Heading South

The Awesome Taxi Driver

The taxi driver who took me to the Puerta Atocha train station was very friendly and spoke animatedly. He was learning English and apologized for not being good at it. I apologized for my Spanish.

When he couldn't translate something, he'd pull out his tablet and use Google Translate. He said he's learning English and his teacher is named Mary. I forget what US state she's from.

Anyway, when we arrived at the station, he shook my hand and called me guapa. (Remember what I said in an earlier post about flirty Spanish men? If this keeps up, my head might be too big to fit in the plane on my way home.)

Puerta Atocha and the Train

The train station was like an airport. They had a security check but they only x-rayed bags. I didn't have to go through a metal detector. They had TV monitors that displayed departures and scheduled times and gate numbers. Unfortunately, they don't display the gate until about 15 minutes before departure, so most people were milling in front of the TV monitors, then they rush to the gate as soon as it is posted.

I grabbed a chocolate pastry and ate it while watching the monitor. I don't care what Europeans think of Americans eating on the go; I would faint if I didn't eat.

It was a fairly big crowd going to the train. I asked a conductor for Coche 3 and it was right there. A gentleman (maybe my age) helped me push my luggage into the overhead rack without skipping a beat in his conversation with his friend. I thanked him but he kept talking to his friend as though helping strange women with their luggage was just something he does routinely, like brushing his teeth absentmindedly. A very young lady with a sweet smile sat next to me; I had to control myself from stopping her from biting her nails. She seemed nervous, the poor thing.

Train to Bus at Cordoba

At Cordoba, I simply followed the way out and crossed the line of taxis and I was in front of the bus station.

After confirming that I didn't need more than the printout I had, I ordered calamares. I thought I was getting tapas, but I ended up with bocadillo (sandwich). Deep fried battered calamari in a French bread roll. Dry. Without mayo or ketchup or olive oil. Well, I was hungry.

The bus driver carefully examined my printout. I don't think he had seen tickets printed from the website before. Another friendly young woman with a warm smile sat next to me.

Ecija Familiarity Thanks to Google

More Ecija pictures in Smugmug.

I knew when we arrived at Ecija because I had seen the street on Google Maps. And I saw a familiar sign on top of a tall building. I was the only one who got off. It looked like the rest of the bus (mostly teenagers) were heading to Seville.

The bus station was only a block from my hotel. I got some looks that turned away when I look back. I guess they're not used to seeing tourists here. And they're not particularly welcoming to tourists. Even when I smile and nod, they would just keep staring. Maybe a smile and a nod is an offensive gesture, who knows.

After a short rest in the air-conditioned room, I got an email from my Ecijano friend so I went to meet him and he showed me the office and what he does day-to-day. He had found English lessons on YouTube but he thinks they're silly. I mentioned I wanted to see Seville and he mentioned the Alcazar (castle), and he showed me some web pages talking about a filming going on. Apparently, the Game of Thrones TV show is filming there until Oct 21.

Harassment at Casa Emilio

Around 20:30, he suggested "Casa Miyo" for dinner and gave me directions to get there. When I arrived at Plaza España (I'm guessing that every Spanish town has a Plaza España, because I seem to remember that Barcelona and Madrid each have their own), I had to go around to look for a Casa Miyo. After almost giving up, I found the sign saying Mesón Casa Emilio. Of course!

The waiter started out friendly. I ordered revueltos and Nestea. I found that Nestea, pronounced in English, is more easily recognized than té frio, so it has been my drink of choice, besides water, this entire trip.

While waiting for my order, a disabled man in a wheelchair started bothering me. I didn't understand anything he said. I kept saying, "No comprendo, lo siento," but he just kept talking and wouldn't leave me alone. He showed me some coins in his hand, so I gave him the only coin I found in my purse and I said, "No tengo mas." Still he wouldn't leave. He said "guapa" and I said "gracias", but somehow it made me feel dirty. When he said the same thing, I thanked him again. But when he said something else, I tell him I don't understand.

He kept harassing me even after my food arrived. The odd thing is that the waiter, who was friendly earlier, was suddenly cold. Another man in an apron, whom I assumed to be the owner, looked me straight in the eye like I committed some cardinal sin. And neither of them even bothered to shoo this guy away.

To add insult to injury, the food was maybe just one egg with some bitter greens and a little ham, all thinly spread over a small portion of a big plate. Just that plate cost 11€ according to the menu. With two Nestea servings, it came to almost 15€. Seriously. It's a local tavern, not a fancy restaurant. I had more food than that plus drinks in many other places for about 5€. Maybe it was the egg of a dodo, that's why it's expensive.

I complained to my friend afterwards, but I had to use Google Translate and he said he didn't understand it well. He explained that the man in the wheelchair was a homeless man. Then he asked me if the restaurant was expensive. Well, I told him exactly what I thought.