It started off as badly as it ended.
I wake in the early hours of the morning to hear the sound of the rain pounding on my huge, wooden-framed windows and I know it's going to be a bad day. I wait until 6:45am and, just as the rain turns to a light drizzle, I take my cue to walk the 10 minutes to Palermo subte station before it starts pouring again.
I'm doing my best to look professional in my new job and I'm wearing a smart dress with clear tights and flat shoes, which I will swap for heels when I get to my desk. Within moments of stepping out the door, I hear a crack of thunder and the torrential rain starts again as I hop from puddle to puddle to make the completely shelterless journey to the station.
By the time I walk down the steps to the subte, trying to avoid getting poked in the eye with an umbrella (my ultimate fear), I am drenched through to the skin, thick mud splashed all the way up the backs of my tights. Highly professional, indeed.
It pours with rain for the entire day at work. Remind me exactly why I swapped London for this place?! It certainly wasn't for the weather, judging by the start I've had. Watching the rain out the window on the eighth floor is quite therapeutic, mind you.
Before I know it, I've survived my second day at work and I'm heading home to brave the sardine-like conditions on the tube again. Feeling fairly confident this time, I make the 10 stops on the green line from 9 de Júlio station and alight at Palermo. I exit the station, turn left and begin walking in the still-pouring rain the 11 or so blocks along Avenida Juan B. Justo...
...Or at least I think it's Avenida Juan B. Justo. Twenty minutes of rain-soaked walking later, I am not at my destination, and I realise I have gone wrong. I must have taken a different exit from the station and when I thought I needed to turn left, I should have gone right. It is dark, pouring with rain and I have no map. Damn - of all the days to get lost.
I walk into a tiny corner shop, or kiosko, and ask for directions to El Salvador, the street where my flat is located. The friendly lady points in one direction and tells me it's 10 blocks. Fine. I start walking, counting down the street numbers. Ten blocks later, I come to an enormous, impenetrable wall. What the hell? It's so dark and wet and now I'm on a deserted street with an impassable, high wall and I'm completely lost. And of course, there are no taxis about.
Behind me, I hear English voices - a British accent - a young man coming out of an apartment. I seize the opportunity and ask him how I get to the other side of El Salvador with Fitzroy.
"You're on the wrong side of the train track," he says. "You need to walk all the way back that way - there's a road under the bridge on Paraguay where you can cross."
Jesus.
I walk another eight blocks or so and cross the very dodgy-looking street under the bridge on Paraguay. I am basically back, one block away from Palermo station, where I began half an hour ago, only considerably colder and wetter.
I know the way from here and I finally arrive back at El Salvador con Fitzroy. It has taken me 90 minutes to get home, when it should've taken 45.
Thank God it's Friday...
0 comments:
Post a Comment