What better way to celebrate the unity of Native Americans and Pilgrims than to go to the land of Christopher Columbus? Exactly, I couldn't think of anything better either. So I over-packed my suitcase, grabbed my hat and suckered Miss Mercer into accompanying me to España, or as the Americans like to call it, Spain. I guess we decided it was too hard to pronounce ñ.Battle 1, Hostal Acapulco: We arrive after an overnight flight from JFK to MAD to find that we did not consider the flight as night one and had booked the hotel for the wrong day. Lindsay and I find ourselves homeless and exhausted. After getting the evil eye from the receptionist, we checked out the building for other available rooms and found a nameless guest bedroom with an owner who did not habla inglés. Using my Spanish vocabulary that is equivalent to that of a 3-year-old, I got us a room for 40 euros.
Battle 2, Chocolate soup: Weather.com told Lindsay that Spain is 65 degrees. Spain is, in reality, not 65 degrees. A quick stroll through Madrid and the Royal Palace left us cold and hungry so we sat down for some té time. We had our hearts set on some good ol' fashioned green té until I came across chocolate on the menu underneath the coffee section. In my experience, when chocolate is in a coffee menu, it is most likely some nice Swiss Miss hot cocoa. We'll take two please. No. Not in Spain. Do not be fooled by false promises of nice liquidy hot cocoa. Do not be fooled when the server assures you it is a chocolate drink with milk. It is not. It is chocolate pudding melted into the consistency of soup. Resist the temptation. Even when they offer you churros for the dipping. Even when you use the salted nuts to turn it into fondue. Resist.
Battle 3, AVE: The high speed train of Spain. We had plans to take this train from Madrid down to Granada. It cost a bundle and takes 4 hours, but I'm told it's the best way to travel long distances in Europe. That is, until your Spanish skills from 10th grade lead you astray. I heard "cambiar" and "Granada," but I did not hear the "no." Not even when she said it English. They were doing construction on the tracks so people going to Granada, i.e. us, were suppose to stay on the train while people going to Ronda and some other place needed to transfer at Antequerra. We got off the train in Antequerra, otherwise known as, 100 km away from our destination. After being looked at like idiots by every train employee, none of which spoke English, and overhearing them all on the phone saying "... these girls got off the train at the wrong stop," they called us a taxi and sent us on our way. They were even nice enough to pay for our taxi ride.
Join me mañana as the war against Spain continues in the battle of Tarragona, getting angler fished by the AP-7, and avoiding scurvy, the black lung and clogged arteries.
Battle 2, Chocolate soup: Weather.com told Lindsay that Spain is 65 degrees. Spain is, in reality, not 65 degrees. A quick stroll through Madrid and the Royal Palace left us cold and hungry so we sat down for some té time. We had our hearts set on some good ol' fashioned green té until I came across chocolate on the menu underneath the coffee section. In my experience, when chocolate is in a coffee menu, it is most likely some nice Swiss Miss hot cocoa. We'll take two please. No. Not in Spain. Do not be fooled by false promises of nice liquidy hot cocoa. Do not be fooled when the server assures you it is a chocolate drink with milk. It is not. It is chocolate pudding melted into the consistency of soup. Resist the temptation. Even when they offer you churros for the dipping. Even when you use the salted nuts to turn it into fondue. Resist.
Battle 3, AVE: The high speed train of Spain. We had plans to take this train from Madrid down to Granada. It cost a bundle and takes 4 hours, but I'm told it's the best way to travel long distances in Europe. That is, until your Spanish skills from 10th grade lead you astray. I heard "cambiar" and "Granada," but I did not hear the "no." Not even when she said it English. They were doing construction on the tracks so people going to Granada, i.e. us, were suppose to stay on the train while people going to Ronda and some other place needed to transfer at Antequerra. We got off the train in Antequerra, otherwise known as, 100 km away from our destination. After being looked at like idiots by every train employee, none of which spoke English, and overhearing them all on the phone saying "... these girls got off the train at the wrong stop," they called us a taxi and sent us on our way. They were even nice enough to pay for our taxi ride.
Join me mañana as the war against Spain continues in the battle of Tarragona, getting angler fished by the AP-7, and avoiding scurvy, the black lung and clogged arteries.
No comments:
Post a Comment