Nights at Hostel One Puerta del Sol

(Sorry, this post is about a week behind where I am now, I'll try and catch up soon)

My new youth hostel was a much friendlier and exciting place. Travelers from all over the world come in and out daily.

The first night I met a fellow traveler, Helio, and his group of friends from Portugal.

And boy, did they know how to have a good time.

It was a Monday, and on the weekdays, bar and club promoters walk the streets and entice tourists to visit their establishment with free drinks, or discounts. As cheap travelers, we graciously took the cerveza o chupita gratis (free beer or shot), then left to find the next free drink.

At the last bar we visited, I was very happy to find a foosball table in the corner.

I played foosball almost everyday of senior year at Lebo, betting $5 on each 2v2 game. I was quite tipsy at this point, so needless to say, I was very confident in my game.

Helio was talking trash, claiming that the Portuguese invented the sport of foosball. Chirp Chirp.

In our first game, I represented America, and won 5-3. The girls we were with wanted to play as well, and thus began the foos-a-thon. Very quickly, other patrons of the bar wanted their shot at the current champions, Helio and I.

Team Julio/Helio continued to win, though I must admit, a few of the Spaniards were really damn good.

After5-6 games we were finally dethroned, which was fine by me, because it was around 5 am.

Stumbling back to the hostel with Helio, we had a drunken conversation about life. It was the Helio’s last night in Madrid, so I made a promise to come visit him in Portugal, and he promised to show me a good time in Lisbon.

I was very careful not to wake anyone up when I got into my 8 person bedroom, a task I succeeded in despite my extreme inebriation.

The following morning, my 5 very loud Italian roommates were not so courteous. They did not know how to whisper, only shout from their beds at each other. When someone else in the room would ask them too keep it down, they would act very apologetic, “Scuzi, scuzi,” then continue the same irritating chatter. Those guys just didn’t know how to whisper.

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After sleeping for most of the day (or rather, after a long siesta) because of my noisy roomates, I went out again the next night with a group from my youth hostel. We checked out an Irish pub to watch the futbol match: Liverpool vs. Leeds. After the game, we went out for drinks (though we certainly had some at the pub).

This was the most interesting group of people I had been out with thus far. We all spoke English in our native countries, yet we were from all around the world. There were Americans, Dubliners, North Irish, Brits, Aussies, and even a Kiwi all represented at our diverse English table. It was tons of fun making fun of how each other spoke.

After the first tapas bar, about half of the group left because they had to wake up early for work the next morning. Surprisingly, they all had the same job in Spain… being ENGLISH TEACHERS!!!

There were five of us left, myself, Armando (from Fresno, California), Kevin (from North Ireland), Emily, and Natalie (both from Australia). The Aussies really wanted to go out dancing, so after hitting a few bars to get into the dancing mood, we found a club called Cierles. It was a weekday night around 2 am, and although there were certainly people at the bar, the dance floor was completely deserted.

But not for long. Team English stormed the floor and it was only us dancing for the whole night. Armando was one of the most impressive dancers I have ever seen (he goes to clubs in Cali often), which made me really self conscious of my moves at the start. The alcohol quickly got me over my inhibitions, and I soon began to just try and emulate Armando, as well as do whatever the hell I felt like with my body.

At one point, some salsa music came on, and I just grabbed Natalie’s arms and started to salsa. I have no damn clue how to salsa dance, but the Aussies seemed to think I did. It was a load of fun until this Spanish couple stepped out onto the floor for one song. I stood corrected. THEY knew how to salsa dance, and they were amazing. We quickly cleared the floor to watch the professionals go at it. Their footwork was incredibly advanced and it was clear that they had practiced this many times before.

We didn’t get out of that club til around 5 am, my second night in a row staying out that late. Wowzers it was tiring. We were dancing for nearly 3 hours! I would have never done anything like that at home, but this is Spain!

The Italian debate team woke me up at 9am the next morning again…

And the next morning around the same time…

I love hostels for meeting people, but the sure do suck for sleeping.

La Noche en Blanco

Saturday night was a special evening in Madrid. La Noche en Blanco- a city-wide art festival celebrating the expression of Spanish culture. The festival consisted of over 150 exhibitions, activities, and performances. In addition to the scheduled events, it seemed as though any Spaniard with a unique talent was out on the streets performing for euros.

Musicians, magicians, and every other costumed gimmick (like painted statues, Shrek, and a Billy-the-big-mouthed-bass-Man) lined the streets.

Never before have I been among so many people in the streets of a city (yes indeed, this was larger than the Super Bowl Riots…and much tamer).

On Calle Gran Via, one the largest streets in Madrid, projection light towers spiked out of the center like vertebrae on an overgrown beast. Gran Via’s usually white stone buildings were painted with fluorescent blues, greens, and pinks from the large studio lights.

La Noche en Blanco was truly an event for all ages. For the cultured and mature folks, museums and plazas showcased classical Spanish arts; dance, film, theater, ect. Elderly Spaniards brought their grandchildren around to these classic events, stopping sporadically to take pictures with Winnie the Pooh and Minnie Mouse. Many restaurants offered specials to correspond with La Noche en Blanco as well.

As always, the clubs and discos were raging and open until 6 am. But another event added extra excitement for Madrid’s youths.

At one end of Gran Via, in Plaza de Espana, was one of the coolest outdoor concerts I have ever seen. Red Bull presents: La Batalla de los Gallos, which literally translates to The battle of the roosters (COCK-FIGHT!!!).

And indeed, it was a cock fight. In the middle of the largest plaza in Madrid, was the Spanish National RAP BATTLE championships. Yes, freestyle rap battling, like the movie 8-mile, only on a much bigger scale.

I was so upset that my Spanish comprehension wasn’t strong enough to understand the quick Spanish lashings of the 60 second rap battle each Gallo had in the 1 on 1 competition where the crowd choose the winner. I could certainly understand bits and pieces of the rap, but aside from the smooth rhyming to American instrumental hiphop beats, I felt like I was really missing out on the soul of this show.

What made the event was that after any particularly good freestyle line, the crowd would go nuts, turning to their friends, shouting “OOOOOOHHHHH!!!” It was so exciting, yet made me feel so left out at the same time.

I wish I would have filmed more footage of la Batalla, but after walking many miles trying to find La Almudena earlier in the day, I was just too exhausted, and had to go to sleep around 2:30am. However, La Noche en Blanco continued to rage outside of my hostel window until well past 6am.

La Almudena

My ability to speak Spanish hasn’t really improved that much without anyone to consistently converse with, but I’m able to understand others more and more each day. For the most part, Spaniards speak too fast for me. I can’t translate a phrase in my head fast enough to hear the next sentence. I find that I still have to just nod and say “Si,” or hope to pick out a word I know.

But I found a nerdy way to improve my Spanish. I went into El Corte Ingles (equivalent to Macy’s, but larger) and picked up a copy of Harry Potter and Sorcerer’s Stone in Spanish. I’ve been reading about a chapter each day, and it has really improved my vocabulary. Me encanta Harry Potter.

I still haven’t really made friends yet (besides Harry, Ron, and Hermione…), so Ultimate Frisbee seemed like the natural choice to connect with people.

I heard about an open practice for the Ultimate team here in Madrid, Los Quixotes. Finally, a way to connect to some Spaniards that I can excel at. The practice field, La Almudena, was quite far from my hostel, about 5 km away, but with nothing else to do but explore, I decided to hoof it. I left about 4 hours before the practice was supposed to start, expecting that I would want to stop for lunch, or that I would get lost. And boy, was I right. Wandering around northwest Madrid, I discovered many beautiful parks, statues, and buildings. Good thing I brought my camera!

At one point, I walked over a mile the wrong direction, and had to turn around and find my way back to a familiar metro stop.

Already exhausted from my trek to La Almudena (a beautiful name for a field, in my opinion), I arrived at the site 15 minutes before the practice was scheduled to start. La Almudena is anything but beautiful. There is no entrance, only a section of fence that was pulled back by the youthful scoundrels that littered the area with shattered booze bottles, cigarette cartons, and empty spray-paint canisters. The walls surrounding the field were covered in colorful graffiti.

I was alone. Perhaps everyone would arrive late, like any Frisbee player would in the U.S. Without anyone to throw with, I did what any ultimate player would do; practice my pulls.

Nope. 30 minutes after the scheduled time and still no one showed up. I was kind of relieved, to be honest, because the field itself was in awful condition. Shattered glass shards were scattered across the field, which consisted of dirt and the occasional weed. No grass anywhere. I quickly realized that it wasn’t a field at all, but a flat ANT HILL! Black and red ants were everywhere, crawling out of large sinkholes that covered the field like pores on some infected creature.

Even though I didn’t get to play Ultimate, I was still exhausted by the time I got back to my hostel. After napping for a few hours, I was ready for La Noche en Blanco.

Estoy en Madrid! (Day 1)

Leaving Pittsburgh was really hard. Driving into the Fort Pitt tunnel, sealing off that final skyline from view, I must admit, I shed some tears. Aside from my duffel and backpack, everything I have is in da ‘burgh. My friends, family, and girl are all there. Now I’m not. It’s odd to wake up from my dreams each morning and realize all those fading faces of my friends are far across the Ocean.

Flight delays at the Pittsburgh and Philadelphia airports added lots of stress to make my connecting flight. My hostel reservation was cancelled, forcing me to stay in a much less friendly, and more expensive hostel. I still haven’t been able to connect to the Internet here (this has obviously changed since). I’ve barely spoken to anyone, unless I’ve been ordering food or needing help getting on the Internet.

Spain is still a very strange place to me. After eight years of suburban American Spanish classes, I know some vocabulary words, but that’s about it. It’s day 1 and I can communicate the basics, but not converse. I’m much worse than Borat.

But it hasn’t all been bad. Insecurities aside, it was a fascinating day.

The architecture here is lovely and simply from another time. I began to take pictures of all the neat buildings, but quickly gave up after realizing everything is worthy of a photo. You just have to be here to get it.

Puerta del Sol is lovely. I spent all day in this section of town exploring the streets, shops, and restaurants. The pedestrian streets of the plaza are lined with musicians, magicians, and other miscellaneous performers. I’ve never seen so many accordions. I’ve also been surprised by the large amounts of graffiti tagged throughout the city. It’s much more prevalent in Spain than in the U.S. I was also expecting temperatures over 100, but I don’t think it’s been over 70 since I’ve arrived.

If this is the worst culture shock that Spain can throw at me, then it’s going to be an epic trip.