Hola, First name / friend
The year is is 2017, and I'm touching down in Cozumel, Mexico for my first EVER solo trip to freedive with whale sharks. Aka, my dream.
Excited? Check. Nervous? You bet. My anxiety weighing heavier than my checked baggage as scenes from 'Taken' played in my head? Check, check, check.
*Googles “How to contact Liam Neeson" ya know, just in case*
I hop into an electric blue Honda Civic turned taxi, and tell the driver my hostel address. He nods enthusiastically, “Si, si, senorita! I know where that is.” Perfecto.
But—lie detector test determined that was a lie. Because he knew the address as well as I knew quantum physics. (I don't). Fast forward to being dropped off at not one, but two completely wrong hostels. Perfecto 2.0
Now, First name / friend, I have a very *particular* set of skills. Skills I have acquired over a very long career. But none of which included conversing fluently in Spanish.
I mean, I watched two seasons of Narcos and had a few Duolingo badges under my belt, so that had to count for something, right? Right?
So there I was in this fast-n-not-so-furious Civic, totally butchering Spanish like it's a $2 steak, trying desperately to explain where my hostel's location via an impromptu game of charades.
Taxi guy’s laughing (genuinely), I’m laughing (nervously) and Google Maps is crying (figuratively).
So I decided to do what any normal 26 year old would do lost in a foreign country… find a bar and order a beer (or a tequila shot sans worm—'cause when in Mexico)
Lucky for me, the bartender knew English and more importantly, doubled as my human GPS 'cause THANK THE LORD he knew the location of 2Tank Hostel (legit 2 mins down the road. Classic 🤦🏼♀️)
The Lesson?
Allll of this could have been avoided had I not been so damn lazy and spent a little more time learning the basics of the country’s official language I was visiting. ‘Cause lemme tell ya, a few Duolingo badges won’t cut it.
It’s on me—the tourist—to adapt and respect cultural norms of the country I’m visiting, not the other way around.
Maybe if I knew my (super sweet, btw) taxi driver's language, we could have had a convo about local places to eat, tourist traps to avoid, all that jazz. But this Dora had no game.