how we got from poland to spain. otherwise known as “yeah…about that…” (part 3)

{A = Wroclaw, Poland ||  B= Frankfurt, Germany || C = Alicante, Spain || D = Granada, Spain}

our initial plan was to take a taxi from the alicante airport to the alicante bus station;  that is, until we exited the airport and noticed there was not a taxi in sight.  oh yeah, and it was midnight.  oh yeah, and we had an hour to get to the bus station.  if we missed our bus, we’d be in trouble, as they left so sporadically and the next departure time after our bus’ departure was 7 hours later.

when problems had arisen in germany, it fell to caroline and i both to handle it together, as we both speak the language.  when problems came up in poland, piotr took charge, as caroline doesn’t know a word of polish and my reciting the fruits and vegetables usually offers little to no conflict resolution.  spain, however, was different.  i majored in spanish, whereas caroline’s never taken a spanish class in her life.  so when we found ourselves standing in the taxi lane in front of the alicante airport at midnight and there were no taxis in sight, i said to caroline, “i got this”.  but inwardly, i said to myself, “i don’t know if i got this”. 

it’s been over a year since i’ve spoken spanish.  and when i picked up my cell phone, dialed the number on the taxi sign, and started speaking to the woman who answered the phone, german words were the only words running through my brain.  i somehow managed to express to her that we were standing in front of the airport, in the taxi lane, in dire need of a taxi – that we had to catch us a bus from the bus station in 55 minutes.  the woman told me, “there are many taxis in front of the airport”.  i told her that actually, there were none!  isn't that funny? she told me there are always - no matter what time of day or night – taxis in front of the airport.  i told her that, funnily enough, we must have managed to show up during the first time in history when this was not the case.  i asked her if she could send one.  she told me i was mistaken and that i must be in the wrong place.  i told her i was sure we were in the correct location and asked if she could send a taxi.  she told me no and hung up.  she was a real sweetheart. 

both of us, slightly freaking out at this point, walked inside in search of the information desk.  we quickly spotted the desk and i asked the man behind it where the taxis were.  he pointed to the exact location in which we had just been standing.  yeah, thought so.  i told him there were no taxis and asked what we should do.  he told us to go to the police.  the police???  yes, the police. to our relief, he pointed around the corner to the airport police station.  timidly, caroline and i approached the police office – all the while wondering why exactly we were approaching the police office – and knocked on the door.  two very intrigued-looking spanish men in police uniforms opened the door and i explained to them that we now had 50 minutes to get to the bus station and there were no taxis to be found.  they told us that at any hour of the night, at least one taxi can be found in front of the airport.  i laughed, in the kind of laugh that says, “i’m laughing but i’m actually on the verge of tears” and told them there. were. no. taxis. outside.  clearly under the impression that we were delusional, idiotic american girls, the younger of the two officers escorted us to the taxi lane, where -- lo and behold! -- there were still no taxis! 

he commented that this was strange and asked if we’d called the taxi company.  yes, we called them and they suck, i more or less replied.  he told me that he’d call and order one right away.  he said it would take 10-15 minutes.  we thanked him and i said to caroline, “okay…when the taxi arrives, we’ll have half an hour to get to the bus station.  we got this.”  10-15 minutes later, we’re still standing in front of the airport (the warm wind felt really soothing, by the way – so at least we had one good thing going for us ) and still no taxi has arrived.  we return to the police office, explain our yet unsolved predicament and they pick up the phone.  after a 30 second phone call, they explain that whoops, that taxi never left!  how funny is that?  yeah, we were super tickled by that.

10 minutes later, the taxi pulls up.  i explain to the driver that we have 20 minutes to get to the bus station and that we are in a major hurry.  he speeds along the beachside highway, the waves crashing along the sand just to our right.  10 minutes later, we arrive at the bus station.  he then tells us that he must warn us about something; that the bus station is a very dangerous place and that we need to proceed from here with caution.  i nodded (without fully processing what he’d just said) and thanked him, having to more or less shove a 20 euro bill into his hand – he seemed to be much more concerned with our safety than being paid, which i should have found noteworthy but, having only minutes to buy our ticket and board our bus, my panicked brain didn’t allow for such thoughts.  when we walked into the bus station, however, the driver’s ominous warning suddenly made perfect sense.

{to be continued}