Lost in Huelva

What a day.

What made this day a “day”, you may ask? Well, my friend. Sit back, relax, and enjoy this tale of pure chaos, tears and language barriers.

On this fine Tuesday in Spain, I had to do a chore that I have been putting off since I arrived here a month ago. In order to legally work here I need something called my TIE card, which is basically my Spanish ID card. If I didn’t get it, my visa would expire. So this morning bright and early, my host dad, Antonio drove me to the government building in Huelva, which is the closest city, and capital of the province that I live in (also called, Huelva). Huelva is a pretty small city, and is only a 10 minute drive from the town that I live in (Aljaraque). He dropped me off, I got my ticket number and then proceeded to wait in the line for about two hours. Totally fine. I was kind of nervous, since he didn’t stay with me, so I didn’t have anyone to help translate for me, but it ended up being okay. After the really long wait, when it was my turn, the lady who saw me to do the paper work didn’t speak English but was really nice and tolerated my broken Spanish. We got the job done, the appointment only took 15 minutes and now I am officially work-legal in Spain. Great. Fabulous. Check that off my to-do list.

But wait. It’s gets fun.

One thing that has been a slight problematic issue since my arrival in Spain has been my cellphone situation. Right? Me, thinking I was brilliant for doing so, bought a cheap nokia phone to use for calls and texting while in Spain and reserved my iPhone for use only with WiFi. In most everyday situations here, that has been okay. It has been slightly annoying having to carry two phones, but whatever. I have managed fine.

UNTIL NOW.

You see, my iPhone doesn’t have a Spanish data plan, so while I am walking on the streets, unless I happen to come across some sparse free public unlocked WiFi, this phone is useless. And my other phone only has the capability for calling and texting Spanish phone numbers. So without a data plan, I am unable to use any apps, including MAPS.

Knowing this, before he dropped me off, my host dad kindly informed me that there was a tourist center down the street from the police building I was at, where I could obtain a map, which would later help me find the bus station I needed in order to leave Huelva and get home. New ID card in hand, several hours later, I boldly set off in what I think is the right direction to find the tourist center to get a map to get home.

Well ding dong I was wrong. I had boldly set off in the wrong direction and ended up walking for about a mile before realizing my grave mistake. Mildly concerned, but keeping my cool, I pop in the nearest supermarket to ask for help.

MISTAKE NUMBER TWO.

Since getting accepted into the teaching program back in May, I have slowly but surely been studying Spanish. I have books, I have notes, I have it all. But this was my first time really by myself without anyone to help translate for me. No matter. I am a strong, confident learner of the languages. I can do it. So I confidently set off into the store and asked the clerk, “Where is the bus stop (en espanol).” I was greeted with a confused look. I asked again, the same way but slightly louder and slower. The poor woman looked even more confused and was just shaking her head. At this point, her co-workers are staring at us, so I ask one of the onlookers the same question. He has no idea what I am saying. I am speaking in Spanish, but my accent is so bad that they don’t understand.

Can you feel the frustration? I can.

I embarrassingly apologize for my apparent cultural and linguistic insensitivity and leave the store. Well. What do I do now? I then not so boldly retrace my steps and restart my journey in the opposite direction, mentally rehearsing how to ask where the bus stop is. Hopefully I can find someone who speaks English.

I hound down this one non-serial killer looking lady and ask her the same question that has been plaguing me for the last 30 minutes. “Where is the bus station?” She looks just as confused as the store people. So I just repeat the word “BUS”, several times before she points vaguely in a direction, before dismissing me and my desperate request. I can feel the frustration and emotion building. I don’t know where I am. I don’t know if this is the right direction. And no one seems able to help me. Tears are starting to form behind my two dollar sunglasses. I am getting profoundly sweaty as I speed walk in the direction the lady pointed, as if walking faster will help.

I find myself in one of the many central plazas of Huelva. I look around. People are so calmly enjoying their noon time café con leche and toast at the many outdoor cafes. They appear blind to my now free flowing tears and perspiration. I try to pull myself together and not be overcome with the thought that I may or may not be stuck in Huelva forever. Over yonder, I see a Burger King. One of the only two American restaurants in the whole Provence. In my chest I feel a sense of glee, a sign I recognize. Maybe they have someone who speaks English in there and can help me. So I square my shoulders and head into the Whopper Lair. I meekly ask the Burger king lady, where is the bus station. Why did I expect different results? She shook her head. So once again, I repeated myself several times. Her face lit up. My heart leapt. Did someone just understand me? Was this trial over? The Burger Queen lead me from the store and pointed to a bus stop. That was about 200 meters away. Not exactly what I was looking for, but hey, it was a start in the right direction. I humbly thanked the Burger Queen and with a bit more joy in my step, set off for the bus stop, coin purse in hand. But which bus was it? I looked at the schedule at the stop and couldn’t find my town or any of the surrounding towns on it. Okay. Don’t panic (again). Maybe its like Rhode Island where you can get on any of them and it’ll take you to the main terminal.

When the bus pulled in, I asked the bus driver if the bus was going to Bellavista, which is the stop I needed. And guess what he did? He shook is head. Shocking. So I repeated myself, slower, louder, spanishier. No luck. He looked very bothered by me, a simple American girl, just trying to find her way home. He gruffly pointed me off the bus. Openly crying now, 1,75 euros in hand, I leave the bus and repeat this process on two more buses.

What do I do now? I have no idea where I am, no map, and no translating abilities. I am standing in the middle of Huelva, literally sobbing almost hysterically at this point, with no idea what to do. So I keep walking, trying to pull myself together. This feels like a reoccurring nightmare. I feel invisible. I am so frustrated about my inability to communicate. I look around, trying to find somewhere, anywhere I can go where someone, anyone might help me. I spot a pastry/ gelato shop. Behind the counter are several youngish women, who may be my best shot since younger people tend to know more English around here. Trying to hold myself together, I walk in, ready to repeat this upsetting process all over again.

The lady wave me in and asks me for my order. Cue the tears. I am incoherent. I sob as I try to ask for help, saying I am lost. The woman rushes out from behind the counter and gives me a hug which makes me cry more for some reason. I am just so done with today. I ramble in Spanglish about my situation and this Godsend of a woman does what I have wanted to do all day. She pulls out her phone to Google Translate and prompts me to type in what I want to say. FINALLY. Through my tears I quickly type, “I am lost and need help. I don’t know where I am, I don’t speak Spanish and I need to find the bus station.” Her face lights up. We have a connection. Arm around my shoulder, she leads me out of the shop and down several streets to THE BUS STATION. I cry tears of joy now. After almost two hours of being lost, I have finally reached my destination. I profusely thanked this kind bakery woman (whose name I believe was Ana), we parted ways and fifteen minutes later, I was seated on the bus to the correct destination.

What a ride.

What a day.

To some, this might not seem that big of a deal. But for me this was a test. Like I said, up until this day I had never really been by myself in Spain. I have always had either a friend, coworker or someone in my host family to help me translate when things get rough. This was the first time I had to navigate a new city and a new language by myself. Please believe me when I say, I have been learning Spanish, because I have. But this was the first time I really had to speak it outside of the controlled environment like my host families house or my school, where there were always English speakers who could kindly correct me when I mispronounce things. For me, this was an eye opener of how much I took being able to communicate for granted. I had never been in a situation before where I was the one who couldn’t communicate. And not being able to effectively ask, “where is the bus station?” was very difficult. Not being able to tell people that I was lost and needed help was stressful. I felt so alone in those few hours. This was the first time I really realized exactly how far away from home I was. I feel as though I have aged 10 years and I am a changed woman.

Don’t be like me kids. Travel smart. Print out a map ahead of time. Get a data free translating app. Learn better Spanish pronunciation and stay hydrated. I hope you enjoyed this tale of tears and woe. Peace.