the arrival

So, within treinta minutes of my arrival in Bilbao, I pretty much exhausted all of my known Spanish phrases. In my attempt to hail a taxi, I used approximately two-fifths of my vocabulary, which mind you is somewhere close to forty… maybe forty-five words. The challenges seemed only to exponentially increase. (some pictures of getxo to keep you interested)

 Yes indeed… our cab driver did get lost. Somewhere among the multiple circles around the round-about, the “I lost… I mucho lost” streaming from the cabby, and the perpetual moments of déjà vu, I realized our apartment may not exist. Also, I may owe this taxi close to 100 Euros. Como ce dice turn the meter off? Oh well. We finally made it. Great we can finally move in… correction… no we cannot.

With the Landlord nowhere in sight, I and the Bilbao boys aimlessly meander about with dos fifty plus pound bags. Huh… now what… oh, 

after stumbling through hola como estas… soy estudianta… quiero la gerente (manager)? We’re directed to the Mon Cheri… am I even in Spain… I am?… ok good… fortunately Senor John speaks Ingles. This guy was a life-saver… and like the candy, sweet… but slightly more useful. Soon calls are made and received and the apartment door unlocked by a gentleman and scholar named Jose. What a relief and a learning experience. (in bilbao) A point of clarification: I live in a suburb outside of Bilbao called Getxo.

            That night we painted the town red with Jose as our tour guide. Jose speaks no English. Reminder: I will learn… Here I go! Ps… Jose showed us a phone booth, 5 cents a minute to call to the states. Verbal communication will commence.