No, this entry is not starring George Clooney. (haha....lame joke I know...). So, I arrived in La Madre Espana the 5th of September 2010. I took a plane from Charlotte to Dallas, Dallas to Madrid, and finally Madrid to Sevilla. I made a couple friends on the flight, shed a couple tears, ate some bad food - generally pretty predictable.
I am so lucky to have so many people looking out for me - my friend Aron in the States has an aunt, Angela, that lives here in Sevilla. She picked me up from the airport (!!) and took me to her home in Los Remedios, a barrio super close to El Centro de Sevilla. Angela and her husband Pio, and their four daughters - Mika, Ale, Pia, y Isa take me in as if I were one of their own. The first night Angela & Isa take me on a quick bike tour of Sevilla. Angela is very knowledgeable about the history and obviously loves her city. It is a joy to ride around on their bike paths in the warm summer air, smell the jasmine, see the sights.
The next day I decide that since I've already been to El Centro by bike that I'm an expert and can manage by myself. HA! I should have known that my horrible sense of direction would definitely translate to Spanish. Needless to say I got very....very.........very lost. Well, to my credit, I found El Centro perfectly. I left my bike outside of the busiest part because it can be hard to navigate around all the walkers, so even worse - I was lost on foot! I was sure I could pass as a local and make it through downtown Sevilla like a champ, but after about an hour of turning down suddenly quiet and desolate streets, painful feet, and buildings that all look the same, I decided to ask for help.
Andalucia, the autonomous Southern province of Spain, is not much unlike the South of the United States - good food, bad accents, good music, and friendly people. Lucky for me, because I ended up having to ask at least four people in my journey to get back to my bike. After knowing the city a bit better now I still couldn't tell you exactly where I was....all I know is that I walked around for a good two hours before finding my landmark and my bike.
So, in an effort to look nothing like an American tourist, I ended up looking more like one than I ever had - desperate, sweating, with a giant bottle of water and a huge question mark over my head. The moral of the story? Embrace your tourist status - the locals are here to help you! (in the South anyway....)
