We met some girls from Fairfield county who knew Leigh and Lauren (my mom’s best friend from high school’s daughters who also reside in Fairfield county) and they also knew some of Emilie’s friends since they were all from the Conn.
The Fairfield Ladies were dressed as smurfs.
We went out with the oregoonies briefly with their slutty canadiennes and Australians this time around (who were in truly slutty costumes. I think they were dressed as sluts? Nurses? I was like, yeah, not gonna dress up like a slut on a street where I had, a couple nights before, seen actual prostitutes). We tried to get silent brazilian Barbara to wear Halloween sunglasses, but the concept of Halloween was lost on her. She looked like Viola from the incredibles. Emilie meowed in the street on her hands and knees once b/c she said, “mine.” She faced her sentence like a trooper, duh, and I think the oregoonies were quite taken aback and puzzled by her abundance of A game, once again. It was boring, and we weren’t going to bars and Emilie and I got so angry that we decided to
purchase a bottle of Jack and just split it. Which we did.
We wandered in an out of the hostel, talked to some smurfs, met a guy named Kenny who talked in Spanish like he was some sort of Mexican caricature. We told him that, and he may’ve been a little taken aback/confused by our frankness.
The night ended with us being rounded up and herded back into the hostel – after some wandering, and some exchanging of laughs and some Dane Cook jokes with a boy smurf on the street – by one of what we think was an employee of the hostel who was dressed like a pimp.
We found the Oregoonies – who we’d lost – at the hostel, and em and me discussed irish topics with the irish dude (who looked sortof like the KG from tenacious D, but wasn’t as funny/cool/skilled at the acoustic guitar, I would imagine, and was a redneck for Halloween….no points from me….especially not when he asked if I had any southern in me, to which I responded yes, to which he responded anyway, “well how’d you like some southern IN you tonight?!?” ugh. I think I told him not to talk to any Southern Lady like that, and I sortof killed our friendship with my poor reception of he poor taste in jokes. But then he went around yelling in some bastardized southern accent all about how he liked to bomb iraq or some crap. Oh Europe, where are you getting this crap?). Anyway, Irish got all the dates wrong (even I knew that…I can imagine Emilie was like, hello I’m a history major) and I told him that I thought the Irish Civil war had to be a lot like the American one. I think I had a bit of a drawl at this point in the evening, as sometimes happens. We ran in to some French dude in the hall who would have no part of our revelry. I got angry b/c the Oregoonies were monopolizing Emilie in their hostel room doing god knows what (it ends up they were just passed out)…so after talking to the Fairfield Smurfettes in the bathroom, Lori and Em pass the heck out, our bloodstreams most likely 50% whiskey at this point.
The next day’s breakfast was easy enough, and I should’ve known it was too good to be true. We made it to the bus station with little difficulty…
off to Madrid we went!
On the bus ride to Madrid, I’ll just say we met some creepy canadiennes who creeped the crap out of us, and I will also mention that my stomach got VERY ANGRY from all the mountain movement motion sickness and air pressure changes and omg it was terrible, not to discount the fact that there was whiskey somewhere in there, too – though I had no way of seeing any of that coming, unfortunately. It was one of the longer 7 hours of my life, and probably made the 7 hours last a little longer for those on the bus with me.
I tried to think of Don Quixote fighting windmills (would you believe me if I told you I almost put down treadmills instead of windmills?) whenever I felt like any dream was an impossible dream.
It really was a crazy landscape. Very Arizona. Spain, what a concept!
In the meantime, Emilie, the Sancho to my Don Quixote (or maybe it was the other way around) went on an enviously day-long chorizo binge.
After some feeling like we were going to die in many senses (b/c of the creepy canadiennes and their belief that they were being followed by creepy catalunian thieves, and b/c I, stripped of many electrolytes, was like, peace out coherence), we, thanks to Emilie’s metro skillz, made it to the hostel which used to be a cool villa. There we met Joanne the cool polish Californian who had been wandering Europe for 4 months alone, and we wandered together all about until we found a really cool restaurant where we ate some chorizo and a lot of grilled meat (chicken and kabobs, wow). It was almost like BBQ and it was also almost like heaven.
MEAT paradise. Wow. The restaurant’s subtitle was something like, “eat with no restrictions.” OK!
We wandered around the somewhat deserted streets of where it was sortof really scary, and then went back to the hostel where Romanians tried to talk to us but they could speak no language except Romanian (problem…it was also a problem that they were not cute), and I was like, leave me alone I am sick. Then we met some other girls who liked to tell us all about how they’d been attacked by crazy men in Europe and so had all their friends, but how they were ok now and now they just know they must try to be safer and take more cabs. WTF. What were they doing before to get such attacks? See the creepiness?
We had a late night on the hostel internet, and were generally angry b/c of our long bus ride so it was definitely time to pass the heck out in our Spanish villa hostel.
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