Not news.

Nothing monumental happened this week. As I said in an interview last week at Discover Sevilla, which I clearly bombed, Sevilla is becoming my home and things aren’t so new or surprising anymore. Seeing nuns walking down the street, arm-in-arm, is quite common. So is watching a woman breastfeed on a park bench. I assume that’s why, when I say nothing exciting happened this week, I’m being serious. Nevermind that I was hit by a car (BEFORE YOU WORRY I AM FINE!) on Tuesday morning. Not so abnormal.

I teach a class Tuesday mornings at the Universidad Politecnica to a wonderful middle-aged man named Paco. The general understanding is that I bring him a lesson, which we talk about for approximately two minutes, then he tells me he will study in his free time, then we chit-chat. He’s quite funny and very animated. I left the lesson at 11:15 and walked to the zebra crossing (there’s no zoo in Sevilla. This is British speak for cross walk). I normally use them because Spanish people drive like they’re either asleep or really drugged up, or a mix of the two, so I typically exercise caution. I looked both ways, even though Virgen del Africa is a one-way street. You never know when a teenager on a motorbike will come out of nowhere and peg you. I saw a guy in his car next to the cross walk and waited a bit before joining a group crossing. Turns out the guy was moving while he was looking backwards. I heard shouts of “CUIDAAAAAO!” and found myself spinning out of balance.

Like I real Spaniard, I slammed my hand down on the hood of his crappy yellow car and got in his face. I screamed, “COÑO! Que estabas pensando?! Que eres un gillipoyas! Por Dios, que tonta la gente!” which translates, more or less, to: “Asshole! What the hell were you thinking? You’re such a fucker! Good God, people are so stupid!” Then I stood in the cross walk and watched him drive away. Dumbies. Luckily, nothing happened to me – not even a bruise just above my knee where the bumped clipped me.

Hmm, I started clases du fracais. Christene found a dude named Laurent. He is SOOOO French! Skinny, throaty accent, long black hair. But he’s got a lot of good experience and prepared some really good homework for us. And he was patient with my awful pronunciation and mine and Christene’s endless giggles. We could only imagine if Kate were there, showing up our language skills!

And in case you’re wondering, Kike comes back in six days. I’m practically counting down the hours and fully prepared to leave work early without feeling guilty. Toma, I will say.

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About Cat Gaa

As a beef-loving Chicago girl living among pigs, bullfighters, and a whole lotta canis, Cat Gaa writes about expat life in Seville, Spain. When not cavorting with adorable Spanish grandpas or struggling with Spanish prepositions, she wrangles babies at an English Language Academy and freelances with other publications, like Rough Guides and The Spain Scoop.

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  1. […] in Spain and the year I almost went home forever…that was the intention, anyhow. Oh, and I got hit by a car, […]

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