It was Senorita Sangria, In the Café, With a Knife

It was Senorita Sangria, In the Café, With a Knife

I can’t explain why, cause I didn’t really listen to a lot of them in Madrid, but if you ever go to Madrid alone looking to get over love or looking for new love, or maybe just to have a small amount of fun, I highly suggest Jay and the American’s songs. They all seem to work with the moods of Madrid, mornings, days and nights.

I decided in Ireland that I was going to go savage style through Europe, rarely showering and never shaving. The shaving part would be more humorous because I can only grow facial hair in random patches on my face and I look like a wolf-boy in puberty. After day 2 I started to get athletes foot, strange body itches and Tara’s face breaks out from random hair patch scratchies, so that game didn’t last too long.

The train here wasn’t all that bad, minus my Brazilian nemesis and my eagerness to get to Spain because I had never been before. It was fun coming into Spain, I saw the sun come up briefly, then I threatened to kill Tara if she woke me up early ever again. The mountains and countryside of Spain is a hell of a scene. The countryside is coming off a bit of a drought so everything wasn’t as green as I expect but come springtime this place must be amazing to see. We were able to navigate the Madrid subway system with ease once we got into Madrid, but multiple levels of stairs seems to be a reoccurring theme in the metro stations which blows because my only real job is to not get us lost and to lug around the 2 ton luggage we have.

The IKEA Protocol

We found our hostel early and dropped off our crap. We didn’t have much of a plan for Madrid, because it was supposed to be a cheap resting point between Paris and Lisbon. It was almost hard to leave our hotel due to the free Internet and the IKEA nightmare that was our room. It had everything you could want in a room, but I felt like the décor was controlling my brain. I found myself hungry for cupcakes, capitalism and wanting to build something beneficial to our government out of Legos. More importantly I don’t feel as though I can type IKEA in lowercase letters. I just tried several time and can’t do it. The Matrix has me. There is no spoon.

Honey, I Think Someone Stole My Underwear

Several people told us before arriving in Madrid that pick pocketing and muggings are very very common in Spain. On top of all that, you aren’t allowed to aggressively defend your personal property or yourself because if you hurt the bandito than YOU go to jail with him. The horror stories we were told of these thieves left me paranoid before I even left the hostel. Tara on her last visit to Madrid was such victim and had her money and Caleb’s passport stolen. I’m sorry, but if I caught someone trying to steal my shit, I’m going Louie style on his or her asses. Kick to the kneecap, throat and the eyes. Then I probably break some fingers or curb his teeth into his stomach. It’s strange to walk around constantly checking your pockets to make sure you money, itouch, chapstick and cock are still there.

La Policia

There are about 1,000 Policias everywhere. They walk in packs of 3 and they drive around in paddy wagons in packs of 5 or on Vespa Scooters. They don’t seem to fuck around here either. If you’re even breaking a traffic law, they storm out of the car and make life hell for you. Crime pays in Spain, just don’t get caught.

These are My Two Daughters, Sangria and Cerveza

The food here is not bland like I had been told. The meats are salty and scrum diddly umptious whether they’re cold or warm and they all come on salty butter bread. Everything comes with cheese or a spicy sauce. One little item I found most appetizing was a breaded cheese and potato ball with bits of ham in it, which Tara accidentally ordered. I think God made her order them on purpose because he/she knew I’d like them. So it’s official, I finally ate food that was touched by the hand of god. I was singing, “Simply Irresistible,” with every bite. I have a new love, her name is Sangria. Sangria is a jug of red wine, fruit, sugar and some juice. It goes down like Lisa Owen at a frat party and there is no hangover. It is so delicious. The Spanish Cervesas they have here are pretty good to. Desperado is my favorite. Also the Spanish are all about football here. Everywhere you go there is soccer on TV 24-7. I’ve spent the last two days involuntarily smoking 4 packs a day. At breakfast in a bar about half the size of the Banshee, our waitress brought us our food and drinks and then lit up a smoke about 6 feet from us. It was hilarious. They smoke more here than in Vegas. These establishments never seem to close, the disco near our hotel found enough customers to stay open till 5am. I understand why though. On every street corner you can buy Hash and Cocaine.

In Closing

The sights, sounds (even the chorus of cars honking, all day, all night, happy hour isn't happy when all you can hear is the sound of a car, beeping repeatedly in the same position because his honking isn't helping move traffic) and the people of Spain easily out weighed the loudness and the criminal paranoia. We again walked most of the city, taking in the Bull Fighting arena, Retiro Park and a few other sites. I mostly enjoyed the cafes/pubs and friendly beautiful people. I should say that I hope they don’t change the smoking law here. Unlike Ireland who is losing its tradition and France, who are too stubborn to change anything, I think the Spanish still have a feel for who they are, while still including bits of modern culture and thinking. The people again went out of their way to be friendly, helpful and enjoyable. Madrid was supposed to be a quick stop before Portugal, but it left me with a smile, a full belly and a new love, Senorita Sangria.

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