Just your average 68-year-old college freshman studying abroad.

The men are men, the women are women. But in Spanish-speaking countries inanimate objects can go either way.

Every noun — a tool, a spice, a piece of wrapping paper — has a gender. Adjectives and articles have to agree. El, la, los, las.

Things you would assume are masculine or feminine often aren’t. The Spanish word for sausage, a phallus they shove into a bun, is feminine. The bun that it penetrates is masculine.

Stylish sling-back heels are referred as “los zappatos” (masculine). Rugged shit-kicker boots as “las botas” (feminine). A woman’s dress gets a masculine noun and is kept in the closet.

We think of meat and potatoes as a guy thing but in Spanish they are as feminine as Shakira.

Nobody can quite explain why or how but everyday, as the day turns into night, its gender changes from masculine to feminine. The nights in Barcelona can be dazzling.

Just your average 68-year-old college freshman.

The crow’s feet will still be there and you’ll have to come to terms with those jowls and wattles. But people like you are not interested in the shallow cosmetics of youth.

Our search is for a more profound renewal, an intellectual and spiritual innocence. And the key to finding it is within all of us. We can know the promise of youth in its full glory only through total and abject ignorance.

Here how it works. When you can’t begin to understand what a professor is saying, when you can’t process a string of syllables into recognizable sounds or articulate even the simplest thought, your mind curls into the fetal position.