Mojitos, Margaritas and Meringue (dance)

Even though the ship has already docked in Morocco, I have tales to tell from Spain. Before my pre-arranged trip with Semester at Sea (SAS --> remember that, if you chose to remember anything from my informative blogs) my friends Brian and Emillio (who coincidentally also go to Stanford, but no we didn’t really know each other before SAS though we had heard of each other, but weren’t really friends, and no we didn’t just group together because we go to the same school, we all just happen to be legit people who get along…can you see how many times I’ve had this conversation? Haha). Now you are so lost, and that wasn’t a full sentence, but there were so many details in parenthesis that I’m starting over. My friends Brian and Emillio and I planned a trip to Madrid for the first 2 days and one night. We took a very expensive bullet train to Madrid and explored the down town square after dropping our things off at the Hostel. It was the first Hostel I had ever been to, and lived up to my expectations, creepy old, metal, rickety elevator to boot. But it was safe, thanks to Brian’s mom for doing so much research for us (taking note mom :-P hehe). Anyway, we’re walking around and we get to a supermarket and they had some sample foods like at Costco, but since this is SPAIN and not dumb ol’ America, their samples were Mojitos! Of course us eager Americans line right up and get some of the first ones. They were really good! And I’m not a minty alcohol fan. So we walk out of the store (which was huge by the way) and start walking down the main street again back to our Hostel for some food then a Ciesta (nap time!!). Well we are all still holding our cups full of ice and some street performer is made up to look like a hair monster and he’s under a table with his head popping up through a hole. Two fake heads lay on either side of him. Now, I see what’s going on. He’s going to pretend to be a fake head then jump out at us! Thanks to my keen sense of observation, I also saw the whole crowd part way for the three Americans with their little cups pass unsuspectingly. I try to get Brian’s attention and save him from humiliation, but it was too late. Not only did the center head move and roar at us, one of the head I was sure was not going to move was attached to a stick and also jumped out at us. I stayed calm and controlled (of course) but Brian, my goodness. Brian yelped and jumped about 10 feet sideways away from the sound of danger all the while spraying ice and some Mojito out EVERYWHERE. It would not surprise me if he reacted in the same way had his leg also been blasted off.

So that was the start of Madrid.

After our meal of Tapas (little sandwiches with random stuff in it, anchovies, cured ham, Spanish potatoe tortilla, etc) and after our Ciesta, it was time to go out and see Spanish night life. We made our way to the famous younger’s club Club Capital (say “club” as “cloob” and “capital” as “capeetal” where the “a’s” sound like the “o” in “cop” and then you’ll get the right Spanish affect). But the lame boys I was with were denied entrance because they were in flip flops and tennis shoes. Tisk tisk. Time for plan B. Ask the locals where else we could go. Everyone was super friendly, and finally we stumbled across this group of men and women in their forties. The women were being pansies and wanted to go home, but these two men (who we have since conclude to be gay partners) were still ready for a hoppin’ night. So they brought us to a little local Salsa dancing club/bar. Unfortunately, us American’s have only been taught to “freak dance” or grind up and down on each other. Luckily, the two Spanish men were Salsa instructors! So we learned how to Salsa and dance to Meringue music and had an absolute blast. Upon crawling into bed, with insane blisters, around 4am, we were dead asleep. In the morning, or afternoon we had some Paetas (weird, gross mix of seafood) and I had some bread, we went to see the Museo Internacional de Prado and La Palacio (where the King lives…sometimes!) and felt like good American tourists. Then I left the two boys and made my way back to Cadiz via train so that I could make my SAS trip the next morning. Take that Holly and Madre, bought my ticket and made a train change all by myself. And in SPANISH. I couldn’t believe how easily I got along with three years of high school Spanish. I have a newfound faith: after Spain I pray to the God’s of Myndi’s memory.