June 01, 2003- Arrving in Madrid and San Sabastian

<2:53 PM (Idaho) 11:53 PM (San Sebastian)
What is this? Third, forth day in Spain ? Thursday….miercoles, viernes, sabado…. four days I guess. At times it seems like the longest and shortest four days I have ever had. The week or so before I left Idaho went by in no time. It makes a bit of difference when you have no home and keep all you shit in a locker, hoping the whole “Open after 24 hours thing," doesn't include your locker.

I still don't know what to think. It is quite a bit better now that I have a place. I think the traveling life would be fine, had I packed for it, instead I packed for living for three months. I have to admit things did not get off to a good start in Madrid . I still get pissed off about the pick-pocket that tried to nab me on the Madrid metro. I am so oblivious to the customs I still don't even know what I could have said or done. It didn't help that I was loaded down with all bajillion pounds of my pack and sweating like a pig… San Sebastian is nice, it's small, yet still huge. I can easily [as much as my poor feet will let me] walk the whole city, yet there are still 250,000 people packed here.

The fact I can comprehend little to no Spanish doesn't help, I feel as if I am at a big disadvantage, “Lets take advantage of the foreigner” sort of thing. It's funny that I can actually say something like that when I have met so many nice people. First there were the other students I met in Miami : Caleb and Julieann… it's too bad I had to take a shit and miss getting Julieann's email, we hit it off the little we were talking, both lost in a sea of people, unaware of the tidal wave about to hit us.

There was a lot about Madrid I didn't like, the pick-pocket of course, the heat {in combination with the weight of my pack and the breaking buckles}, and lets not forget the prostitutes in the park derece de el alberque. Seriously, the first thing Caleb and I say on our way to find the hostel and I figured later, the reason we missed it, was because of the topless black prostitute on the phone. Let's not forget the fairly decent one we saw get picked up, or the tens of others we saw in their short shorts. It wasn't a good impression. Caleb and I had a decent time tooling around Madrid , doing the few things that we had to do, but it was more like a sailor desperately clinging on to the capsized boat. Two lost Americans just wanting to hear familiar sounds. We then parted our ways, him to go to Morocco , me to the hostel surrounded by whores. After a mad dash across the city by metro I got there to enjoy a meager dinner minutes before the cafeteria closed. Although it wasn't the best, I ate every last bit, not knowing when I could truly afford eating again. Needless to say I hate the constraint of money, especially when so far away and after my parents asking me hundreds of times if I had enough money to do this, maybe I should have done that budget a couple months ago instead of on the plane to Madrid . I then met David, an Italian who had been studying Spanish for the last year and traveling throughout, and one of the nicest guys I have met. I first met him once I got in from eating and he started talking in Spanish, after the frozen look of confusion he saw upon speaking Spanish, he started talking to me in fluent English, and although I knew it wouldn't help my endeavors to learn Spanish, I replied in English. Since there was nothing to do and I didn't want to leave the razor wire fences of the hostel, we talked about everyday sort of stuff while walking around the hostel. Met a couple of hot German girls, who we found after a few minutes to be 16, could have fooled me. The hotter blonde one was fascinated with the fact I was American, I think maybe a little attracted, but who knows. Having nothing better to do, and being exhausted from the trip, we went to sleep early. This was the first of many sleepless nights for me, my mind constantly thinking of what the fuck I was going to do the next day…. Hopefully now that I have a place of semi-permanence, things will be better.

The next day, David and I made our way to the nearest metro stop and soon parted our ways. I forget where he was going, but I had to get out of Madrid . I went to the bus station Caleb and I had located the day before and bought the ticket to San Sebastian . I waited next to a Spanish guy and although I couldn't say anything clear to him, we still communicated on the basic level of admiring the fine women walking by. Bien o bonita!

Next was the 6.5 hours bus ride next to the Spanish teacher of 37+ years, all I really got out of that trip was a few picture of the county-side [not as alien as I though it would be, yet still the buildings we as old as America] and an apprehension that I would be hopelessly lost due to my lacking in Spanish skills. Although I felt she was annoyed with me, the old lady helped me and got me on the right bus to go to La Sirena hostel. After a few more “Donde es….[point to hostel address]” I arrived at the hostel, only to find I could get a room for one night. I then met my new roommates and friends. I was happy to hear an American voice, it belonged to Jared, a surfer from California starting the second week of a two month tour of Europe, I also me Cayson, an Aussie who had been all over the place, including Canada most recently to go snowboarding, and our neighbors from the Canary islands, only the boyfriend could speak English, but the girl was super-model hot. All but Jared left, so we went out to explore my new home. The beach I came to find was not as good as I had originally hoped, the water was cold and it was hazy from the marine layer in the air. Jared and I found a little café and had some very un-Spanish sandwiches lathered in mayo [sick!!] and we glared at by the old man behind the counter. Once again I was mute when it came to the Spanish part of conversation with people and was lucky Jared was there. We went back to the hostel only to meet our other roommate C. That was all we knew him by, because we couldn't remember or even pronounce his last name. C was a little guy from Bankok who had graduated from and art school there and was awesome. We looked through him water-color book and saw pictures from almost everywhere in Europe and many from India . He then showed us his true love, his sculptures. He had a picture book with the most amazing stuff of stone, metal and wood, one which was in the center of Bangkok . The guy was seriously amazing at his art and cooler still because he pointed out good places for me to go climb at around town.

It's so funny, although all of this was only Friday, I get impressions of these instants more than anything… and I haven't even had more than 4 drinks since then. Which leads me to my next moment in history: Cayson showed back up from who knows where with a couple beers, he offered me one, it was no problem since it was only .22 euro, a nice pils from Germany. Edwardo soon showed up, I can definetly say my first impression of him wasn't the best since he was fairly silent, maybe the fact that Cayson was loud and brass in comparison to Edwardo's silent, just-off-the-plane, being that made me think this… whatever. Cayson, C, and I decided we would check out the Friday night life.

It is late though, so I will get back to the rest of the weekend, Claire who knew 5 languages, the girl from Twin and the new place for Jared and me.