Something didn’t feel right about this parking garage. It was too small, completely empty, and eerily quiet. The parking attendant’s office was locked and dark, with no one in sight. Alarm bells were already going off in our heads, so we decided to turn around and leave.

As we started driving down the ramp, the garage door began to close. We sat in stunned silence, watching the door clang shut, sealing us inside. Francesca and I turned to each other and said simultaneously, “Oh, crap!”

Driving in a foreign city is always a challenge. Let’s be real—it’s not the city that’s foreign. We are. Add three restless kids in the backseat, cranky from an hour cooped up in the car, and the stress multiplies exponentially. 

I was driving, as always (Francesca doesn’t drive stick), and she was navigating (I’m not exactly detail-oriented enough for that). We’d already failed to find two public garages despite following the signage. So, when Francesca spotted a large blue “PARKING” sign halfway down the street with its door wide open, we jumped at the chance.

As we pulled in, Francesca noticed “56 Euros” on the sign. I brushed it off, saying it couldn’t possibly be for parking and must mean something else. Desperation trumped reason. We ignored this glaring red flag.

Immediately, we noticed something was off. The ramps were absurdly narrow—even by Spanish parking standards. Some of the parking spots were stacked double, meaning we’d be blocked in if someone parked behind us. Oddly, there was no ticket machine to mark our arrival time.

The warning signs piled up, and common sense finally kicked in. We decided to abandon this odd garage and look for a more “normal” one. But as we drove back down the ramp, we saw the metal door closing.

At first, we were in disbelief. Why would the garage door shut? We assumed it was motion-activated and would reopen as we got closer. It didn’t.

I parked the car and told Francesca and the kids to stay put while I went to find someone to open the door. Problem was, the office was locked, and all the lights were off. No attendants, no ticket machines, no visible exits.

Now, panic crept in. Were we trapped in a windowless, doorless parking garage? 

Not wanting to scare the kids, we turned it into a game. We’d just done an escape room in Slovenia, so we dubbed this “Escape the Garage.” The kids fanned out, searching for clues. One of them found a red button on a wall near a metal door with a sign in Spanish. They wanted to press it, but my limited Spanish told me it had something to do with gas. Probably not a good idea. 

Francesca then spotted a notice on the wall with a phone number. We assumed it belonged to the garage’s admin. Perfect! We both whipped out our phones, but Murphy’s Law struck—our eSIM cards refused to cooperate. No calls were going through.

Then the kids found a switch. With Francesca’s blessing, they flipped it. Immediately, we heard the rush of water. The kids freaked out, convinced we’d unleashed a flood. As irrational as it seemed, the sound of running water in that eerie garage wasn’t comforting.

After 25 minutes of searching and brainstorming, we were out of ideas. The only saving grace was that it was early—10 a.m.—and we could hear pedestrians on the sidewalk on the other side of the gate. Embarrassing as it would be, we could yell for help.

Ryan, had just learned “¡Necesitamos ayuda!” in Duolingo, but wasnt' ready to test his Spanish, so I knew the task of yelling would fall on me, the family’s lone extrovert. I took a deep breath and approached the gate when, suddenly, it sprang to life.

The metal door began to rise, and we heard voices—two people chatting enthusiastically in Spanish. Moments later, a man and a woman appeared, looking completely unbothered by our predicament. They explained that this was a private garage, reserved for paying monthly customers who had keys. Hence, the 56 Euros, the lack of attendants, and no exit button. 

We thanked them profusely, and they urged us to leave quickly since the door only stayed open for a short time. We piled into the car like the Griswolds on a mission and headed toward the exit.

But, of course, there was one last challenge. As I maneuvered the car down the narrow ramp, my back right tire slipped precariously over the edge. Not high enough to harm us, but enough to immobilize the car if it slipped further.

Thankfully, I felt it in time, reversed carefully, and adjusted course. We made it out just as the door began to close behind us.

Once outside, relief turned into hysterical laughter. We’d only lost about 30 minutes, but it felt like an eternity. The rest of the day went off without a hitch, and our next parking garage was blissfully normal.

Now I’m thinking we should tackle another escape room. With this kind of practice, we could probably set a new personal best.