It's back-to-school time at the Lindberg household, as a new semester of Vietnamese lessons begins this week. Once again I'll climb the stairs to my tutor's Chinatown walk-up, dog-eared vocab book in hand. Once again I'll return to my well-worn boulder and confounding hill, to resume my lifelong, Sisyphean attempt to learn a foreign language. Professor Lap is an affable septuagenarian from Vinh Long province, possessed of periwinkle hair and infinite patience. Over the 22 months that I've studied Vietnamese with him, he has never lost his temper, no matter how relentlessly I butcher his mother tongue. His stoicism is a lesson in itself. After retiring from a career in engineering, Lap took up teaching Vietnamese out of his apartment. Alas, it seems no amount of engineering could transform me into a capable Vietnamese speaker. My vocabulary still ranks below that of a toddler, my pronunciation no better than a newborn's. As with every second language I've endeavored to learn, some basic click has gone unclicked. The irony of this -- Hi, I'm Peter; I make a living traveling and using words -- is not lost on me. I may be a chatty raconteur at home, but overseas I've always been a conspicuously quiet American. To read the rest of this article click: http://edition.cnn.com/2011/12/22/travel/speaking-the-language-tl/index.html?hpt=wo_t5