Spanish School

After two nights in the capital, it was time to leave. I had told the Montes' I planned to head to Antigua - a town known for its colonial architecture, volcanoes, and Spanish schools. My destination turned out to be all I planned that day. Everything else just kind of happened.

Jose knew I wanted to go to Antigua. So Thursday morning we got in the car and drove. I expected a bus station. In Mexico, if you want to go somewhere you go to the bus station. Speaking Spanish isn't necessary - you just go to the big building with all the buses parked out back. Jose pulled over at a gas station and walked to the side of the road.

Before I had taken my pack out of the car, he had flagged down a chicken bus - a retired US school bus with a paint job - and I was being jostled on board.

An hour later, still marveling at the speed and agility I never thought capable of a school bus, I was following the flow of people through a crowded market - pack and all. I was lost, and I looked it. A man asked me if I spoke Spanish in Spanish. Nope. Ingles? Si.

He had been a Spanish professor in Massachusetts for three years and ran a Spanish school four blocks down. I decided to check it out. For $30 a day, I could have a five hour private Spanish lesson and stay with a local family for the next ten days. I thought it over, decided I was tired of communicating with hand gestures, and signed up.

So, here's to Spanish school.