I’ve had this thing about taxis my whole life. They just creep me out. Probably because in movies the taxi driver is always a little scary. So when I arrived at the Seville airport and was ushered toward a taxi, it took me a solid minute of internal pep talking to not stereotype this situation like a cassette tape. I watched the translator at the airport have what seemed to be like a fight with the driver… Well that’s always a good sign, right? I caught absolutely none of the fight, not even a general idea of it’s topic (my Spanish I realized was significantly worse than I thought). However, it seemed as though the driver lost. I smiled and made eye contact with the driver for what was an extremely unnecessary length of time. I was trying to be polite not engage in a staring contest. He didn’t smile back, but we loaded my things into the car and moved on. And that was it. I was sent off in the taxi alone to arrive at my home stay.
Except thats not what happened. Plot twist time.
After an excruciating ride in absolute silence, during which the driver and I played eye tag through the rear view mirror… because I had nothing better to do and looking out the window was nauseating as he drove rather quickly, he finally pulled over. He unloaded my things and then said in perfect English that my host mom lives in that building. He then proceeded to raise his arm in a general direction that I wasn’t looking in. Of course, I asked him to repeat himself. How awkward would it be to show up at the wrong home stay… you know what I’m saying? He then proceed to raise his arm in a different direction.
Something tells me she didn’t move in the last ten seconds… so the suspicion set in. Also he allowed for the longest awkward silence known to man, when he can speak English. Let’s just add that to the list of things that wasn’t right about this situation.
Fun fact about Seville, Spain is that street signs aren’t a thing. I didn’t know that. I called my host mom to let her know I was outside. She speaks absolutely no English (I found that out within 3 seconds of her answering the phone) so we had quite a time communicating. In very very broken Spanish I told her I was outside of her building. She then proceed to speak very quickly and I had no idea what she was saying. This frustrated her just like it frustrated me. It sounded like she then proceed to yell “WHERE WERE YOU BORN?” in Spanish about five times. Well, that led me to the conclusion that my Spanish skills were somewhere close to nonexistent because that’s definitely not what she was saying. The phone called then died and she was gone. I started to suspect that maybe this wasn’t the place I needed to be. Call it intuition or the fact that nothing in this area looked remotely like the pictures.
I confirmed that I wasn’t on the street I needed to be on after speaking with 3 young women and 1 elderly couple. (Thankfully they were all patient with my speaking skills AND they were all people I was certain I would be able to outrun, if things took a turn for the worst). I also learned through these interactions that street names are written on the buildings, a handy thing to know.
The elderly couple informed me that street was in fact quite a while away. They spent quite a bit of time with me, most of it spent trying to explain the bus system. That was rough. When I finally had a general understanding of how to get where I was going the couple let me to get to it. I checked my phone on the way to bus stop and found that I had a missed called from a number I didn’t know. I called back. Oh my! English never sounded so good! It was the emergency number for my program. My host mom called because she thought something happened to me… A reasonable assumption. I was about 3 hours late and it was getting dark out.
I was picked up by the bilingual person from the airport and taken to my home stay. Everyone a part of the program was apologizing over and over again.
I was smiling like someone gave me a car. It became funny as soon as I knew that I wasn’t going to die.
I arrived at my home stay and Ana, the woman I’m saying with, screamed “My child!” in Spanish and kissed me about 8 times on the cheek as soon as I got through the door. It was strange to think a woman that never met me could actually be that concerned. She restored my hopes in this trip would not be a complete wash.
As much as I was questioning my decision to come here, when I was standing on the side of the road with all my luggage in a foreign country with almost no speaking skills, I wasn’t after I got to my home stay. From that point on it was just an awkward situation… an adventure really. The kinds of people that will take advantage of someone, exist in every country. I unfortunately ran into one of these people within 20 minutes of arriving. It doesn’t mean everyone is like that. All I learned from this experience was to trust my gut (this is a Gibbs moment). I knew something was wrong about that situation, but I didn’t do anything. I attributed my feelings to a language barrier. Well I know now that instincts bypass linguistic setbacks.
I am not smarter my instincts.
I also realized that first week and all the things I got to see were well worth the taxi mishap.
Flamenco.
p.s. I don’t know why it’s sideways.
Or the Plaza de Espa�a
Or dinner on top of the Mushroom (It’s literally called the mushroom, only they say it in Spanish of course)
There was an amazing view of the city from the top of the Mushroom.
Worth every awkward minute my conversations with those strangers.
Location: Seville, Spain
