On Saturday night we
were invited to a golf and charity dinner. Having discovered the location
beforehand, Mother needed to have the upper hand amongst our fellow guests with
a pre-visit and we had spent an early evening making friends with Diego the waiter. Our security guards gave us the number for a
taxi firm… actually, the only taxi firm. Mother soon discovered
that ordering a cab is noticeably different to the British procedure. One cannot
‘order’ a taxi, one must simply call when ready and then wait. Not something
Mother was remotely willing to do; “WHAT DO YOU MEAN?! I want a cab here at 7pm! You’re telling me I have to
telephone when I’m ready to leave?! This simply doesn’t make sense. No wonder Spain’s in a crisis. You’re doing
it all wrong. What if the cab takes 20 minutes to get here? I won’t arrive on time will I?!”
I presume the taxi
firm ‘forgot’ to send a cab as we were standing at the edge of our road (not
waiting in our home – impossible address problem again) for another 30 minutes.
Eventually Santiago came to the rescue. “Thank GOD you’re here! I’ll tell you – let me tell you, your company is UTTERLY USELESS! I shan’t be using them
again!”
Santiago was a joyful
Columbian man who agreed with Mother and gave us his personal number; “Here,
you call me directly and I take you where you want to go – you wait fifteen
minutes and I am there! I promise I come!”
We are given the receipt:
Several glasses *bottles* of
wine later, it is time to drag Mother away from Hugh and his fellow golfers and
head home. Santiago to the rescue… Or so we thought.
Here, as we stand and watch
guests climb into cabs, a large, angry-looking man walks over to us; “You for
Santiago? Come. You come.” It appears Santiago has sent his ‘friend’. He ushers
us into his unmarked car (suspisions increased). Feisty Mother gambles with our
lives and grills Alternate-Santiago with questions; “You’re not Santiago. Where
is Santiago? Why are you here? What is your name? Are you a friend of his? Did
he call you? How do you know we are the correct people? Where is your meter?
You ought to have a meter. I need to know you’re going to give me the right
price!”
Alternate-Santiago barely
responded. Instead, we are tossed around the giant cab and we are now
undeniably in the uncut version of Fast & Furious. The bits too terrifying
to make the final cut. Unmarked roads are lit only by moonlight and we are
definitely not going the way we came. Mother is only mildly concerned and more
interested in the whereabouts of the real Santiago. As we reach the gates to
our urbanisation we stop *exhales*. Alternate-Santiago hops out and spends five
minutes mumbling into the intercom and then gets back in the car, starts the
engine, spins us around and we rumble off in the opposite direction. Getting
further away from our home. This is it. This is where we die. We have been
abducted. Au revoir. Adios. I haven’t written my will yet! I’m not ready for
this! No no no no, should I do my own stunts and
jump out? Yes. That’s the only option---
“Excuse me! What are you
doing?! Where are we going?!” Mother addresses abductor and he tells us (I
think) that we have to go through a different town and come through the other
entrance. An extra ten minutes that felt like hours.
Heart returning to a somewhat
regular pace as we spot our security guards and we pull up near home. I am
alive. We are alive.
Mother insists upon a receipt and she is given this:
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