So I figured that I may get lost a bit in Madrid- a city much bigger than Seattle that I would also be new to. In addition to being large and unfamiliar, Madrid uses a language that I cannot speak (sorry Señoras Maffucci and Brown).
My hypothesis that I would get lost was put to the test immediately- I had an orientation for my TEFL program in the heart of Madrid. The night before, I looked up the address and asked my host mother (she speaks english very well!) if she knew where I was supposed to be. It turned out that I was only two metro (subway) stops away from the office where she worked, so she offered to drive me to the metro stop where we would catch the metro together.
Planning
I woke up at 4:30 AM and was too excited to go back to sleep, so I just read until 6:30 which was the time I set my alarm clock for. My host mother packed me a ham and cheese sandwich and we were on our way.
On the drive to the metro station I asked my host mother what the address of my destination was. She refreshed my memory and for the rest of the car ride I tried to work on my pronunciation of the street name, because I figured I would need to ask someone on the street for help.
We got on the metro and my host mom explained the metro system to me in addition to telling me that I would need to take the 539 bus back home after taking the blue line metro to Principe Pío. Five minutes later she asked me if I thought I would be okay. I told her, "Yes, it is not too much to remember. I just take the blue line metro back to Tincipe Tío and then take the 537 bus back to our village." She did not seem confidant in my ability to get back to her home.
When my stop arrived, she told me that salida was the spanish word for exit. As I got off, I felt glad that she informed me of that translation, because if she did not I would not have known how to exit the metro station. Luckily, I was able to follow the signs that said salida (with my ham and cheese sandwich firmly in hand).
Asking for Directions
He looked at me, grimaced, and said, "No hablo englais, lo siento."
Confidently, I said to him in very broken Spanish, "Uhh, dónde esta el calle covarrubion?"
He looked surprised that I had any iota of Spanish speaking capability in me (victory!), but gave me a "No sé, lo siento." Oh well, on to the next one!
This writeup is getting quite long winded. YouTube break: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LJP1DphOWPs
The next man I asked realized that I gave him the wrong street number. "Ahh! You mean covarrubias?" I smiled and nodded. Of course I meant covarrubias!
The man led me across two streets and pointed me towards my correct street. I ended up making it to the orientation safe, sound, and on time! My orientation was very fun, and I had some positive vibes going that were sure to get me home with minimal abrasion.
The Trip Home
After getting off at Principe Pío I searched for the buses. I followed signs up and down the same flight of stairs twice. After the second time walking down the stairs, I decided that the buses must be up the stairs. Indeed it seemed they were, as there was a sign with different bus numbers assigned to different terminals. Bus 539 was to be caught at terminal one!
After asking a lady at the top of the stairs where terminal one was, she gave me a quick answer in Spanish which gave me no indication to whether or not I was correct. Then she helped me out, pointing her finger in the direction I should walk. Down the stairs I went.
After walking in a circle, I was able to find terminal one and my specific bus stop! Two old women were waiting for the bus on the inside of the terminal, chatting to each other. I smiled at them as I walked up to the door to wait outside where the bus would be coming. As I was about to press the open button for the door they both started speaking very loudly to me in Spanish. I turned around wide eyed. They explained something to me in Spanish, and although I did not understand a single word, I interpreted it to mean that I should wait until the bus arrived for me to leave the terminal. So I smiled, nodded, and sat down.
The bus pulled up not long after, so I stood up to go press the open door button. The same two ladies started speaking Spanish to me in a similar tone as before. I looked at them, and followed their extended fingers. The bus driver was walking down the stairs of the bus, presumably to take a break. I waited until the women made a move to get on the bus until I stood up again.
My host mother had told me that I needed to get off at about the fourth stop after the bus got to our village. To me it was unclear when exactly we entered our village, so I attempted to ask a women next to me where the high school in town was. I asked this because my house family's house is across the street from "el instituto." The women appeared to understand me, and told me it was not yet.
Getting More Help
After we got off, she started asking other people if they knew any English. One young man did, so I explained to him where I needed to go. He appeared to understand at least a bit of what came out of my mouth, and then spoke in Spanish to the woman who dragged me off the bus. I was then instructed to follow the women who had dragged me off the bus.
We walked for about ten seconds before the women jogged into the middle of the road and flagged down a car driven by a male twenty-something. The driver rolled down his window, and after conversing for several seconds, the woman called me over. I looked at her with the same confused eyes that had been on my face all day and then she opened the passenger car door, grabbed me by the collar, and directed me in the car. She got in as well and we drove off as I attempted to explain where I needed to go. My explanation was not well received, as the woman and young man looked at each other and made a face.
However, my Spanish appeared to be good enough, and it was only a few minutes before we arrived at the school. I was delighted! After saying "Gracias" a dozen times I got out of the car. They both looked at me hoping I would know exactly where to go. I looked around for a while, trying to remember what side of the school my host family's house was on. The women asked me a question in Spanish, to which I replied "Esta bien, muchas gracias!"
Neither of them looked reassured, but I started walking in the direction I believed my new house to be. After a minute of walking, I decided that I had went the wrong way. I turned around and walked past the two who had helped me again, who were both likely convinced that I was either mentally disabled, inebriated, or both. I'm sure I looked out of place all day long, walking around town obviously lost with a goofy grin on my face. But I am no tourist; I live here now!
It only took another couple turns for me to find the correct side of the school and my house. I had completed my first full day in Madrid, only getting lost a handful of times! Although my location has moved by thousands of miles, my navigational abilities do not appear to changed a bit.