LineNine and ¡Arriba!

I was wrong. 

All those times I thought I had no idea what people were saying to me because it was in French; I was wrong.  After spending almost a week in Spain, now I know what it means to have no idea what people are saying to me.

Thankfully, the Spanish know to keep their directions simple for us Americans.  Two particular instances come to mind:

1) LineNine

After landing in Madrid, we followed signs in the airport to a train.  We lost track of the arrows at one point and asked an airport employee where we needed to go.

“LineNine,” he informed us in hurried English.

Sounded simple enough.  As we headed towards LineNine we were faced with yet another problem: how do we get through the fare gate?

We knew enough to understand we needed a ticket to get through but the tickets we had just purchased didn’t work.  Luckily, we saw a man standing on the other side of the gate. 

“How do we get to the trains?” we asked him in slow English.

“LineNine,” he also responded.

Right, I see the large nine above the gate and the picture of a train…you know, the one that’s right over my head.

“How do we get through?” we asked him.

“LineNine,” he told us again.

No, that didn’t answer my question.  I see that you might think it’s funny because you’re already through but it’s significantly less funny being on the other side of the gate.

“Where can I buy a ticket?” we asked him, including a few motions in case he just hadn’t understood our question last time.

“LineNine,” he responded and then turned his back to us.

Thanks.  That really cleared up all my questions.

2) Arriba

In Barcelona, we decided to search for a post office.  When we got to the department store where the post office supposedly was, we saw a sign for it and a big arrow pointing up.

So up we went.

And up.

And up.

After taking the escalator up four times, we thought we had perhaps missed the post office.  We found a cashier and pointed to our postcards.

“Arriba,” she commanded us while pointing above her.  We had already arriba-ed, lady, but we'll try it a few more times.

So up we went--past the boys’ clothing, past the housewares, past the appliances… We had to be following her directions correctly, right?  She pointed up.  This was the only way up.  As we arrived at each floor, we looked around thinking surely we had arriba-ed enough.  After mutually agreeing the post office was not on that floor we would look at each other and yell, “¡Arriba!”

“¡Arriba!”

“¡Arriba!”

Nine floors later we arrived at our destination and decided we should never, ever doubt arriba again.