Huelva, the back streets

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Shit comes in pairs of three. . Or not?

So The Amazing Race commenced. . . There we are tossing back our last South African rooibos teetjie for the next seven months. . . Connection flights smoothly caught and movies galore later, something had to go wrong, right? Right. You bet your afrikaanse gat, ja. Madrid airport: we are shuffling around in glamorous plastic socks (boots are obviously hazourdous to the country and need to be removed asap at customs - more lickely the appetizing stinky sock wiffs) and the lovely male securtiy guard and Lindi having an intimate conversation about her sanitary towels, more or less sets the tone for what is about to come.

And so, Lindi's luggage got lost somewhere in Europe. The next step was to get a taxi to our apartment in Seville. You would think a TAXI DRIVER would know something about GPS, right? Right. However, the idioto did not actually know the street we were meant to spend the next two months resting our heads and had to ask SEVERAL Spaniards for directions (men!), on our tab. . . Eventually dropped off at Arcangel San Gabriel instead of Rafael. . .we had to walk. . .

Dripping with perspiration and heavenly downpour we greet our flatmate. . . A middle-aged granny that speaks not a word of Virginia's tongue.

Next day: we step into. . . the Wildernis. And no, there was no Candy Mountain. . . Instead we got classmates that are all fluent in this foreign language of Spanish, as opposed to other newbies that are only starting to comprehend it. . . like us. A torturous hour and a half later we at least sorted that problem out and decided to skip conversation class for a little tapas (an understatement. . . it was minute). Spent R85 on three saucers worth of food (not even heaped), a bottle of water and a shot of coffee.

That schocker over, we decided to do some grocery shopping. We selected a supermercado we passed on our way to school. Walking out with 6 litres of olive oil (gonna be here for two months, so what a bargain!), 6 litres of water, 6 litres of milk and two very heavy bags of other stuff - did we mention we had to drag this shit for 1,5 km's to our granny flat, no pun intended. Not only did our hands chafe, our keys did not fit into the blinkin lock. Luckily, someone from the same building strolled by and let us in. So up four flights of stairs (the elevator from the previous night seemed to dissappear) we arrive at number 15. Only to find a doggy barking from behind the door. Yip, you guessed it! Wrong apartment, wrong building, wrong street.

No, we are not making this up.

Yet again, drenched in sweat and downpour, we arrive at the final desination.

We attempted to relieve all the negative energy from the past hours, and took to exploring. There must have been TOURIST written on our foreheads, for some gypsies attacked us with promises of true love, a frivolous marriage, two bambinos, everlasting friendships, intelligence, beauty (although they spin that crap to everyone) and a twig of holy leaves. They then demanded a helping of our precious euros for those obvious truths!
Yes, we are that fabuloso.

We then headed home for a home cooked meal a la Marcelle and a good glass of shitty wine (headlines for broke Stellenbosch students: come to Spain. You can get drunk here for the unbelievable price of only R9,99 per bottle of vinegar!)

And as we sit here, writing you this post, Eskom even failed us in grand Europe. Did not know they had contacts with far, far away. . .

1 comment:

  1. ola,
    one thing i realised after three days is that the tomato sauce will last longer at home....
    thnx M & L, you lovely spanish tomatoes for an awesome page