Madrid

I thought I would get this one off before today's string of events.

It was morning earlier. It was dark. It was time to leave. It was 5.45. With a somewhat steady head the Three Amigos (literally just thought of that (Brilliant!)) hopped in a Taxi headed for the Train Station. It was to be a relatively easy day of travel. The train to Gatwick was smooth and on time, a nice start to any trip, the queues at Gatwick were non-existent, another refreshing start, and we had 2 hours to kill in the terminal before our gate was announced. Hey is that Bailey's? Yes, my Two amigos thought it was a good idea to start the day off witha nice refreshing, ice cold, cup of Bailey's. They purchased the Bailey's and I stood in a McDonald's line for three hours (slight exaggeration) and got three cups with ice. We had a pleasant sit down discussing, as always, politics, religion, and puppies, you know, guy stuff. Our gate was announced and the first bottle of Bailey's was finished (yes I said first (if you were to look at me right this instant, well not this instant but the instant when I wrote "the first bottle of Bailey's was finished," you would probably see me sighing, smiling, and shaking my head.)) and it was time to board.

Have you ever been in a sardines can? It was kind of like that. EasyJet, was. Scott suggested the emergency exit rows for suitable seats, and I being in the lead heeded his advice and went straight for them. But when the time came to sit in said seats, and I noticed that oneo or two people already occupied some of the seats, I panicked and just kept walking, my mind blank. Finally, I turned into the tightest row I could possibly find and we took our seats. Luckily there was a touch of an effect from the Bailey's and I drifted off into a sweet and insanely uncomfortable sleep. The plane ride was smooth, as far as I know, and soon our feet were touching the Tarmac in sunny Spain.

The weather was beautiful, not a cloud in the sky. So, this being the case, we took the first two hours of our time in España in the airport terminal and the underground. After said duration we arrived at the metro station at which our hostel was near and stepped out into the sunshine, and into a horde/throng of people. People People everywhere, so much People so much fear ( I know that doesn't really fit, and indeed is a bit of a downer, but I sort of like the sound of it). We walked through said horde/throng to our hostel.

We dropped our bags off and went, almost, immediately to the Plaza del Toros for, O let's call it an adventure.

Scott's main reason for coming to Spain, or so he said, was to see a Bull Fight. So he was particularly excited when he found out there would be one on Sunday in Madrid (today/yesterday). We got off the metro in the Plaza and went slowly and unsurely toward the ticket counters. Looking as much like tourists as we possibly could, we stood about three feet away from the windows and looked at the big board of ticket prices, trying to decipher their meaning. While we were standing looking, obviously, thouroughly confused, an old Spanish man in a smart corduroy blazer came up to us. My spanish is a bit rusty (I've been out in the rain for nearly two and a half years) so I was pretty much unable to understand what he said. But through a few gestures and points and the words "lo mismo" I got the idea he wanted to help us buy more expensive tickets. We walked with him, slowly and cautiously, toward his yellow stand about 330 feet away. In it a woman sat with a smile and showed us the tickets. All throughout their explanation came the words "es oficial" which put me at ease and made me nervous at the same time. Finally after some of the best bargaining ever seen on my part while trying to talk to someone who did not understand us nor we them, we wound up with three tickets in the 10th row in the Sol y Sombre (Sun and Shade) section for 30 euros. It was not a bad deal and if the tickets were real it could be a very good deal. We left feeling uncertain and agreed that if we had been swindled, we certainly had been by a nice guy. We went towards the stadium again to take a few pictures, when our friend came along again to help us. After a quick photo, some unpronounceable banter, and a fistful of smiles, he asked us, quickly, where are we from. Americanos, came the answer, and with it a smile. "Hillary o Obama," was the reply from our amigo, who goes by Miguel (or so he said). "Obama?" I said, merely repeating the last word I heard, and with that he put a finger into my chest and with a smile full of rugged teeth responded, "Yo? Hillary." We smiled and said goodbye, he seemed happy with his swindle, and we departed ways.

We walked around the stadium a little, thinking about the days to come. It was going to be a good trip.

Will the three amigos make it into the stadium? Will the amicable Miguel, turn out to be a great guy or an evil genius? Will they make it to Barcelona? Will the adventures ever end? and Whatever will they do next? Find out next time on (pause) Nate's Blog.