Thursday in Madrid

Whenever I'm settled down in one place for too long I become dull, hollow, and increasingly stir-crazy. Maybe it's the routine nature of being settled that does it to me, but I've always preferred movement over stagnation, traveling over domestication. The sheer uncertainty that traveling brings is like 500,000 volts straight to the heart. And this surge has a tendency to get me into trouble at times, but fortunately, I've always managed to avoid any major negative consequences.

The first real night in Madrid took place nearly a day and a half after we had left the states. We left on Tuesday and had arrived on Wednesday, which was a day spent recovering from jet lag and excessive airborne drinking. Ry, Alec, and I drank a little in the hotel bar as we watched some Spanish league fútbol while eating beer nuts in a fairly mechanized manner. It soon came to our attention that we were paying far too much for beer, so we left in order to explore our surroundings. The day was tame in comparison to Thursday. Nevertheless, the relaxation experienced on Wednesday was necessary: it was preparation for Thursday.

We were up around seven on Thursday morning, boarding a bus that would take us to San Lorenzo de El Escorial, a town in the Spanish countryside. The population is no more than 14,000 people, which isn't surprising as the town has retained much of its antiquity. The Royal Monastery is located in San Lorenzo and was built as an attempt by Phillip II to squash the Protestant Reformation. Apparently, he thought big stone buildings would scare the Protestants into obedience, but that was not the case. And since no EF Tour is complete without a drawn out tour of a church or monastery, I got to see where Phillip slept both in life and in death. So much for that.

After lunch, we left and made our way over to the Valley of the Fallen, a monument to those who fought and died in the Spanish Civil War. It is home to the tallest memorial cross in the world, standing 500-feet-tall and casting a massive shadow over the valley. Ry and I wanted to climb to its base using the stairs of the funicular, which was non-operational at the time, but time (or lack of time) and the magnitude of the task caused us to abandon the idea.

Outside the basilica are a variety of tall rock walls. The inner-child, who has the instinctive urge to climb anything without any regard for how to safely get down, caused me to focus my attention on ascending one of the "smaller" walls-roughly 30-feet. Since I spontaneously started climbing the wall, most of the group thought I was insane, and after getting a little more than halfway up the wall only to realize I climbed myself into trouble, I began to think of myself in a similar way-the only difference was that stupidity was the prevailing character trait. This "coming to" happened at the wrong time as losing the zeal of the inner-child is not something one wants to happen 20-feet above solid ground: solid ground that is scattered with a variety of rocks.

Thankfully, the members of the group at the top of the wall helped me climb out of trouble. After conquering the wall, others also took up the task, as a "safe" route was established.

The next stop was Segovia, which was home to one segment of the Roman aqueduct and the Alcázar, a castle that provides an awe-inspiring view of the Spanish countryside below. I contemplated climbing the aqueduct, but decided against it. Apparently, it's illegal, but it was much higher than the rock wall and there was no clear way down. The group split up for lunch near the Cathedral of Segovia.

Ry, Meagan, Nicole, and Kristen accompanied me to a tiny café located a few blocks away from the main square, which had restaurants that were either too busy or too expensive. I got a crab sandwich and accidentally walked out with a glass as I hadn't finished my drink yet. The waiter came running after me, frantically yelling in Spanish. We shared a laugh over the issue and I returned the borrowed item.

The castle was cool, but I opted out of the tour until the urge to use the bathroom forced my hand. I used my ticket and ended up in the dungeon, which was closed off to the public. I missed the signs as well as the bathroom, but the view from the tiny windows in the dank dungeon made it clear that it was the place to be incarcerated circa 1200 C.E.

Outside the castle, I discussed how great it would be if testicles had the same power that breasts have. Ah yes, I have a dream that one day man can walk down the street, his balls dangling freely in the breeze, as a pack of women shout dirty sexual innuendo at him; that a man could go into a bar, his genitals hanging through a hole in his pants, and have a woman buy him a drink because she found his balls aesthetically pleasing. Yes, that will be the day that true equality of the sexes is realized. Until then, I ask that women not be offended when a man ogles their breasts, but instead, feel proud that a part of one's body, a simple formation of flesh and muscle, is so appreciated. And so much for that.

The ride home was joined by the setting sun, which cast an orange hue over the rolling hills of Segovia. For most of the ride I kept to myself, listening to music, staring out the window, and reading passages from The Rum Diary periodically.

Upon our arrival back at Hotel Cortez, I felt a surge of energy pierce my chest, enter my heart, and then shoot throughout my body. I took a quick shower, got dressed, and then waited for Ry to do the same. Unfortunately, Ry was born with a maladjusted biological clock because his shower seemed to never end. After finishing two chapters, I told him to meet me in the hotel bar when he was ready. Of course, I had to go back to the room to get him, but by this time Alec, who got in the shower after Ry, was with me. Apparently, he knew where to find me, but more importantly he managed to shower and get dressed before Ry, who was shirtless and barefoot when I returned to the room.

"Ry, Jesus Christ man. You're like an old lady," I said.

"Chill out. No rush, we have plenty of time," he replied.

And that was actually false; there was nothing true about it. We had limited time in Madrid. In fact, it was roughly 7 p.m. on Thursday. Our last night would be Saturday as Sunday was the day we would be departing. Time was not something we had plenty of. And rather than trying to rush Ry, I went around to various group members to see if they were down for bar hopping after dinner. Roman had a few night clubs he wanted to check out, Chris and Laura wanted to find the bar Hemingway frequented, and everyone else seemed to be down for whatever.

We set out towards Plaza Mayor around 8 p.m., eating a quick meal at a restaurant that had an interior similar to a cave. I ordered rabbit and was served a plate with the entire rabbit on it, fur removed, organs in tact, and lying in a position that made it appear that the rabbit was resting in what appeared to be a watery tomato sauce. It didn't taste bad-think chicken, but less meat-and I'm pretty sure that I ate rabbit brains, which is cool, I guess.

After dinner, we failed miserably at finding Hemingway's old stomping ground; the goal was to get drunk where Hemingway got drunk. Back in Paris, Chris, Laura, and I had no trouble locating Café de Flore-Hemingway's favorite Parisian café-but Madrid was trickier. The place we assumed was the bar Hemingway haunted while in Spain was holding a flamenco dancing competition and the bouncer didn't allow us access. So much for that.

Instead, we stumbled upon an Irish pub, which seemed odd, but as we would come to learn, Madrid is a fan of Irish pubs; or Irish pubs are a fan of Madrid. Either way, the bar was pretty much ours as we were the only ones drinking there with the exception of a tiny, Don Rickles-esque man and two hefty German women sitting in the corner giggling mirthfully.

After the girls of the group made us guys, who were drinking and chatting peacefully, take a bunch of photos, we left for one of the clubs on Roman's list. At this point the group became fragmented. Chris and Laura went back to the hotel as Laura was pregnant and unable to consume alcohol. Additionally, being in the presence of loud, thumping music might shake the fetus dangerously. And Chris went because that's what good husbands do. Meagan and Jessica also returned to the hotel as Meagan wasn't feeling well and Jessica was new to drinking and consequently, couldn't walk, talk, or see straight.

The cover at the club was fifteen euros, which included a free drink. However, the glasses were tiny, and for good reason. The goal was to get you to spend a lot of money on booze, but receive only a little alcohol in return. I got around this business strategy by flirting with the bartender who thankfully spoke just enough English. She would fill my glass to the top with gin and give me a bottle of tonic water on the side. It was still eleven euros for a glass the size of a Red Bull can, and I spent around thirty euros biding my time as the club slowly filled up.

Rebecca, who was in a sour mood, decided to leave early, dragging Roman and Kevin with her. This was good as I was talking with her when she made the decision to leave, and since she doesn't drink, she gave me her free drink receipt. Awesome! At this point it was nearing 2:30 a.m.-the time when the fun begins in Spain. The remaining group members-Kat, Kristen, Nicole, Ry, Alec, and myself-ventured down to the dance floor on the first level. I cashed in my drink ticket for another gin and tonic, but flirtation would be of no use on the male bartender who gave me a glass half-filled with gin.

Drunk and optimistic, I tried my hand at seducing many of the gorgeous Spanish women around me. However, my Spanish could only take me so far, and when I uttered the question, "Habla ingles?" the response would often be, "No." Luckily, I bumped into a cute girl from Texas named Danielle. Finding another American-especially a good looking one of the opposite sex-in another country is a great feeling. She seemed as enthused as I was and we struck up a conversation.

"So where you from?" she asked in a charming southern accent.

"New Jersey, I'm here on vacation," I said. "What brings you to Madrid?"

"Aw I'm studying abroad this semester," she turned and pulled a girl towards us, "This is my roommate Jenny. This is Joe, he's from New Jersey!"

Jenny also seemed excited to see another American. We exchanged standard salutary expressions and relocated to the couches to continue the conversation.

"These Spanish guys are so friggin' persistent," said Jenny.

"Oh my god, I know!" replied Danielle. "They must think we are like total sluts or something."

Another girl who was part of their group chimed in, "Remember the meeting we had before leaving? They specifically warned us that Spanish men think American girls are overly promiscuous."

While this chat was taking place, a pack of greasy-haired Spaniards were crouched in front of the couches, eying the girls with perverse thoughts bouncing around inside their heads.

"Quick, kiss me," said Jenny. And since I'm not one to argue, I obeyed her wishes. After a few seconds we stopped and she explained her reasoning, "I thought they would leave if they saw us kiss."

Instead, they high-fived me, muttering something in broken English, still smiling like goons. Fortunately for me, Jenny and Danielle still thought it was a viable approach to ridding themselves of the horny menaces perched in front of us. So for the next few minutes I made out with cute Texan girls while they hoped the little creatures in heat would scurry away, which they eventually did. At that point, the dancing bug burrowed its way into Danielle's brain and she led me out to the dance floor. Typically, that is the last place I would want to be, but the entire day was lived by instinct and I wasn't about to mess with the formula. Besides, it was more vertical dry humping than dancing-simple.

I ran into Ry in the midst of flashing lights and overwhelming house music. He was grinding ferociously on Kristen, switching off every so often to do the same to Kat. Danielle said something in my ear after a few a minutes and removed herself from the dance floor. I felt utterly lost at that moment, standing still and confused in the middle of a horde of people jean jammin' to music. Rather than making that awkward shuffle to the side, I joined Kristen and continued where I left off. At one point, I felt her knee accidentally graze my nuts, but I persevered and kept going, eventually taking a break to return to the couch to see how the Texan girls were doing.

I didn't know where the spontaneous kissing and dry humping would lead, but I felt it was going somewhere. That was until Alec appeared in front of me, a bit disheveled and concerned.

"Joe...Joe, Nicole just went off with some random guy," he said.

"What? How drunk was she?"

"I don't know. She's tiny, so probably pretty drunk since she was keeping up with us."

"Well, was it a Spanish guy?" I asked thinking it was relevant at the time. After all, Spanish men are the human equilvalent to the Bonobo chimp-at least that's what my earlier experience led me to believe.

"No, it was an American," he replied.

"Oh, that's not that bad," I said. "Are you sure she left?"

"Not really, but I can't find her and I saw her with him last."

I excused myself from Jenny and Danielle and proceeded to the bathroom where I pissed, continuing on with Alec.

"I'm sure she's around," I said, "We'll look for her in a bit."

And we did look for her. We also didn't find her. Worst off all, Jenny and Danielle were gone when I returned to the couch. So much for that.

The walk back from the club was strange. Kat was starting to show early signs of the flu, which she had recently gotten over. What she didn't know at the time was that it would come back to ruin her trip by keeping her in bed with cold sweats and a fever. Additionally, it felt like I had a hernia. The nut graze that occurred roughly an hour before finally crept up on me, causing a vicious lower abdominal pain.

Conversation was friendly, but brief. I was bummed that I had lost the Texan girls, but I was also worried for Nicole. Now that sounds nice and sweet, but I didn't exactly get into why I was worried, which will certainly give that statement new meaning. Since I was good pals with Chris, I was worried as he was the one responsible for our safe return home. Granted, we were all adults and capable of making our own decisions, but if Nicole were to turn up dead in some alley or to not turn up at all, Chris would have been in a pretty shitty situation.

Nonetheless, I wasn't too concerned as she left with an American and we all know how American men are not the sexual predators that Spanish men are. Again, this is the logic of a drunk and since I was drunk at the time it is justifiable-in hindsight, not so much. Still bummed by the turn the night had taken, I decided I would not concede just yet. No, some form of victory was necessary in order to be able to turn in for the night.

I was so close to ending the night with two fine Texan girls, but instead I was left with a menacing pain in my stomach due to taking a subtle knee to the genitals.

At that moment, when my brooding had peaked, I noticed two sketchy Kenyans right near Plaza Mayor, roughly a block from our hotel. Desperate for success, I approached one and asked if he could help us find some hash.

"Hash?" he said in a thick African accent.

"Yea, habla ingles?"

"Ya, ya, how much you want?"

"Do you have it on you?"

His pal kept walking as we continued to speak in questions.

"No, I have to go down there to get it. You want to come?" he said.

When he pointed to where there was, I had a sudden flashback to our tour guide specifically warning us of there. He told us that it was a "bad area" and that under no circumstances should we go down there. These circumstances were different, though: Spanish hash was involved. Besides, Ry and Alec were with me and we definitely could have roughed the guy up; I mean he was real lanky, nearly a walking skeleton coated in dark brown skin. Even if he had a gun he wouldn't be able to shoot all of us before we disarmed him-and the same goes for a knife.

Nevertheless, we were skeptical. Here is this guy who I originally pegged as sketchy, followed by me, a silly drunk American, approaching him and inquiring as to whether he could assist in the acquisition of hashish. Then he wanted us to come with him...to there.

"Sure," I replied to the surprise of both Ry and Alec. We kept the man in front of us, staying behind just in case he needed to be dealt with, or in case we had to run-I wasn't sure if it would be fight or flight, and no one ever knows until the time comes.

The man kept turning around, smiling, and saying, "What's wrong? Come on. I'm not going to screw you."

Indeed. The scene continued to get sketchier, but we continued to follow. We finally crossed the line that separated there and safety.We were now there, but not too far in that we couldn't get out quickly.

"Wait here," said the man as he turned and disappeared down an alley.

"This is a terrible idea," said Alec.

"I know," replied Ry, "He's probably going to get a bunch of his friends to come rob us."

"Yea this isn't exactly the brightest thing to do. Especially after being warned of this area," I said, "but look at it this way, if we live to tell about it, it will be worth it." As a writer, this statement makes sense, but I can't speak for Ry and Alec. All I can say is that they stayed with me so they must've found some truth in it, even if it was the alcohol doing the reasoning.

For ten minutes we continued on with quasi-regrets, standing just near a tiny playground that was on the border of there and salvation. The man emerged, alone, and moving with a jubilant stride.

"This park," he said, "no good. Cops sometimes come here, come." He began moving towards the alley.

"Na man, we're good here," said Alec.

"If anything, come up this way with us; towards our hotel," I added.

The Kenyan was hesitant and reluctant. His plan to swindle us was falling apart, but he was desperate and I soon realized why. The jacket he was wearing had a piece of fabric hanging off, as if he had narrowly avoided catching a blade to the torso. The fact that it hadn't been fixed or replaced with another jacket made it clear that he needed money. Not to mention, there is what us Americans call the ghetto, the hood, the slums, an area of extreme poverty, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. There was where his friend continued towards when he stopped to "help" us, and while I knew this, something strange-maybe idiotic-kept me and consequently, Ry and Alec, involved with the bastard.

After a couple of minutes of insisting that he come with us and not the other way around, he finally budged. His mood had changed. He was more agitated and jittery; his previously understandable English had been overrun by his accent. We got him up to a well-lit area, close to our hotel and a main road. He pulled out a ball of tinfoil and asked for twenty euros.

"Could you show us it first?" I asked.

"No worries, I no screw you."

"I'm not saying you are trying to, I just want to see what I'm buying first."

"You listen. It's good. If you don't like, I give you another."

I flashed him a congenial smile, "Come on. This isn't my first time buying drugs. Just open it real quick. Show me it's what you say it is. I'll hand you the money, you hand me the stuff, and then we can get on with our lives."

He returned the smile and changed his approach as he realized I wasn't just another tourist rube, "Hey, if you don't want I can find someone else. No problem."

Ry was tired of the nearly thirty minute long ordeal and crossed the street, narrowly avoiding getting clipped by a cab that was pulling up to the main entrance of our hotel.

By now, I had one hand in my pocket, holding the room key in such a way that would make it a suitable weapon if the supposed drug dealer did something rash. Based on his demeanor, I was starting to visualize how I would manage to disable the man with a swift key jab to the eye or throat. He was mumbling in broken English, his only properly enunciated word being "cops", as he kept sticking the ball of tinfoil in his mouth and then pulling it back again. His eyes kept looking nervously up and down the street.

We finally gave up and told the man to find someone else since he refused to open the wad of tinfoil, which was probably nothing more than that. So much for that.

As we crossed the street to the hotel, we noticed it was Nicole who had arrived in the taxi. She was standing next to a blonde American who was looking hastily through his pockets.

"Fuck! I think I left it in the cab," he muttered.

"Your wallet?" asked Nicole

"Yea. Fuck, this isn't good. My hotel room key is in it."

Alec, Ry, and I simply stood there awkwardly before saying anything to him. "That's not good," said Alec.

"No, it's not. Oh well, at least I know how to get back to my place. The guy at the desk knows me. I'll be fine," he said, gently hugging Nicole before turning around and walking towards Plaza Mayor.

"We were worried you left with some shady Spanish guy," I said.

"Ah na, I'm not crazy," she exclaimed, "That guy was from where I grew up in New York. It was really weird running into someone from that area."

"Small world," said Ry.

"So what were you guys doing over there with that black guy?" she asked.

"Oh. We were trying to buy hash, but I'm pretty sure he was trying to rob us," I said.

"Well, that's nice..."

"Yup," I replied, nodding and then moving towards the lobby entrance.

Ry, Alec, and Nicole took the elevator to the fifth floor, but I decided it was best to sprint up the staircase instead. I was breathing heavily with my hands on my hips when I arrived. Alec and Ry were waiting for me outside the room since I had the key. It was 5 a.m. and we were all starving. In the spirit of the night, we all agreed that it would only be proper to search for a place to eat.

Our goal was to check out Puerta del Sol, where we assumed some place would be open as Plaza Mayor was dead. On our way over we ran into two female Finlanders and two Spanish guys. The Spaniards were wasted, smiling, rambling incoherently, and constantly wanting to high-five. I entertained them by slapping hands every time something piqued their interest enough to throw their five digits up. Apparently, Spanish people really like high-fiving. Or maybe they think Americans really enjoy doing it and were simply being courteous. Nevertheless, the two Finlanders spoke perfect English, but they didn't know any places to eat as they were also visiting. The Spaniards only spoke drunk, which was of no use to us. We exchanged pleasantries and goodbyes, continuing our search for food. A new group of foreigners crossed our path en route, but it was this trio that would lead us to salvation.

A Polish girl, a Frenchmen, and a British girl might sound like the beginning of a bad joke, but it was them who took us to the Chocolateria, which served churros, chocolate, and beer-a magnificent combination.

After a pleasant hour and one photo later, we bid the three friendly Europeans farewell.

It had been Friday for seven hours when we finally returned to our hotel room. The phone was ringing as we entered. Our wake up call had arrived. So much for that.