The Adventures of Jill and Lisa Part Three

After a speedy drive to the Hotel Atlantico, we stood – sort of – before the hotel, hungry and wishing for a shower, food, and a nap.

“Hola, welcome to the Hotel Atlantico. Do you have a reservation?”

The first time the man at the desk said this, he said it in Spanish. Due to my limited vocabulary I understood “hola” and “Hotel Atlantico” and “reservation.” See, four years of high school Spanish does come in handy.

He noted that I was attempting to translate what he said and mistook it for utter perplexity. So, he repeated it in English.

“Oh yes, we have a reservation under Coutant,” I replied.

He immediately began his quest in the computer for our reservation.

Don’t worry, we had one and he found it. That’s not the funny part. Here’s the funny part.

“Where's a good place to go for lunch?” I asked. We were obviously salivating as I could hear Jill's stomach growling and I could feel the saliva running down my face.

“I’m sorry but no place will be open until 1:30 PM.”

1:30! It’s only noon now!

“Remember, this is Madrid. We don’t have lunch until at least 1:30 but you can go to a bar and get tapas,” he said.

Gotta tell you – tapas (appetizers eaten in between meals and often eaten as the primary dinner when going out socially) was not going to cut it. So, I smiled and responded, “We’ll learn to adjust to the Spanish culture. Thank you.”

We proceeded to get our room keys, flopped into our room and dug through Jill’s bags for the peanut butter and cheese crackers she brought for this type of emergency. After devouring at least one package each, unpacked, and freshened up; it was lunch time.

We wandered the streets and turned off the main road, Grand Via, to a cozy side road. Before us were many pedestrians, ladies clad in rather revealing clothing.

“Lisa. I think we should go back to the main road,” Jill pulled on my shirt.

“Why? Maybe there’s a good restaurant here,” I said, perplexed. Wasn’t she still hungry? I mean come on, peanut butter crackers just doesn’t cut it.

“Don’t you see the sign that says, Sex Shop?”

“What’s the word for sex in Spanish? I don’t know what sign I should be looking at,” I responded.

“It’s NOT in SPANISH. Let’s go.”

I followed Jill back to the main road, still missing the sign but now noting why the women were so scantily clad.

After a bit more wandering, we decide on a restaurant that displayed two menus, one in English and one in Spanish. This seemed like a good choice for us. I really wanted to try the three-course siesta meal (since lunch is the primary meal in Spain). We entered the restaurant and walked around and around and around in circles, trying to figure out where we should sit or who we should talk to so we could sit.

Finally a waiter looked at us with “Oh those poor stupid tourists” eyes and said, “Ingles?”

Jill and I looked at each other, “Yes.”

“Sit anywhere,” he said.

Of course this meant we needed to walk around and around and around until we found the perfect spot.

Once seated, the patient waiter brought us two menus in English.

“What’s that?” I asked Jill as we perused the menu selection. You see, although the menu was in English, many of the menu items that were unique to Spain were in Spanish and there was no explanation of what the food item really was.

“I don’t know. Look it up in our dictionary,” she said. We had a pocket dictionary to help us in times of pure desperation and this seemed to be the perfect opportunity to use it.

I thumbed through the pages – once, twice, three times …

“Nope,” I said.

“Nope what?” she asked.

“It’s not in here.”

“It must be in there.”

“I can’t find it.”

“Ask the waiter,” she said.

“Great idea …” After gaining the waiters attention – not necessarily an easy task – I asked my question.

“What’s this?” I pointed to the menu item.

“It’s …” He repeated what was already on the menu.

“Uh yes. I know what it’s called but I don’t know what’s in it.”

He rolled his eyes, “It’s an ENGLISH menu.”

“Yes. I know and thank you for pointing that out. Uhm. But I don’t know what’s in it.”

“It’s …” again with the name.

“Never mind,” I said – realizing that he probably didn’t know how to tell me what was in it.

“You ready to order?” he asked.

Jill and I glanced at each other.

“Sure,” Jill said. “I’ll have the grilled ham and cheese with French fries.”

“I’ll have this …” I pointed to a sandwich on the menu, thinking that I had made a fine native Spanish choice in food. Yes, I would truly experience the culinary delights of Spain if I had to experiment along the way.

After a brief wait, the server arrived with our food.

We thanked the waiter and I enjoyed my wonderful native Spanish meal – a ham omelet on toast; so much for experiencing native Spanish food.

Tune in next time for another installment of The adventures of Jill and Lisa – or how to make sure everyone knows you are a tourist.