Un cafecito que cambió mi diciembre
Ten years in the Dominican Republic have trained my ears to the rapid-fire rhythm of merengue and the equally fast Spanish that accompanies it, but it was a chilly December afternoon in Bogotá that truly stretched my tongue. My friend Juliana invited me for la Novena, a nine-day countdown of hymns, prayers, and finger-foods that precedes Christmas in Colombia. I thought I had my holiday vocabulary down—after all, I’d survived many a Dominican fiesta navideña—yet her message included words like villancicos, buñuelos, and natilla that I’d never tackled. In that moment I remembered why I still consciously learn Spanish every day: each border hides new nouns, new rhythms, and new chances to embarrass myself in the best way possible.
Behind the Invitation: Why a “Novena” Isn’t Just Church
Dominican friends sometimes assume Novena equals a purely religious gathering, very formal, maybe even stiff. In Colombia, however, the event slips easily between sacred and social, echoing the country’s habit of blending solemnity with salsa. When an abuela presses a photocopied booklet of hymns into your hands, expect the next move to include an arepa topped with a generous smear of hogao. Understanding that cultural fluidity will help you learn Spanish because vocabulary rides on context here; prayer books sit beside coolers of beer, and verbs such as rezar (to pray) cozy up to parchar (to hang out, Colombia).
The Dominican Filter
My Dominican side initially labeled the gathering a junte, the casual hangout we hold on patios with bachata in the background. Recognizing those internal filters is key if you want to learn Spanish as an expat; we impose our previous experiences on a new place and, in doing so, miss subtleties. A Colombian Novena, for instance, ends each hymn with a refrain of “Ven, ven, ven, Jesús ven”. A Dominican Christmas party ends with someone inevitably yelling “¡Prendan la hookah!”. Same holiday, different melodies—and different vocabulary to master.
The Hymns: Singing Your Way to Better Pronunciation
Novena hymns are sung in unison, which means even if you don’t totally grasp the words, you can latch onto the melody and shadow your neighbors. Think of it as karaoke with theological subtitles. For English-speaking expats aiming to learn Spanish, hymns provide two hidden gifts: first, repetitive structures that drill pronunciation; second, archaic or regional vocabulary that won’t appear in your textbook. Words like posada, regocijo, and pastorcillos float through the verses, each one sharpening your ear for how Colombians blend consonants, especially that soft double-L that sounds more like “y” in Bogotá but a stronger “j” in the Caribbean.
Borrowing Rhythm from the Caribbean
Because I split my time between Santo Domingo and Medellín, my accent drifts. Dominicans clip word endings, a habit that makes Colombians smile when I sing “regocij’o” instead of “regocijo” with its full final vowel. Embracing those small corrections reminds me that to learn Spanish deeply is to court gentle teasing. Accept it, and your vowels will thank you.
Snacks: When Flour and Cheese Teach Grammar
If hymns polish pronunciation, holiday snacks reinforce noun gender and diminutives. Picture a tray of puffy buñuelos—fried cheese balls—next to sticky squares of natilla, a cinnamon-dusted custard. Juliana’s aunt will ask, “¿Quieres un buñuelito?”, adding -ito to signal cuteness or abundance. In the DR, a similar hostess might offer “un pastelito” (savory empanada), illustrating how the same suffix crosses the Caribbean with flavor in tow. Sampling each bite lets me learn Spanish through the stomach; grammar adheres better when it’s sprinkled with sugar and cheese.
Negotiating Seconds
The moment you reach for another portion, you’ll need verbs like repetir, servirse, or the Colombian gem atarantarse (to stuff oneself absent-mindedly). Meanwhile, Dominican Spanish serves you jartarse, a punchy verb that lives on every island dinner table. Swapping these words mid-conversation showcases how dancing between countries turbocharges your vocabulary acquisition.
Spanish Vocabulary
| Spanish | English | Usage Tip |
|---|---|---|
| Novena | Nine-day Christmas prayer gathering | Always feminine, often preceded by the article “la.” |
| Villancicos | Christmas carols | Pronounce “ci” as “see,” never “sai.” |
| Buñuelo | Fried cheese dough ball | In Colombia sweet-salty; in DR, mostly sweet. |
| Natilla | Cinnamon custard | Pairs with buñuelos; stress on second syllable. |
| Parchar | To hang out (Col.) | Very informal; swap with “juntarse” in DR. |
| Jartarse | To stuff oneself (DR) | Considered slang, avoid in formal settings. |
| Atarantarse | To overeat absent-mindedly (Col.) | More playful than vulgar; use among friends. |
| Rezar | To pray | More formal than “orar” in many regions. |
| Posada | Nativity shelter celebration | Popular in Mexico too; read context. |
Example Conversation at a Novena Gathering
Juliana (Colombia): ¿Parce, vas a llegar temprano para que alcances un lugar cerca del pesebre?
Juliana (Colombia): Buddy, are you arriving early so you can grab a spot near the nativity scene?
James (me): ¡De una! Pero primero debo pasar por la casa de Doña Olga para recoger los himnarios.
James: For sure! But first I have to stop by Doña Olga’s house to pick up the hymn booklets.
Doña Olga (Colombia, usted): Buenas tardes, joven. ¿Usted ya almorzó o le sirvo algo?
Doña Olga: Good afternoon, young man. Have you already had lunch, or should I serve you something?
James: Muchas gracias, ya comí, pero nunca rechazo un buñuelo calientico.
James: Thank you, I’ve already eaten, but I never turn down a warm buñuelo.
Carlos (Dominican Republic, tú): Mi hermano, esa vaina huele mejor que un lechón en Nochebuena.
Carlos: Bro, that thing smells better than a roasted pig on Christmas Eve.
Juliana: Tranquilo, hay para todos. Solo no se vayan a atarantar antes de los villancicos.
Juliana: Relax, there’s enough for everyone. Just don’t overstuff yourselves before the carols.
James: Si me siguen dando comida así, voy a salir rodando como bola de billar. Pero está chévere—digo, nítido… ¡Ay, ya no sé en qué país estoy!
James: If you keep feeding me like this, I’ll roll out of here like a billiard ball. But it’s awesome— I mean, dope… Ah, I don’t even know which country I’m in anymore!
Reflections from the Cross-Caribbean Ping-Pong
Every December I ping-pong between Santo Domingo’s sweltering Christmas Eve and Bogotá’s cool, candlelit Novenas. That contrast forces me to learn Spanish not as a single monolith but as a living spectrum. I’ve found that hymns drilled my diction, snacks cemented my gender agreements, and each friendly jab about my hybrid accent nudged me toward fluency. My advice is simple: attend every gathering you’re invited to, mouth the hymns even if you confuse a pesebre with a pescado, and taste every regional twist on sugar and cheese. The cultural mishmash will sharpen your ear quicker than any app.
I’d love to hear how bouncing between countries has expanded your vocabulary or triggered hilarious misunderstandings. Drop your stories or new words in the comments—let’s keep testing how many ways an expat can learn Spanish before the next round of buñuelos lands on the table.
