5 am, can’t sleep. Wake up walk with a Sandwich Mixto (ham and cheese grilled) and 2 cafe con leches. Flex my spanish speaking skills. Discovered that if I am ever stranded in a spanish speaking country I will not starve.
Endure an extensive walking tour of Madrid on two hours of sleep, in 80 degree weather. Its really difficult to enjoy the beauty of a city when all you want to do is fucking sleep.
The tour ended with a trip to the Prado Museum which houses some of Spain’s classical paintings. Goya, Vasquez, and El Greco. Jet lag just causes things to look horrifying (Goya: ahhhh) and the same (lifeless pictures commissioned by the wealthy and the religious depicting the wealthy, the religious, or both).
Tagging is a world wide phenomenom.
Exhaustion doesn’t keep me from taking some of the girl’s shopping in the Puerta del Sol to replace the clothes that were lost when their luggage was lost by the Span air airlines. This means: H&M, Sprta, El Corte Ingles, and a fucking protest over the installation of parking meters.
The sun is still high in the sky when we return to the hotel at 9 pm, to find what shall forever be known as “the afternoon of Tears.” this can only be described as teens taking advantage of the legal drinking age of 16, an apparent game of quarters with Jack Daniels, one girl crying which leads to another girl crying and the third girl crying, boys left to really take care of these girls (buying tons of bread and water, cleaning up their mess, putting them to bed), and me, laughing hysterically when I am told this story.
A dinner of hamburgers made of ham.
Barcrawl with the GoodGirls.