Madrid

I arrived in Madrid via airport. I originally planned on taking a train there, but after the 28 hours traveling to Lisbon the thought of a 10 hour train trip was really just too much for me so I booked a last minute flight.

Now, have I mentioned I'm on a budget for this whole excursion? And hotels will eat up your budget faster than anything, so while I'm avoiding hostels (while preparing for my trip, I avoided Under the Tuscan Sun and Eat, Pray, Love and instead focused on the movie Hostal and the song EuroTrash Girl, I felt I would be much better served), my hotels are chosen for their location and not their amenties. The Hotel Asturia did not disappoint in location, after a brief check in and arrangment of things, I walked out the doors to find crowds of people all starting their Saturday night in what could only be described as the Time Square of Spain. It was amazing!

After a few hours of wandering around, I settled on a bar near the hotel, so I wouldn't be lost once I had a few. Met a wonderful couple from Ireland. Now, one of my favorite pasttimes is to make fun of Irish Americans, as really, who wants to kiss them? But I will never turn down a beer or six with the real thing. They were about to leave, when I realized they were not in fact Brittish, and I started talking to them. They stayed for hours.

Things got a bit hazy and I found myself outside the bathroom with the Indian immigrant bartender that was so amazing at speaking, suddenly thrusting a rather large, hard, undignified tongue down my throat. Thankfully it was so jolting that even after 5 glasses of wine I knew I needed to get back to my hotel room. I wish I could say I was nicer in the process, but ewww. I might be a drunk single American, but nobody wants that.

The next morning found me in need of a hair dryer, as once again, location and not amenities (I also knew I would need to buy a new one once arriving). I found a Sephora and thought they may have one.

After spending 3 days in Lisbon with the non comprehendable Portugese, I almost felt as if I was fluent with my pidgen Spanish once I arrived in Madrid and could even have brief conversations about the weather and Obama (muey frio, Obama muey bueno) with the bartenders and approach people knowing I was saying things that almost made sense. But for the life of me I did not know the Spanish word for blowdryer. So I stood in the middle of the store with several perplexed ex-beauty queens staring at me as I pointed at my head with two fingers going, vmmmmm. They may have thought I was contemplating suicide as they were very fragile with me as they ushered me out of the store.

But then I came across El Coris de Inglis, the Target of Spain, and success, my hair would be fabulous in my journeys!