When G came home from being out of the country, I took the opportunity to go to Ikea (an international chain Swedish home furnishing store) as a family. We needed some things for our apartment and I needed G's input. The last few times that I'd been to Ikea, people took us in their cars. This time, we took the bus but it was the wrong one. The only reason we knew was because we'd taken the correct bus for Ikea (but for a different destination close to Ikea) previously. Once we realized our incorrect bus was not making the turn it was supposed to, we got off at the next stop and walked.....and walked.....and walked back. A, who generally doesn't ride the stroller anymore, which is a pain to get on and off the bus anyway, was uncooperative and wanted to mosey along while we were all business. I wasn't in the mood to coax her so I carried a screaming pre-schooler down a busy street, sweating as we went. G's jaw was clenched in frustration because an irritable preschooler on top of a...what do you call taking the wrong bus? A mishap? So, an irritable preschooler on top of an annoying mishap was enough to get anyone in a bad mood. Just multiply that by 2 because we were also hot.
We finally got on the right (hot and stuffy) bus and it took about an hour until our stop. I had the job of containing A and sweating some more. She eventually settled and relaxed in my lap. Now, I was told that we would get off at this stop but not be able to see Ikea from there. I was to "walk over this hill and then you'll see it." Fine. After we got off at the stop, I led us on our merry way (ha!) in the wrong direction. G was sinking further into a foul mood and I wasn't doing so great myself because we were hot, hungry, tired, and A was being uncooperative -- of course -- and stopping at every flower, every tree, every ledge to walk along, etc. I asked G to stop someone on the street to ask for directions but he was busy keeping A out of trouble. That fell to me (it's hard for me to understand English with thick accents) so I asked a lady who ignored me completely. The next pedestrian spoke English and was kind enough to direct us in the right way. We followed the directions, sweating in the sun and A wanted me, and not her father, to carry her. Ikea was like an oasis in the desert when we saw it. What a relief. We eventually pulled out of our bad mood only to fall back into it when A got tired and fussy and I wasn't done with shopping yet. It took a tremendous effort to get there and I wasn't about to stop shopping; I wanted to get everything on my list and be done with it. Suffice to say, the next time someone offered a ride to Ikea, I took the offer and shopped alone. It was absolutely wonderful.
Another experience that happened today involves a taxi. A and I went to a bazaar near my home in a taxi which is inexpensive when it's close (I didn't know how to walk there yet; after today, I now know). When we arrived, the enormous lot was empty. I realized - duh, it's called Tuesday Pazar, meaning it's open on Tuesdays! Today is Monday. We sat in the taxi looking at the empty lot and I made a spur of the moment decision: go to a hardware store where I'd spied some brightly colored braided rugs that I liked. So, I told the driver to take us there and man, I didn't realize it was so far! The fare was high. I wanted to kick myself but again, chalk it up to being new. A and I shopped and I picked up some pretty braided rugs, which I have to say was almost worth the high taxi fare. I might take a picture of them for you.
That's not the story, though. This is where it starts: after we were finished, a customer service lady helped us into a taxi and told the driver where to go. This lady spoke some English and she understood where we lived (I know hearing people can butcher a foreign language when they speak it but I do it worse so I was glad she could understand my pronunciation of my destination). It turned out the taxi driver spoke English also but his accent was too thick for me to understand. After riding along the highway, the driver took a different exit than the customary one. I was concerned and told him; he said, "Yes, yes, this is (name of my area)." I didn't recognize it so I sat back and waited. Then he came to a stop in front of a building and looks at me expectantly. I was like, "NO!" Long story short, I was in an area that I didn't recognize with a taxi driver who thinks we are at the correct address. I had no idea how to direct him back so I started naming off names of things close to my home. He started driving slowly and took a turn that didn't seem correct. I stopped him, called a co-worker and handed my phone to him. After a minute or two on the phone, he handed it back and got back on a road (which eventually came to my apartment - only I'd never been on this part of the road) and dropped me off at the right location.
This wasn't an awful experience but imagine your taxi driver thinking he knows where you need to go and takes you somewhere else. Imagine not being able to speak the language and not being able to tell him how to get there because you don't know where you are yourself! It wasn't scary but I was just at a loss at how to tell him where to go until the idea of calling my co-worker popped into mind, who could explain better the location where I lived.
I'm a foreigner. These experiences are the ordinary part of a new foreigner's life.
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