Is it los tourista or el tourista?

In New York they take to the streets with their fanny packs, cameras and IHeartNY t-shirts. They walk slowly, stretched four-long on the sidewalk, meandering and impossible to pass. The tourist is a scourge to New Yorkers.

After six years of living in that city, I’ve joined the throngs of locals who have grown weary of them. Unfortunately, I’ve brought that mentality to Spain. I am, more than anything, afraid to be recognized here for what I am: el turista.

Since we got here, I have stood at least 10 feet away from Jenn as she snaps photos (as only a tourist would take a picture of nuns going about their daily existance--JM), and I’ve been reluctant to speak to locals in my version of broken Castallano—my own bastard child of Spanish, English and ignorance.

Today, it dawned on me. I walked the few winding blocks to the Mercado Calle Feria, which is one of the oldest food markets in Seville, in search of a few items to cook for dinner. They had everything I could want: fish caught this morning, fresh vegetables, legs upon legs of Jamón Iberico, bottles of Spanish wines, flowers, et cetera.

I wanted to take a photo, but quickly reconsidered: How would I feel, in New York, if some Spanish dude was snapping photos of my freezer aisle as I was grabbing some Hot Pockets? Odd, right?

I returned home with nothing. Surely, if I spoke, if I touched the vegetables the wrong way, if I used the wrong word to order tuna, they would find me out for what I am.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the tourists in New York as I’ve gone about my days here and I’ve also thought about how I, and many New Yorkers I know, have treated tourists. Though we’ve griped about them among friends and laughed from time to time at their silly questions, we’ve always been helpful. We have given directions. We have given recommendations. We have given, at the very least, a smile to those wayward travelers looking for Times Square. And so I’ve decided: Tourists are not so bad. At least they speak the local language, right? I can’t even do that here.

Hopefully, the Sevillanos will offer me the same patience as I try to navigate their city. And I won’t even mind if they laugh at me once I’m out of earshot.