Learning about history, and life, from the former hostage Terry Anderson
A short, stocky man of about 40 wearing a Hawaiian shirt was speaking English loudly to the hotel concierge. Another ugly American, I grumbled as I waited behind him and his companions — a young woman and girl.
“Necesito un taxi,” I requested.
“Donde?”
“El Centro.”
The second the words left my mouth, the man in the Hawaiian shirt turned and said, “Hey, you can ride with us. We are headed there, too.” I had no interest in talking to Americans when I could be learning from a local. I tried to beg off, but he insisted.