An open letter to few specific people of Sevilla

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To the accordion player leaning against the side of the supermarket: You are the soundtrack to my Spanish life. When I hear you or any of your fellow instrumentalists scattered about Sevilla, I want to twirl in a circle. I obviously don’t, but you may notice a little more bounce to my step. That’s all you.

To the full band that was marching down the sidewalk by my apartment today: I’m not really sure what that was about, but keep up the good work. You’re right up there with the accordion player.

To the man in the pastry shop nearby: Your éclairs are delicious, even if I still haven’t mastered what they’re called. You understand “one of those, please”, though, so our relationship works just fine. Also, I appreciate your patience as I continue to ask what every single item has in it, and then fail to understand the response.

To the woman walking out of her apartment as I slipped down the stairs: I’m sorry if an enthusiastic “Si!” with an emphatic nod was not the correct response to whatever you said to me. From the context I thought it was something like, “Gee, those stairs can be treacherous,” but if your puzzled look is any indication, I’m assuming not.

To the guy on the bike who winked at me after we almost crashed: It wasn’t a big deal; there wasn’t much room so I figured I’d just let you pass. I still must have looked fairly pissed off, because you felt the need to lighten up the situation with a change in facial expression. Not many people can pull of a mischievous, non-creepy wink, though, so I commend you for it. It actually made me grin.

To all the people I almost ran into on my bike on the way home: I’m sorry that I tried to squeeze past you without saying anything. It’s just that I don’t really know what to say, and ringing that bell seems so impolite. I’m getting better at it, though. Give me some time.

To the obnoxious kids in the apartment below who scream all day long without reason: I really don’t like you. Stop.

To the carriage driver who invited me for a free ride: That smile I gave you was unintentional and sympathetic. You seemed bored and overheated, and when we accidentally made eye contact I was trying to be nice. Not alluring.

To Lola, my host mom: I’m still trying to figure out how to tell you what I don’t like about my sandwiches in a tactful way. Thank you for leaving out that processed cheese I said I wasn’t a fan of. And I like salami, but not JUST salami. Especially now that there is no cheese. I suppose I brought this on myself.

To Elena, Lola’s 4-year-old granddaughter: It was a pleasure watching “Hannah Montana” and “Los Magos de Waverly Place” on Spanish Disney with you the other day. I hope we can do it again sometime, because I’m fairly certain it’s less acceptable if I just watch them by myself.

Sincerely,
Lindsey

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