My Geriatric Spanish Adventure

I’ve written and rewritten about my experience in Spain three times already in a desperate attempt to make myself sound culturally sensitive. But then I realized that this is my perspective on things. I don't need to make Spain feel good about hosting me. No need to sugar coat my less than desirable experience.

So “how could I not like Spain,” you must be asking. Well, quite simply, Spain makes me feel like a senior citizen.

Let me explain:

1) Spaniards party hard…and late. I’ve never been one to like staying up late anyways (I think my college roommates can vouch for that). Which is why everyone was so surprised when my ill-informed self committed to go out to a club our first night in Spain. I should have guessed that this would be a late night when the pre-gaming started around midnight. We didn’t even get to the bar until 2am and the club until 4:30am. By the time I got back to my hostel, it was nearly 7am. Spain makes me feel elderly, because while the lively “youngins” are out until 7am, I was tucked into my bed every night at midnight or 1am.

2) Spaniards take naps (or sorry, they "siesta"). And when in Rome, right? I'm not saying I didn't take naps in college. But those naps were because i pulled an all nighter to finish a paper. These "siesta" naps are just to get through an average day. Emily and I integrated ourselves right quick into this siesta business. And just like that old adage about black girls, “once you nap, you never go back?” Ever since, I’ve been napping just to get through the day.

3) Spaniards eat late. And Steve Dry does not. So whereas most of the people in Spain are eating dinner around 10pm, I'm ready at 6pm. I'm getting weird looks from the waiters at the restaurants. Even the old, short, purple haired Spanish women were looking at me weird. I kept wishing that Spain would adopt the [name that family restaurant] senior citizen deal, where you get some tuna melt or fish sandwich for half price before 4pm. I always wondered who capitalized on the deal. And now I know, it’s me. It turns out my father was right: I actually am a 60 year old man.

4) Spain had me coughing like an elderly chain smoker for at least two weeks. Why you ask? Apparently they disagree with the rest of the world and all of science which "suggests" that smoking kills. Nah, they're too good for that. They don’t have a surgeon general’s warning on their cigarette packets and smoking is permitted inside all indoor establishments. This killed me (figuratively…and at least a little bit literally). I think if there hadn’t been smoking EVERYWHERE, I could have dealt with my other issues. But Spain went to far there.

Of course, I did tons of great things in Spain. But let’s be honest, I’m a far better complainer than anything else. I’ll let the pictures speak for themselves on the rest of my geriatric Spanish adventure.

MTV European Music Awards Concert

Dominatrix lead singer with a...is that a chainsaw in her hand?

Confirmed: she is a middle aged, chainsaw carrying dominatrix. (but not a drag queen...i checked)

La Guernica: The only part of Madrid I actually recognized

Damn tourists gettin' in my picture.

One of four supposed resting places of Christopher Columbus' body

Plaza del Toros: Gonna go kill me some dinner.

After they zambonied the shit out of the plaza de toros.

strip club? no, flamenco dancing.

Tio Pepe: Sherry Tasting.

I consider this a traffic hazard...wouldn't a giant naked man distract you around a round-about?

Pueblos Blancos

We're sending this pic into the 1001 ways to tie a scarf website.

This was right before we realized we were lost and had 20 minutes to get back to the bus station.

Losing my (Ryanair) Virginity

After four days in London, I headed to Madrid with Surabhi and Emily. Unlike my trip to London, we didn’t spend as much time waiting in the Gatwick airport. This was mainly because we got like 4 hours of sleep the night before (too much celebrating for Guy Hawkes Day) and slept in a little longer than usual. And even by the time we arrived at the airport, I was not awake enough to truly appreciate the experience of losing my Ryanair virginity…dun, dun dun.

Still a Ryanair virgin...moments before penetration.

After we realized we could buy scratch tickets...or was it the smokeless cigarettes?

For those of you who have not had the pleasure of riding Ryanair, let me give you a little taste of the experience. Ryanair is a little like staying up late and watching those infomercials. First, Ryanair flights never leave after 9am in the morning of before 10pm in the evening. And since they fly out of the most obscure airports in the region, it takes you hours to get to your airport. As a result, you’re tired the entire trip (just like when you are watching those infomercials).

Second, the entire flight is huge three ring circus of advertisement. One woman is always responsible for selling the smokeless cigarettes (which come in flavors like strawberry, mint, and menthol, in case you were wondering). Another woman tries to sell you any sort of fragrance or style of watch known to man. And let’s not forget the woman who walks up and down the aisles with a fan of lottery tickets (only £2, what a steal!).

Third, Ryanair primarily employs eastern European women whose make-up resembles that of a prostitute. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind Eastern Europeans or prostitutes, but its hard for me to put confidence in a flight crew that looks like they’re better prepared to service you in the bathroom than in your seat (and I don’t doubt, if Ryanair could find a legal loophole, that the flight attendants would happily escort you to the mile high club for an additional charge). I could go on and on about Ryanair, but I’ll save that for another day.

Tuckered out after the experience that was Ryanair.