Sometimes you just know what's going to happen...

We arrived at the Granada airport, collected our bags, including the overweight roll aboard with all the textbooks and charged out the door to the taxi stand...and joined a crowd of people jockeying for position with only one taxi in sight.  The taxi sped off and John and I looked at the 12 people in front of us and 20-30 people behind us and the quiet terminal, the quiet street and complete lack of any other taxi clues.  We waited 20 minutes, and one taxi arrived.  We were kidding saying “call your friends back in town!” 

So there we were, looking at an empty street again.  John and I discussed the matter and concluded—we could call the travel agent in Madrid and ask for help…but if we do that, the guy will be 30 minutes away and then all the taxis will arrive immediately thereafter.  If we don’t call, we will be stuck here forever.  Being a fan of the “known,” we called for help, and Cristina found a driver who was 15 minutes away maximum (sure).  We went into the terminal to get a coffee and no one was behind the counter.  After flagging down the coffee lady who also had sour cream and onion Pringles for John, we meandered back outside.  Sure enough, 9 taxis came flying around the corner in formation like it was Daytona Speedway, Turn #1.  By this time, everyone else had given up and gotten on a God-forsaken bus for the long way to town.  The front 3 taxi drivers got out and started yelling at the guy we saw early in the process, and John was able to translate part of the conversation—“what happened to all the people…poof?”  We eventually got to the hotel, don’t worry :)

Taxis to the rescue, but alas, the people are gone...and John and I await our driver.