Crazy Travel Stories: No hablo español, but I’m pretty balling at charades

Note, this post was written early in Quarantine, but our site has been going through some renovations. Apologies for the late posting!

Sitting in quarantine on my last bottle of wine, has left me reminiscing about all the trips I’ve taken and the memories made along the way.  And that, my enthralled readers has brought us to our newest segment of the DankTravel blog! 

Crazy travel stories!  These stories range from the heart-warming wholesome tales, to the ones that would have my mother uninviting me from Thanksgiving dinner. 

Mom, if you’re reading this.  Let me save you some trouble. 

You know I am garbagé. 

See that fancy spelling? Oh, yeah, I’m garbage but I’m cute and boogie. I am garbagio

I am essentially the embodiment of a chonky trash panda. 

Ah, yes a noble beast.  Our sleeping habits, diets and spherical shapes are not all we have in common.  I, too, hiss at people. 

Why don’t we both save ourselves from embarrassment and unnecessary intervention attempts regarding my alcohol consumption? 

We both know how this ends.  

In disappointment. You being disappointed.  Me, drunkenly reliving some of my greatest hits and the miracle that I am still crushing it. 

No? You want to keep reading? Cool, cool, cool.  We’ll kick off this segment then with a heart-warming tale that won’t get me into trouble. 

Let’s set the scene.  Murcia, Spain. A beautiful, quaint Spanish village.  KDanks and I yelling at each other in the car because we have never been so lost trying to find our Airbnb.This was the time we stayed in a Windmill, which you’d think would be easy to find, but you are very wrong.  

After asking a few locals for directions and having our host come out to locate us (did I mention how lost we were? SO LOST. SO VERY VERY LOST), we finally made it to the Airbnb. 

Stunning! Majestic! Can you tell this is the trip I finally convinced KDanks that we can no longer stay in hostels? This is what next level looks like 🔥🔥🔥🔥

But I should mention here that the price of this Airbnb was so reasonable that there was no way she could refuse it.  

You can check out the Airbnb here.  The hosts were amazing, the pool was refreshing and the views were beautiful! I’m honestly a little mad at myself and KDanks because we only spent one night there and I could have easily spent several. But we can discuss the windmill at another time. This crazy travel story is about KDanks and I having literally our best meal in Spain with our Airbnb host, his wife, his father and his father’s buddies.  

After finally settling into the Airbnb, KDanks and I realized we would need to eat dinner and asked our host for recommendations.  Instead of giving us recommendations, he invited us along to dinner with the family.  

As you can imagine, a lot of these stories start with KDanks and I looking at each other, shrugging and saying something along the lines of “LETTTTTGOOOO.”

Off we go in the family’s car to this tiny local hangout that we would never have found on our own. 

Food here was AMAZING. I am fully confident in saying it was our best meal in Spain and I would never be able to find that restaurant ever again in my young life. 

Crucial thing with this story — no one besides our host speaks a word of English. And KDanks and I can say maybe say three things in Spanish– Hola, Grasis and No hablo espanol. Arguably, all important things to be able to communicate, but when that’s all you can communicate, life gets REAL HARD. Especially, when a bitch in the group has a very deadly allergy to tree nuts. 

Hint. I am that bitch. 

^Me when I hear the tree nuts whispering and demand my life as tribute.

Have you ever tried explaining a food allergy to someone who has never heard of a food allergy? 

Have you ever done that without speaking their language? 

And you don’t have data to use your Google Translate app because the town you’re in is so small and quaint that you are getting almost no service? 

No? 

BECAUSE THAT WAS ME AT DINNER TRYING TO CHARADES MY WAY TO FOOD AND NOT DYING.

Using some very aggressive charades, a few drawings, a few french names I remembered for cashews and hazelnuts and explaining a tree nut and my allergy as much as possible to our host, I got the point across and was able to eat happily and safely.

It was so worth it. I still have dreams about that food. 

Sometimes crazy travel stories end with an amazing view or some sort of life lesson learned. 

This one just ends with me being full of Iberian Ham and an introduction to tinto de verano.

All in all, not too bad in my book. 

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