I have already discussed my views on arizona. On how it's beautiful from a distance, viewed from TV or through pictures on tumblr; but up close it's lifeless death trap.
So, imagine my surprise when I walked off the plane in Spain and I felt like I was back in arizona (only with much cooler weather).
Palm trees and oleanders greeted me, landscaping the brown lawns of stucco buildings topped with pink tiled roofs.
But I assured myself that it was fiiine. The cool breeze was indication enough of how much better than arizona it was.
Or so I thought.
I was walking the long road to my ship. The pier from my barracks has to be like 80 miles away (or so it felt). Sweat dripped down my back. My undershirt clung to my skin. I was so glad my sleeves were rolled.
The image of Will Farrel from anchor man popped into mind.
"N-Dubs were a bad choiiiiceee! "
But I tried to enjoy the walk anyway. The trees that lined the street were reminiscent of the kind I saw in northern arizona. Eventually the golf course I walked along did get greener.
I turned a bend and stopped. Across the street was a patch of what looked to e prickly pear cactus.
Surely not.
I hurried across the street.
It was.
"What is this shit!?"
I sent some quick snaps to my friends back home.
I was on the other side of the world, trying to enjoy Europe, when I found cactus. It had followed me from america. It had spread itself out across the should be Mediterranean paradise of southern spain.
I hurried on towards my ship. Mesquite bushes with two inch long needles clawed at me from ditches. Potted cacti sat in windowsills. Barren dirt and rock lined the roadway.
I didn't know if I would make it.
I did. Sweaty and breathless I arrived at the pier.
"What the fuck are you doing back?" The guard yelled at me.
I supposed it was a fair question. It was stand down. No one was a board except my sponsor and her duty section. I was hoping to get a few things squared away but I didn't really have a purpose.
"Uhh," was all I could think of to say as I approached him.
"Oh shit! You're not at all who I thought you were!"
He looked genuinely shocked. I was also taken aback. Who did he think I was? Was there another girl on board unfortunate enough to have hair like mine?
"I am so so sorry!" He said.
I laughed it off and forgave him, secretly glad I hadn't replied. I would have looked like the fool. So the hunger and heat exhaustion had served a purpose.
When I left an hour or two later he made a point to apologize again. I told him it was no big deal but he was understandably embarassed.
I had made the decision to call a cab. Walking back was not an option. Not happening.
A cab pulled up outside the gate a few minutes later. The driver did not look like a taxi driver. He looked to be in his mid 20s, light brown hair that fell in waves over his eyes, a light shadow over his defined jaw. Veins lined his muscled arms. He definitely worked out.
Oh Spanish people. Why do you have to be so beautiful?
"Taxi?" He asked.
I nodded dumbly, hovering outside of his passenger window. I was pretty sure he wasn't a taxi driver though. The number my sponsor gave me must have been for an escort to-go service.
"Uno momento, " he said. He talked quick Castillo Spanish into his radio. Must be letting the other escorts know he had found himself a customer.
"You sixty-four," he said.
I blinked at him. If this was an anime he'd have sparkles around him every time he spoke.
"You know, eehh, six four?" He drew the numbers in the air.
"I think you're thinking of sixty-nine," I said. I shook my head. "I can't afford that. No afford your services."
He looked as confused as I felt. I needed to find a number for an actual taxi. Then another cab pulled up behind his. The number 64 written across its door.
"Taxi six four," he said.
"Ooh! " I exclaimed. He was radioing for someone to pick up the sweaty American girl. He had standards.
I thanked him and walked to the window of the new cab. This man was definitely a cab driver. He was older, heavy, and very friendly. He was more than happy to take me back to my barracks and leave me in the parking lot. No funny business.
Anyways, that was my first cue that I needed to learn spanish. It'd make communicating with male prostitutes so much less embarassing.
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