maudy, who fell to the floor, laughing so hard, he couldn't speak. He got up and ran to the counter, trying to tell the woman my mistake, but his laughter wouldn't cease. He finally told the woman what I was trying to say. The woman then waved the soldiers to relax, then looked at me in a mildly angry way. I still wasn't sure what happened, so I gave her a look of not understanding. Maudy then told me what I actually said. Then I started laughing uncontrollably, until I realized the woman and the soldiers were not laughing with me. "Holy, guacamole," I said.

We got on the plane. Maudy fell asleep. I stared out the window and studied the interesting Chilean landscape, as we ascended from the airport. Suddenly there was an explosion in the engine, then silence. It sounded like we were gliding through the air. I started praying. Then the engines made a strange revving sound, then shut down again. I realized the landscape I was studying was now on the other side of the plane. I turned to Maudy: "Maudy, wake up! I think we're heading back to the airport." Maudy did not respond. Then, another explosion. Maudy woke up. I repeated the same words. Maudy said it was impossible. Then, another explosion, followed by the sound of air wisping against the plane. "Maudy," I said, "We're heading back, I tell ya. When we left the airport, the mountains were on this side of the plane. Now they're on the other side of the plane." Then there was an announcement on the loudspeaker. I asked Maudy "What did they say?" Maudy answered in bewilderment: "We're going back to Santiago."

As we touched down on the tarmac, everyone cheered. We saw the engine on our DC-10 hanging off the plane as we walked back to the terminal. Maudy and I then headed for Algarrobo, where Yany and her family were vacationing. We were more than tired. We were the poster-boys for exhaustion. Maudy turned to me and said, "Don't try using your version of Spanish on anyone else. From now on, let me do the talking..." Maudy got a thumbs-up and a smile on that one.

I recently went to a wedding in Mexico. My dearest friend Martha married Philippe, a French man, whom she met on a boat ride down the Nile River, while vacationing with her girlfriends. Martha doesn't speak French, and at the wedding, I realized her groom could not speak Spanish. After returning from the romantic trip down the Nile, they corresponded via Google Translator e-mails, and married about a year later. She shut down her medical practice before the wedding, and moved to France right after. I hope they feel the same way when they finally get to speak to each other without a translator. No me digas! Ya! Pu! Asi es el amor.