The Great Hunt

I woke up this morning with the residue of bizarre dreams clinging to my rational mind; something about an alligator which ended up being a guitar case that then lead to the investigation of a missing musician. Perhaps that’s a sign not to drink whiskey during thunder and lighting storms. Today is market day and I’m going in search of pumpkins; some for carving, but mostly to make into soup to accompany the curry I found on my last excursion.

While things are starting to fall into place for me here (I’ve found out where they show independent foreign films, I started my dance class, I made a killer tortilla Espanola last night, and I can remember about 80% of my student’s and colleagues’ names) I am still lacking a crucial element- a car. Talk about culture shock, not to mention my general ignorance on the theme! Buying a car is never easy; buying a car in another country/language complicates things a bit more. A couple weeks after posting a notice on the board at school that I was looking for a cheap car (that’s about how long it takes for messages to circulate here), I heard through the grape vine that Jose Miguel (who I thought was named Juan Angle for about a week- good thing I got that one straightened out) had a cousin who was a mechanic and had cheap cars. So we took a trip to see the cousin with the cars (or rather car singular). I’d heard that second hand cars here are much more expensive than in the US, but I was still in disbelief and thought that if I only looked, I could find a good, cheap car. However, it turns out that a ‘good’ cheap car doesn’t exist. The car I saw was about 1,500 euros, diesel, and from the stone age. In fact, I was surprised that there was a motor at all; a hole in the floor to run Fred Flintstone style would have seemed more appropriate. However, the cousin had another car at another shop in another town; so off we went, we just had to find Gorge to show us around. Well, Gorge was no where to be found so we decided to look at the dealership next door. As the temperature outside dropped, so did my aspirations of finding that magical combination of reliable and cheap. As I looked at one car after another, a fog of disillusion and indecision began to settle into the crinkles of my gray matter. Finally, Jose Miguel put an end to my desperate wanderings and we headed back to Garrucha, me feeling overwhelmed and a bit awkward for having inconvenienced Jose.

Yet, I remain hopeful for the grape vine has proved fruitful once again (sorry, bad pun). Aurora (who is one of the sweetest people you could ever hope to meet) mentioned to the auto shop teacher that I was looking for a car; who then passed the message onto one of his friends who has a garage. The word in the garage is that they are going to be getting a ’99 Opal Corsa in good condition for a decent price, and they’ll call me when it’s available. Here’s hoping!