Hablo Espanol, si

Sound track of the day:
Take a breath and hold on tight
Spin around one more time
And gracefully fall back to the arms of grace

Current Temperature: I don’t think I’ll even need a coat, but with my luck I should bring it anyway

Culture clash: I feel must more at home here. It must be that I´m allowed to pronounce all the letters in the words here.

I learned one very key fact while waiting for my delayed plane out of Charles de Gaulle. If you hate children, do not take EasyJet. They are everywhere. No joke, everywhere. And as I’m watching a Scottish family with four children, and offer a quiet prayer for the parents, I am amused. The children are funny, silly and very cute with their pasty Scottish skin and pale blue eyes. The family to my right is English and I’m dreading that the hyper two-year old squirming in his mother’s lap will eventually kick me and I’m going to have to drop kick him. In any case, I’m not annoyed in the least. What I am, is concerned that my subdued state of mine will be altered once I get on the plane and am trapped for two hours with these angels.

I arrive at my place of lodging wary that the pictures posted online has been doctored and the place will end up being a disaster, or a zoo like the hostel I stayed in with Susie and Jeremy in Buenos Aires that resembled more of a frat house than a traveler’s sanctuary. Traveling alone and a couple of years older, I’m not sure if I’m up to that kind of fun.

There is no elevator. I should be used to that having spent the past two years hauling ass up four floors in an old New York City walkup, but I’m not. I’m not because for the past month, I haven’t had to use stairs very much at all. Vicki’s apartment is on the ground level with just one flight to the bedrooms. Jen, God bless her, has an elevator. At the entrance to the hostel I find Norge. Not Jorge, that’s his partner. Nope it’s Norge. He quickly checks me in, shows me around the kitchen where I have access to breakfast at any time of the day, complete with an espresso machine and juice.

He spends five minutes showing me the neighborhood on a map and how to get to Museo de Prado, which I fully intend to visit tomorrow. It’s Spain’s most important museum, so how can I not? He showed me great neighborhoods in which to eat and drink. He showed me the gay section, which I suspect he frequents, and notes that it’s great for shopping and cocktails. And then he shows me my room.

I’m in the green room. A modest space with a full bathroom and vanity. It might even be bigger than my apartment in Manhattan, although those who don’t live in the city can’t understand the profoundness of that statement. He explains that I use my room key to turn on the lights, and then excuses himself as he steps out for a moment. I tour the room taking 3 seconds turning to the left, the right and popping my head into the head. That’s the bathroom.

Within seconds, Norge returns and in his hand is a cute and welcoming bottle of Spanish sparkling wine. I am so happy. What a warm welcome after a day of delays and children screaming and crying on the plane. Norge is my new best friend, and I will make sure I am a good guest.


On tonight’s menu:
Seafood paella
Tomato and oregano salad

Vino Tinto – Ribiera
And lots of second hand smoke
Bienvenido a Madrid