Are you kidding me?

Unfortunately, as I’ve said more times than I’d like to recall with experiences such as these, I’m not really sure what this means. A person’s intentions can be hard to read and even more so when one is in a foreign culture.

The other day Jules and I were out looking for apartments. It was the middle of the afternoon, she wasn’t feeling well and she decided to head back to her hotel for a nap. I headed to my temporary apartment. The key I’d been given didn’t fit into its hole. After determining I was indeed at the right door, I decided to go for a walk until someone else came home.

I walked up toward Pigeon Rock. The birds that give the rock formation rising about five stories out of the sea right off the coast its name were absent, perhaps because it’s winter. (I don’t think pigeons migrate, but I’ve heard they swarm the place during the summer.) Since I’d killed only about 20 minutes, I continued.

I came to the public beach and decided to sit on a bench to watch the meager waves roll in. (So far, even on a very windy, stormy day, the sea has been remarkably calm.) I’m still in the bad habit of looking in the direction of car horns. (Looking makes the cabbies think you might be interested, and the habit in general can give you whiplash in a two-block walk.)

I looked at an SUV that honked (at me?) as I was about to sit down. I could only see the vehicle’s side as it was slowing down and parking almost directly behind me, so I couldn’t tell if it was a cab – distinguished by a red license plate.

I sat and looked forward to the sea. I was thinking and looking around and one or twice stole a glance behind me. The SUV was still there (a cab would have driven off), and its driver was staring (at me?) toward the water.

I stood and left. A few paces later, I turned my head to the honking. The guy in the SUV was creeping along the street with me, looking right at me and waving me over. I still didn’t know for sure if it was a cab or not. I walked over.

“Where are you going?” This has to be a cab. I’ll get rid of him.

“For a walk.” Wait for it.

“Can I go for a walk with you?” By his accent, it sounded like he could have said, “Can I go get drunk with you,” but that makes no sense.

“No, thanks.”

“Oh, ok. Sorry.”

I walked away, but saw him parked along the street again a couple hundred feet down the road. He let me pass unmolested.