The sweet smell of the ripening oranges filled the warm air as I walked through the narrow streets. Tall medieval buildings overhung the walkway casting down shade. We continued down the street until it opened out on to the plaza of the Catedral de Santa María de la sede, where horse drawn carriages carried around tourists and sweet-talking gypsies would read people’s palms in exchange for a hefty amount of euros. The tall gothic cathedral dominated the square that was filled with life. The inside of the building was gilded with massive amounts of gold brought over from the new world and housed the tomb of Christopher Columbus. We passed by the cathedral, which we had already visited, and walked down one of the side streets.

Small shops and scenic cafes lined the the sidewalk, and inside each store there were various t-shirts, knickknacks, and cookbooks- these were in effect tourist traps, but we looked through each one anyway. In most stores Ian, one of my friends, had a conversation with the shopkeeper in Spanish while Ty and I looked through the stores to buy gifts. Many times these conversations were short and consisted only of small talk. During one of the conversations Ty and I were looking at hats.

“Ty, this hat looks like your hair,” I said, grabbing the hat that had a red bull on it and holding it up to Ty’s swirly red hair.

“That looks nothing like my hair. My hair is too perfect.” Ty looked at his phone and started running his hand through his hair.

“Do you need a mirror to see how sexy you look,” yelled the woman who Ian had been talking to for awhile (I later found out he had had a conversation with her about where we were from, why we were there, and how he is of spanish descent). “El solo necesita desnudarse para ser más sexy (He only needs to take of his clothes to be sexier),” the woman continued.

Ian and I began laughing hysterical, while Ty looked at us in confusion. I turned to him and explained what the woman had said. His face turned as red as his hair.

“Well that’s a little weird that she would say that.”

“What? You want me to watch what I say? Are you too sensitive for it,” the woman jeered.

“No, No it’s fine.”

“Good, because I hate having to watch what I say,” she replied with a wink.

“Yeah, everything always has to be so politically correct now, it’s kind of annoying,” chimed in Ian.

“You telling me! I’m a tour guide. You wouldn’t believe what I deal with. I get a packet from this company, aye dios, it must have been cincuenta pages. Of course they are Americans. It was all telling me things that I can and cannot do. For example, they want don’t want me to call people tourists because it might offend them. They want me to call them guests. Those people are not my guests, I am not keeping them in my house. I am also not supposed to call myself a tour guide, I am a city expert. That pisses me off,” the woman said pointing. “I am not a city expert I am a tour guide! A city expert can be anyone, but to be a tour guide you have to go through years of classes and licenses, and those people did none! The best was that I am not allowed to say toilet, I have to call them restrooms. If I have a group of Scots and I say restrooms they will laugh at me!”

“Yeah, it seems like you can’t say anything to people anymore. Everyone wants you to be so careful and kind it’s getting really stupid. I feel bad that you have to deal with all that. By the way I’m sorry, but I didn’t get your name,” I responded.

“See! You are all too polite. And my name is Aurora.”

“That’s a really pretty name,” said Ian.

“I suppose, but I tell you a funny story. This one group I had a long time ago, I tell them ‘Hello my name is Aurora’ and the woman goes, ‘What is it?’ So, I tell her again, and she responds ‘Arella?’ I say, ‘NO AURORA! A-U-R-O-R-A!’ and the woman say to me, ‘Oh like the princess from the story?’ And I thought, ‘oh how nice, princess Aurora, I’m a princess ohhh’, you know? Then many years later in a group I tell them my name, and a woman says ‘Oh like the toilet paper!’ Apparently that is a popular brand over there, and I think ‘great I’m a toilet paper, I thought I was a princess?’ I guess it is a good figura... ahh metáfora for life. You start out as a princess and end up as, well…”