It´s that time once again ladies and gents! Forget about work and school and enjoy yet another chapter in the always exciting, occasionally legible and rarely motivating “Oh Snap!” chronicles.
Broadcasting today from (not-so) sunny Madrid, your author finds himself in a internet cafe flanked by Molly to the left, and a (presumably) Spanish gentleman to my right. Currently, she to the left “makes war” as she e-argues with our booking website about a undue hostel fee. He to right, on the other end, “makes love” as he cruises extremely explicit gay personal ads and sends them each message. What he writes, only he and He truly know, but wow, it´s quite interesting and pretty horrific sitting so close to someone rabidly and feverishly clicking picture after picture of the male organ. Have a creeped out shudder for me.
So, France was a hoot. Last I left you, I was waxing semi-poetically about Paris. Perhaps you remember this particular haiku:
You reap what you sow
I think rude Americans
Think the French are rude
That was then, this is now. Sure as they are to enjoy 900 some-odd varietes of cheese, the French didn´t let me down in living up to the rude stereotype. Ironically enough, it happened more OUTSIDE of Paris. I know, I know, but I swear it´s true. Not over the top, crazy, “American pig” rudeness, but just enough little glares and upturned noses to make me feel so very, very sad and so very, very empty. Now mind you, this was certainly not all French, nor was it all the time…..but simply enough to see what people mean when they say the French are *just a bit* rude to ye ol Americanskis. That said, some of the best folks we´ve met yet on this trip were in France! Though I was surprised when a Frenchman told me about a DUI he recieved in San Jose a year ago within two minutes of meeting him.
So saddened by a few rude glares, I began preparations to jump into moving traffic when Molly reminded me that we were on our way to Spain! Ah, no need to end it all when the Spanish would light my fire! And boy have they! First of all, it helps…..quite a bit……a lot…….entirely….to speak the language. Even if the Spanish accent sounds like gay men with newspaper in their mouths, moving beyond just knowing “please” and “thank you” is great. (Edit: That line was, of course, complete hyperbole. All accents are different and beautiful in their own way, and even I, the eternal hater am beginning to get used to the “th”rupy “th”weet sound of Spanish Spanish. Mal chiste.) Still, a feeling that “holy shit, my Spanish has gone to complete hell” lingers as I struggle to construct sentences with verb tenses and so forth. Like I said though, it´s way better to move beyond the basics.
Okay, we have eight minutes to go hear on the ye´old internet time, and while I´d love to regale you with more tales of our wanderings, I will just leave you with this description of our current hostel room. Enjoy and let it never be thought that cheap travel comes cheap…
As you enter the building, you are greeted by a large elevator. Shame it isn´t for the hotel, but for the other offices that share the building. Ascending six long flights of stairs, you come to the room. The balsa-wood light door flies open and the smell of week old cigarettes with twist of mold greets your nose. Two twin beds, covered in dog-poop brown covers that look like they have been on the beds since the 1920s lay in front of you, beyond that, a ten inch television with a single bunny ear sticking out. Natural light is limited to a small window at the far end of the room and the bathroom features a “no-warm water” bathtub and a toilet that barely flushes and is deafening as it “refills” the tank after a weak flush. The lights go out at random for 5 minute intervals at least three times an hour. The bed slats routinely fall out of the bed when you lay, and the walls are thin enough to make out full conversations of both bordering rooms AND the hallway. Still, it´s not nearly as bad as our Edinburgh digs. Dark, stinky, sad, dingy and not at all relaxing, yes…..but as bad as Edinburgh….never.
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wow, hostels dont sound too lovely. I guess you get what you pay for. What a way to experience the world though. Wouldnt you almost rather see that side of Europe than the lush hotels, and posh things you could find anywhere. I dont know. Either way, I am really enjoying your blog. The wit, and humor is top notch. I cant think of a better way to record your trip. All that needs to go with it is some tasty photos, and there you have it.
funny how our fair city has a taste of everything, I cant help but feel like the minority most of the time. I wonder where else in the world you would find such a scenario?
Until next time…
mIKe
So, Spaniards sound like gay men with newspaper in their mouths, eh? Hmph! Just because they use the “th” sound and you’re not used to it in Spanish. But do you think American and English people sound gay when saying the “th” sound? Or Greek men saying the “th” sound?
As for the newspaper sound – is that because they slur their s’s into sh’s? I don’t know…My grandfather spoke with a true Madrileno accent, and I just loved it, and I loved him.
What do you hear about the new Spanish movements against bullfighting?
All my animal rights activist magazines talk about how many people in Spain are against it now. I’m so glad they are trying to stop it. But it’s like the Brits and their damned fox hunting. These old traditions die hard.
Alicia
what a gripping description of a bad hotel room. i feel like i’ve been there, done that, only i was paying top dollar and it was in kensington. for my money (and that was exactly what they took) the worst rooms ever are “charming,cozy” rooms in London. enjoying the blog a lot.