Last night, we hopped on a plane to Madrid around 6pm, and arrived about two and a half hours later. We jumped ahead an hour, so it was about 10pm when we got on the metro out of the airport. Right away we knew that Madrid was sweet. The topography is wonderful, the architecture is like nothing I´ve seen, and there are so many cool shops and eateries around the city. It´s also my first experience being in a place where we don´t speak the language, so it´s a cool shift from Dublin where everyone speaks English anyway. Luckily, we have Riley who can speak some damn good Spanish, and has been our crutch all the way so far.
We found a hostel around 11:30 or so, and then we decided to head out... it was our first night, so we couldn´t go to bed early of course! First we found some cheap eats and ate outside in a little town square area, and then headed to a bar for some sangria. Afterwards, we flirted with the idea of going to bed since today is San Isidro, and there would be fesitvals going all night, but on our way back, we ran into a few girls who were celebrating their birthday. They convinced us, along with the help of a very persuasive bar promoter, to come with them into this night club that was open until 4am. Well, they taught us to dance! It was so much fun learning all of these specific moves to specific songs; they were there just to have fun, and so were we. It was the best night of this trip so far easily.
We didn´t end up leaving until about 4am, and they were headed out to another club that was open until 7am, but we thought we should get some sleep since we didn´t want to miss out on the San Isidro fun. So we got some contact info, and we might actually meet up with them again today, which would be sweet.
Today, after a cheap breakfast, we walked around and gawked at some beautiful scenery. I wish I could put pictures up because this city is the most beautiful one I have ever seen. Now, we´re looking for a way to get a Eurorail pass for Mike, and then we´ll head to some of the hot spots where the San Isidro parties are happening. Who knows what´s in store for us in crazy Madrid!
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oh man, Stefan. You American boys are certainly a hit everywhere you go! I'm glad you can handle this crazy sleep schedule. I can't wait to see your pictures. This sounds AMAZING!!!
ReplyDeletethis is Dana :)
ReplyDeleteCongrats, Grasshopper, here's your schedule -
ReplyDeleteYour based in Kevin's room and are teaching Precalc 1st period, Algebra 2 3rd and 4th, and Plane Geo 8th and 9th.
Hope I didn't kill your Madrid buzz with talk of work :)
btw - savor this time - traveling with friends, experiencing life, knowing you are coming back to a great job in a great place with great people, especially in today's economy. You're blessed, my friend. The kids are happy for you, incidentally.
I met her in an internet café in Barcelona. It was late, and there was no one left in the Café except the owner and the mooch. The mooch was talking a blue streak to the bored owner ( his caffeine level could have broken even the best stimulus meter) in a way that was too obvious that he was trying to chum him up just so he could get some free internet minutes.
ReplyDeleteWe, my college buddies and I, had just come over from the States a few days ago and our Energy level had started to wane. Too many late nights, too many drinks, not enough sleep and leap frogging across time zones began to catch up to us. No one wanted to venture out to explore, it was warm and the humidity hung like an old wash rag. Better to hang at the youth hostel with the other odd travelers and catch some needed zzzzzz’s.
I was too tired to sleep so early and not awake enough to want to keep up an intelligent conversation, so I went out to get some alone time. I just walked and walked, looking at my toes creeping out from my torn Crocs. I had no idea where I traversed to in my sleepy state, but the blinking neon sign of Mustafa’s Internet Café startled me into awareness.
It had been days since we left family and friends behind so I thought I’d email a few to let them know that I was still alive and that it was safe where we were - so no need to worry – Mom.
Mustafa, if that was his name behind the counter, looked like a Mustafa to me; round face, bulbous lips, half closed eyes with a thick black beard that seemed to cover not only his pocked face, but grew up around his head leaving a bald Monk’s spot. I tried to ask him in my poor Spanish what the price was to use the internet and all he did was look at me with his sleepy eyes and hold up 3 fingers and point. I followed his direction and saw the sign that read 3 pesetas por quince minutos. I gave him the money and he pointed to a machine I could use. Thankfully it was in the back, well away from the smoke of his cigarette that dangled from his hefty lips.
The café was dark and I stumbled over a chair as I walked over to my station. I got on the internet and accessed my email, though it took much longer to get it working than at home. I checked my messages first to find the usual junk mail, plus numerous solicitations for political, environmental, animal, religious causes. A few friends poked me to see how I was doing and then I found I found the note from my lovely younger sister, Lucy. Lucy had a way of bringing me joy just by thinking of her. She is a free spirit and the rooms expands with love when she enters in it. When I see her I always think of “Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds” and “When You Are Going To San Francisco, Be Sure To Wear Flowers In Your Hair”. I swear her feet never touch the ground when she walks. She is truly an Angel and I feel blessed that she is not only my sister, but that she also adores me and looks up to her big brother.
Her note to me was full of the excitement she felt for me on my first trip abroad. She confessed that she was a bit jealous that she couldn’t come along and even shared with me a thought she wanted to write in my passport, in big bold letters, “I’m coming with you!” What a sweetheart. I would have loved for her to come with me if it were only the two of us.
I sent the obligatory message to my folks that all is well and it’s safer here than at home, so not to worry. I sat back thinking who else I should write to
When I noticed that there was only one other computer screen lit other than mine. It was at the Tee at the end of my row and I couldn’t see who was there unless I pushed my chair back. So, I pushed my chair back slowly and saw a young woman staring at her screen. She didn’t move. She just kept staring. As I watched her, I noticed tears edging down her cheeks. No cries, no movements, just tears rolling down a statue’s face.
I don’t know how long I watched her, but I know I was well timed out of my session. At first I felt like an intruder watching her cry, but the longer I spent with her, the more I felt closer to her. As if we both shared a secret.
I was stuck between getting up and leaving quietly or going over to her and putting a hand on her shoulder to let her know that she was not alone. I didn’t know the right thing to do. Then I thought of Lucy. She would go up to comfort her, and so would I.
Do you speak English? Sprechen Sie Deutch? Habla Espanol? Parle Vous Francais? I was beginning to run out of languages here. I was trying to think of another language when she whispered through her tears, I’m an American.
Oh, I said to my self, that makes it a bit easier for me as I only speak English and if she answered me in any other language I would have been flustered to answer her back.
I tried to say something comforting when she whispered: my Dad just died.
For the second time.
I was having a hard time wrapping my thoughts around that one when she said that her father had died in Vietnam saving a little girl’s life. It seems that his squad just torched a hut without checking to see if there was anyone inside. As the flames burst up, a little girl, his daughter’s age, and on fire, burst out screaming for help from her father. My dad didn’t speak a word of Vietnamese, but he knew the cries of a daughter for her father. He rushed to pick her up, smother her flames and sooth her cries. It was while she was calming down, crying on his strong shoulders, that a shot rang out, hitting my father right between his eyes and took him away from me. Why do men kill each other? Why do they take fathers away from their daughters? Why the maddess?
She said she had just read a note from her mother, that her older brother just died in Afghanistan trying to save a little girl’s life. The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree. Her father died a second time, and so did she.
Mustafa yelled something to us. She said it was closing time. Would I walk her home please. She said it was hard to be alone right now. We walked for a while, heaven knows where – now I was completely lost. She told me that she was an art history student studying early Christian art here in Barcelona. She lived with a Spanish boyfriend – well, not quite Spanish she said, he was really a gypsy.
When we got to her place she asked me to come up for some tea. She said she still couldn’t stand to be alone and could I stay until she fell asleep. I asked if her boyfriend wouldn’t mind but she said that this was his night out with the boys chasing girls –Americans most likely – and he wouldn’t be home until, dawn. She made tea, I sat on the couch and looked at some Spanish art history books until she joined me with our tea. We talked, actually she did most of the talking, winding down getting ready to sleep. I tried to keep my eyes open, as the tea and the soft sofa tried to pull me into slumberland.
I swear I only closed my eyes once, but when I opened them again, I saw a sharp steel object pointing at my right eye.
“I’m going to fuckin’ kill you for touching my girlfriend!” the drooling, spitting face behind the knife shouted at me. - If this was a vivid dream, I want to stop dreaming altogether! - “I’m going to cut you up like a pig” and other words in Spanish (which I was probably lucky not to understand) were thrust at me while he was holding me by the collar and shaking me. I can only imagine what would have happened if his rhythm would have been off between his right and left hand. Thank God Latinos are born with good rhythm.
I noticed that his withholding of his knife hand was not of his own doing. My friend was holding his arm back at the crack of the elbow pleading for my life. Now was the time that I hoped she took up wrestling in school. I didn’t know how long this duel or I would last. He finally eased up a bit when she told him that I did not touch her but only walked her home because it was late and she was afraid of being attacked by a band of wild gypsies. That, seemed to make sense to him.
Still holding me by the collar while I was slouching on the couch, he pulled out my passport from my shirt pocket and gave it to her. He told her to write down my full name and passport number down so he could find me again if he wanted.
Then he picked me up, turned me around and shoved me to the door. He had his girlfriend open the door while he shoved me out, crashing to the floor. I got up quickly without looking around and bounded down the 3 flights of stairs out to the street. I had no idea where the hell I was but I kept on running so I wouldn’t give Quasimodo time to change his mind. Dawn was beginning to break and I found a street peddler getting his cart ready to push on for the day. I asked him in my best broken Spanish, A donde…,
Where a square was that was near my hostel. I got the directions, I think, not by his words but by his hand signals.
I started off feeling a little bit calmer that I might live for another day, when I freaked out realizing that I did not have my passport, and I was not going back there to get it. I put my hand in my back pocket to see if my wallet was still there. I was ecstatically relieved to find that my passport was there also. My friend must have put it there when she opened the door for him to through me out. I’m glad she was thinking. I opened the passport to see if my visas were all in tact, when I saw what she had written in those hurried moments before my departure – from their apartment or this earth:
MEET ME AT THE CAFÉ IN AN HOUR. I’M COMING WITH YOU!!!
where are those dudes?
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