10 Tips on How to Trill the Spanish R

Most of the sounds in the Spanish language aren’t difficult for English speakers to make, even if they are articulated a little differently. But one sound that gives learners of Spanish a lot of trouble is the double “r,” la erre. Just a few weeks ago I happened to gain the ability to trill. I hope my story and the following tips prove helpful on your journey in learning Spanish.

For the first two years I was learning the language I was physically unable to replicate this sound (if you want to get technical, it’s the alveolar trill /r/). I had no problem distinguishing it in speech; I was completely aware of its linguistic environment (when the “r” is doubled and when the “r” is word-initial); and I understood the location of the tongue (along the alveolar ridge).

But no matter how many tips I read, all I could get out of my mouth was either a tapped “r” (alveolar flap /ɾ/) or a breathy, trill-ish sound that might be written hrhrhr or something. Sometimes, for fun, I used my uvula to get some kind of trill noise, but wasn’t satisfied with it very much. A few months ago I even resigned myself to the fact that I’d never be able to pronounce the language completely correctly.

However, the evening after my last final for this past semester, the ability to trill seemingly descended on me out of nowhere. I can’t explain how or when things finally “clicked” between my brain and my tongue; it was almost an involuntary thing that “just happened.” I was overjoyed because trills have to be some of the most difficult sounds to learn as an adult; they involve pushing air over a part of the mouth and letting that part vibrate on its own.

Still, even though this ability came to me almost spontaneously, there were a number of things I found very helpful in encouraging this ability in me. I hope they help you, too!

Why Spaniards Don’t Speak Spanish with a Lisp

Campos de Castilla by cuellar

Whenever students of Spanish discuss the accent of speakers in the country of Spain, they often (incorrectly) describe that accent as a lisp in contrast with the Latin American variants of Spanish.

It’s okay if you thought that

This idea isn’t without basis, though. It’s natural to think Castilian pronunciation is lispy because in English, such a speech condition affects the production of sounds represented by the letters “s” and “z” (/s/ and /z/, respectively). People who lisp often replace a /s/ or /z/ with the sound represented in English by “th” (/θ/ or /ð/). Those who imitate lispers tend to say things like “I thpeak with a lithp, thorry.”

Also, at least in America, we all learn Latin American pronunciation in Spanish class—a pronunciation that doesn’t include the “th” (/θ/) sound. The three letters in question in this post (ce, ese, and zeta) are all pronounced like the English letter “s.” So when people who have been taught that ce and zeta make the same sound as ese, and they hear Castilians using /θ/ in place of /s/, they assume that this also applies to the ese as well.

However, charges of lisping fall apart because Castilians are able to create the /s/ sound in addition to realizing ce and zeta as “lispy.” Although the ese is a bit more whistle-like than Latin American eses, the existence of the sound in the Castilian dialect alongside the interdental (English “th” sound) one refutes the lisp description.

Analysis of ‘The Coming Anarchy’ by Robert D. Kaplan

Note: this is the final part of a three-part series on political essays concerning the state of global politics in the post-Cold War era. Read the introduction here.

Clock Tower, Freetown, Sierra Leone, October 2009 by www.itsayshere.org

Yes, I do realize that this post is coming four months after the last one in the series, and that it completes a goal of mine for the spring semester, but it’s finished nonetheless. I think that this final post was actually the inspiration for the whole project, because last year I did a lot of reading of the global politics blog Coming Anarchy and wanted to read the article by Robert Kaplan from which it takes its name. The essay, 26 pages when printed from the internet, is quite the read, so I decided to take the time to read it and summarize it for folks who would like some familiarity with it but don’t have the attention span.

In this essay, Kaplan argues that “the political and cartographic implications of postmodernism—an epoch of themeless juxtapositions, in which the classificatory grid of nation-states is going to be replaced by a jagged-glass pattern of city-states, shanty-states, nebulous and anarchic regionalisms.” Now let’s figure out what that dense statement is all about.

The Great American Road Trip (series conclusion)

Note: this concludes a travelog on a road trip circling the American West. Read the introduction here.

The Colorado River and the Granite Gorge to the east, seen from Plateau Point, Grand Canyon National Park

Reflection

Yes, I realize this conclusion to a blog series on a June vacation is posted a little later than it should have been, but at least it’s written. It’s been two months since my hiking shoes touched the sandstone of the Grand Canyon, so I’ve had more than enough time to think about the trip and what it meant to me.

First, it reaffirmed my love for travel, and made me consider travel or even the National Park Service as possible job opportunities. I’m entering my junior year in college but still not sure what I’m going to “do” in terms of breadwinning after graduation, so this was some good exposure for me.

Day 11: Colorado Springs, Colo., to Plano, Texas

Note: this is the final part of an eleven-part travelog on a road trip circling the American West. Read the introduction here.

Capulin Volcano, Capulin Volcano National Monument

(June 15^th, 2010) I’m just going to be honest up front with you and say that nothing happened on this last day of the road trip. Nothing. And now I will proceed to blog about it. We left Colorado Springs, Colo., at seven in the morning and took U.S. Highway 64/87 through northeast New Mexico to get to the Texas Panhandle. Although that region was flat and boring, New Mexico did have some cool lava outcroppings near the Capulin National Monument, which itself was a VOLCANO, but also the last of the mountains I’ll be seeing for some time.

Johnson Mesa seen from Raton, N.M.

Lunch was at a Dairy Queen (“That’s what I like about Texas!”™) in the town of Dumas, Texas (not pronounced like the insult). Here I learned that DQ is headquartered in Minnesota, not far from its original location in Illinois but very far from Texas. I wonder if DQ has regional mottos like “That’s what I like about Iowa!” or “DQ put Joliet on the map!”

Anyway, a drive past Wichita Falls to Decatur that felt longer than the drive to Salt Lake City culminated in a dinner at a Cracker Barrel in Denton. My family and I had decided that we would have to eat at this country restaurant/store at least once on our trip. So with an hour left to spare, we got that requirement checked off the list. Whew!

"Welcome to Texas" sign with BNSF train

We soon arrived back to a house that did not, thankfully, burn down, flood, get demolished by a tornado, or get robbed. Thank you, Lord. Within an hour I had gotten myself unpacked, but had much to do in terms of writing and uploading pictures. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading this blog series as much as I have enjoyed writing them. Look forward to a conclusion soon!

I’d like you to view my Flickr set of the day’s travels here, but I’ve already pasted on this post all three of the pictures I took that day.

Map

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Day 10: Denver, Colo., to Colorado Springs, Colo.

Note: this is the tenth part of an eleven-part travelog on a road trip circling the American West. Read the introduction here.

Fresh biscuits from the Dutch oven at Flying W Ranch

(June 14^th, 2010) A nice lazy morning at our Denver hotel invited us to wake up—at our leisure—and get ready for a day in which we had planned only to eat. Of course, we weren’t going to sit around all day just to eat at fast food restaurants; the places we were going to dine at were famous both for their food and their entertainment.

Day 9: Rapid City, S.D., to Denver, Colo.

Note: this is the ninth part of an eleven-part travelog on a road trip circling the American West. Read the introduction here. Also, this post is partially written in poetic form, rather than in prose like the rest of this series.

Herd of elk at West Horseshoe Park, Rocky Mountain National Park

(June 13^th, 2010)

East Wyoming Blues

The Black…ish Hills. Toothpicked-with-pine-trees hills. Hills flowing from crest to trough with a spray of boulders.

Just-birthed-leaf-green fields. Hamburgers and milk jugs glaring at me from their deceivingly buffalo-shaped bodies. Pronghorns prancing across the carpeted prairies.

Highways (and lowways) colored same color as that mine for train-food a few miles back. Them gilded with silver strips and golden tapes, luring us toward more towns where the mayor is the population.

Driving through Wyoming is BOOORING

Pillows of sky in grayscale unwillingly getting lower, lower, l o w e r. The Rain. Mathematical compasses clearing protractors across that piece of armor that keeps the wind and us…from kissing. Raindrops making craters and badlands on the windows—a miniature of landscapes to the north. No twisting the showerhead to change the massage of precipitation to a stream, like the hotel—just letting it all come down.

Road signs dyed as dirt, as sea, as trees, as pumpkins. Old fonts pressed on matte metals, new fonts printed on brassy boards. The sound-strokes and arrows speaking of directions without even screaming like a GPS.

A white wing-fin-fan blading past the car, a bit of tropospheric whale to forever electrically rotate through these black seas of rock and trees.

And the Cowboy State’s head-town standing closer to Kansas than that supervolcano of national park fame to the west.