Holy Toledo - I'm Lost!

"I'm not even supposed to be here." That was the thought that raced through my mind as the small Spanish man continued to trail me through the narrow winding streets of Toledo. I had been in the city for less than 30 minutes and I was eager to leave.

My unwelcome companion first appeared as I entered the massive gated walls of Toledo. He was dressed well, wearing a brilliant blue silk shirt, black trousers and shiny black loafers, and approached me as I was trying to gain my bearings. He spoke Spanish, and introduced himself as Juan. I attempted a weak "No comprendo," accompanied with a wave of my hand to shoo him away. Juan, however, proved to be very persistent.

I had arrived in Spain two days earlier, eager to take advantage of a last-minute opportunity that had presented itself. Unfortunately, I didn't take the time to think of other considerations - like the fact that I was a young female traveling alone without any understanding of the native language.

I flew into Madrid's Barajas Airport and secured a hotel room across from the city's Botanical Gardens on the Paseo del Prado, a wide thoroughfare that stretches from the Estaciòn de Atocha in the southeast section of the city up through the Plaza de Colòn on the northern edge. From this base, I was able to explore Madrid on foot and covered most of the city in my first 48 hours there. Although Madrid had its highlights, I was eager to visit some areas of Spain that were not so modernized. After reading an intriguing account of neighboring Segovia, I decided to take a day trip there.

On my third morning in Madrid I left the hotel early, consulted my map and headed for the nearest bus station. It looked to be about 10 blocks away, in a residential section of the city. As I walked I was struck by how empty the streets were. It was almost 8:30 in the morning on a weekday, a time when most American cities would be crowded with commuters making their way to work. However, on this morning I only passed two people in the space of six blocks. They were both leisurely walking their dogs.

Before long I came upon the corner where the bus station was supposed to be. There was not a bus to be found. Or a station for that matter. Instead, there was a large concrete shell that resembled a station, surrounded by a few pieces of construction equipment. I looked from my map to the empty hull in front of me, and decided that the publishers must have been extremely optimistic about the pace of construction. Exasperated, I took in my surroundings and spotted a Metro station across the street. I decided my best bet would be to make my way over to the only other bus station on my map - which was located on the opposite side of Madrid.

I crossed the street and descended the stairs into the station, where I was welcomed with the stench of urine and stale air that seem to be a constant of Metros worldwide. I looked around for a manned ticket booth, but found only automatic token machines. I approached one and found that the directions were written only in Spanish. The station was just as empty as the streets above it, so I was left to guess my way through the foreign commands. Three hundred pesetas and 10 button pushes later I had a ticket in my hand. Luck was with me for the first time that day, for my ticket opened the Metro's steel turnstile just in time to board the train that had pulled up at the platform moments before.

Twenty minutes later I arrived at the Mendez Alvaro metro station, and climbed back up to street level. This time I found the Estacion Sur de Autobuses operating where promised - out of the basement of a large hotel. Relieved, I descended down a long narrow staircase into the station and approached a ticket counter.

"Autobus - un billete para Segovia?" I attempted. The man behind the glass shook his head and muttered "No Segovia - Toledo." Confused, I tried again. Again, he shook his head and rattled off a stream of words, while tapping his wristwatch with his pointer finger. Then, realizing I was totally confused, simply stated: "Autobus - Toledo - Diez minuto."

Feeling utterly defeated, I retreated from the counter and dug a guidebook out of my daypack. It showed that Toledo was 44 miles southwest of Madrid in the Castilla - La Mancha region. It then went on to describe the city as "a place of drama and austerity, tinged with mysticism, that was long the spiritual and intellectual capital of Spain." The description piqued my curiosity, so I purchased a ticket and boarded the bus. At 9:30 sharp the bus's engine roared to life and I was on my way to Toledo.

I carefully studied my guidebook's map of Toledo on the hour-long bus ride, with the hope that I could gain a basic understanding of the city's layout. But even the most detailed map would be useless in such a maze-like town. The uneven cobblestone roads twist up and down the steep hills they are built upon, and are barely wide enough for modern cars. A warren of towering medieval stone buildings butts up against the streets, with recessed entryways so that their doors do not open into the path of those navigating the alleys. Intricate iron balconies extend from windows overhead, filled with flowering plants in small terra cotta pots. This claustrophobic arrangement leaves little room for pedestrians.

The bus deposited me at a station at the foot of Toledo, leaving me to hike up along the thick city walls to the twin turrets that supported the gates to the city. As I passed through the foreboding entrance I found myself faced with my first challenge - which way do I go? I was contemplating the four cramped streets that branched out before me when Juan first materialized and attempted to communicate. From what I could gather of his rapid Spanish and accompanying gestures, he was offering to show me around the city. I shook my head and waved him away. He merely laughed, and beckoned for me to come with him. I looked around and saw that there was a large church off to my right. I hurried toward it to seek sanctuary, thinking I could take time to get my bearings once I was inside. As I entered the main wooden doors I heard the haunting chords of a pipe organ, followed by choir voices in song. I paused at the interior doors, unsure if I should enter during a service. Then, I turned to find that Juan had come in behind me. He shook his head sternly, pointing toward the interior of the church. I took that as a sign that I shouldn't interrupt the service and reluctantly followed him outside.

A cool breeze had begun to blow, bringing in thick gray clouds that promised rain. I turned onto the nearest road and started uphill. Juan was again at my side. I tried to ignore him, busying myself with finding the umbrella that was buried in my pack. He pointed at a window here, a building there, talking constantly. I continued to climb, picking my way through the cobblestones. Before long, he resorted to gesturing, bringing his hand up to his mouth as if he was eating. Assuming he wanted to get something to eat, I responded "No," and patted my stomach in an attempt to show that I was full (despite the fact it was rumbling around in want of a big breakfast and a strong cup of coffee). He shrugged in response. I then made a walking motion with my fingers, hoping to show that I just wanted to explore the city. He blew me a kiss in return. I quickened my pace.

It seemed that I had ventured into a residential area of Toledo. As in Madrid, the streets were void of people and cars. I continued up the never-ending hill, with Juan at my heels, hoping to come across a more populated tourist area. However, the turns in the road, combined with the towering buildings overhead made it impossible for me to make out landmarks or gain a sense of direction. Juan became more forward, invading my personal space by staying glued by my side. His gestures grew increasingly obscene, and it dawned on me he wanted to grab more than just a bite to eat. I decided to face facts and prepare for a worst-case scenario.

A segment from an Oprah Winfrey show on surviving dangerous situations flashed through my mind. Unfortunately, the part I recalled showed what do if you're locked in the trunk of a car. That was definitely not the case here. I cursed myself for not paying more attention to the gospel of Oprah, and reviewed my situation. First, I had to stay calm. I determined that with my boots I had a six-inch height advantage over Juan and was in better shape physically, considering the way he was huffing up the hill next to me. I also had the trusty travel umbrella at my disposal. I clutched it tightly and lengthened my stride in an attempt to keep a few feet ahead of him.

As I was finalizing my survival plans, I overheard voices coming from an alley on my left. I turned quickly, attempting to follow the sounds that were bouncing and echoing off the walls around me. To my relief, the alley opened onto a small plaza with three shops. I ducked into the closest one, a store displaying a wide array of silver jewelry. The lady behind the counter greeted me with a cheerful "Buenos dias," and a wide smile. I smiled back, feigning interest in a rack of gaudy multicolored string bracelets. From my vantage point I could see Juan lurking outside the front window. I browsed some more, looking over hand-tooled silver mirrors and delicate beaded earrings.

Minutes later, I caught another glance of Juan's blue shirt out front. Frustrated, I scanned the shop and noticed a side door behind a rack of postcards. I walked over to it, only to find it locked. Turning to the shopkeeper I pointed to the door and asked "Por favor?" She looked at me questionably. I tried again with more emphasis, "Por favor?" This time my desperation crossed the language barrier and she came over to unlock it. I attempted to show my appreciation by repeating "Gracias, Gracias," as I rushed out the door backwards. Once outside, I was relieved to find a van parked at the entrance to the side alley, effectively blocking any view of my hasty exit.

I quickly walked in the opposite direction from which I had come, constantly looking over my shoulder for any sign of Juan. A few turns later I came across a much larger plaza filled with tourists, souvenir shops and cafes. For the first time in my life, a shop full of gaudy knick-knacks was a beautiful sight. Taking a few deep breaths to calm myself down, I retired into one of the cafes and found an empty stool at the far end of the bar. I refueled with café con leche and a croissant, keeping a weary eye on the front window that overlooked the plaza. After half an hour and a few more pastries, my nerves began to settle. Convinced I had finally lost Juan, I ventured back out into the maze of Toledo, with a newfound awareness for a certain shade of blue.