Aventuras in Spain

I was really lucky for it had  been so easy to get private students in the city of Cadiz.   I had no idea English was such an important language. Word of mouth got  out that a native speaker of English was available to tutor and before you knee it, I was trying to decipher spidery hand writing written by yet someone else who wanted to learn English. The notes were always signed and duly underlined with a flourish. Everyone seemed to know someone who wanted to learn English. Walk into the corner bar and Julio who would be preparing his famous pinchitos with just the right amount of paprika and garlic would tell  you about someone from down the road whose cousin's best friend's brother really, really wanted to learn English.  "He wrote his address for you." Julio handed me a transparent, crumpled paper serviette. "There, there’s his signature.”  He pointed to something that looks like an abstract painting.  “You can do the lessons here, if ...

One thing I've always hated to do is to visit a dentist. Bad luck would linger around my mouth like a mass murderer about to pounce.  So many odd things and mistakes had happened any time I was in the clutches of a dentist. Therefore, it was with butterflies in my stomach and sweaty palms that I ended up at a dentist in Cadiz. It's not that I had actual toothache, it was more a dreadful feeling that something was not quite right with a tooth on the upper jaw. "Open your mouth."  The dentist looked like a band leader conducting his orchestra, or a lion tamer goading his long-suffering animal to perform. Now, opening my mouth wasn't the problem. It's what happened next that caused me great consternation. He picked up long, thin, pointed instruments and proceeded to poke and probe. "Aha. Senorita, you need to have the tooth pulled." "I do?"  I'm surprised, for I'm not in too much pain at all. "I can pull it now, if yo...

When people found out that I was moving to El Puerto de Santa Maria in the Province of Cadiz, a region of Spain where 'nobody ever goes', they were more than surprised. Advice flourished as they warned me about the fact that Spain was ruled by a dictator with the name of Francisco Franco, and that it would be far, far better to go to Torremolinos or Lloret de Mar where you get a nice suntan as well as fish and chips. "Where did you say you are going?!  Never heard of it!"  People's nostrils would flare open when they asked this. It's as if they were chastising me, as if they were utterly appalled. "You're giving up your teaching job?!" At this stage of the conversation not only did people's nostrils flare open, their eyes opened wide too. I think even their ears burst open. With the flick of the wrist they would increase the volume on their hifi as if to add to the admonishment. "I hear there's the Secret Police!" The peo...

Ever since I moved here to El Puerto de Santa Maria, I've been warned about the white slave trade. Apparently white girls — meaning Anglo Saxons — disappear any time they go to Tangiers. They just simply never return. Yikes! The story is that they're sold into a harem. Of course, Mandy, my new Canadian friend and I don't believe any of this, and, since we're out for adventure and excitement, we simply dismiss the stories. You can't be living so close to an exotic city like Tangiers and not visit it. That's just the way it is. We hitch-hike up to Algeciras. The slimy guy who picks us up no sooner has accelerated his car when he opens his glove compartment to show us his contraceptives. Is he serious?! We tell him to stop the car and let us out. He stares at us in the rear view mirror. "You wanna f...y f...y?" "NO!" We scream at him. "Okay. Okay. Just asking. You Swedish girls, you never know." "We're not Swedish...

"You wanna go to Pamplona?" "I'm meeting up with some Australian friends there." It was 1973 and I was hoping to somehow make it to Pamplona to see the Running of the Bulls. The American boy stationed at the Naval Base in Rota was a friend of a friend, someone I really didn't know very well. He was going to be driving to Pamplona as part of some grand tour of Spain and France he had planned. "I can give you a lift." That poor guy with the big grin probably never thought that he'd come to regret his generous offer. "I'll stay with my friends. They're camping. And they'll bring me back to Cadiz." "Great! After Pamplona, I'm going over the border to France." Sounded like a plan! When the American boy and I arrived in Pamplona people were sleeping on the streets, the bars were full and there was a general air of party time gone wild. We climbed over people and looked for the places that became so famous be...