Madrid: Day Fourteen

After a 4AM wake-up call, a teary eyed cab ride (I miss my Suozzle), a 45 minute bus ride to Beauvais and a 1 1/2 hour plane ride, I stumbled off the plane and into Madrid. I was so exhausted, I felt drunk. I took a 1€ bus ride to Avenida de Americas near the Salamanca district of Madrid and walked 10 minutes to my hotel. (I booked a room at "Aparthotel Eraso" on Calle Eraso and Avenida Almadens. Rad!) With great luck (things always work out for me, seriously), I ran into my dad in the lobby. He was stoked (who wouldn´t be after not having seen me in awhile?) because he didn´t think I was coming ´til later - AND I was paying for our room. Ha! Dude, my dad said he paid 30€ for a cab ride form the shmairport to the hotel. He got balled! Um, I think I just made up that term, but I like it and am gonna stick with it.

We dropped off my ish, went to get some bomb ass food and made our way to downtown Madrid. (Um, sidenote: it´s fucking awesome that people are SO into soccer here. It´s on 24/7 and people on the street aren´t weirded out when I comment on their jerseys. However! I loved that in London and France I "fit in." Most young kids had multi-colored hair and "weird clothes" but in Madrid everyone kept giving me the up and down stare and just gazing at my clothes and hair. F off. Quit tryin´to ball me! I'm sorry I´m not some dry ass Spaniard. Maybe it´s different in different districts, but whatever. It pissed me off for awhile, but Madrid is so radical it didn´t last for long).

Now, the last time I was in Madrid, I was about 5 or 6, so everything was new to me. I kept telling my dad "I could totally live here. I don´t want to leave." Navigation was SUPER simple. I felt like I HAD lived there or was currently.

We went to El Retiro (kind of like their Central Park) and hit up El Museo Nacional del Prado. Totally famous. Totally Awesome. Totally worthwhile. I saw REAL Rembrandts, Goyas, Riberas that I had only seen in textbooks. Radical! I also forgot just how f´ing smart my dad is until he kept spewing off facts about all the pieces that caught my eye. Whorelando was so happy - he´d never been to el Prado and hadn´t been to Spain, in general, in years. "When did I think a little boy from El Salvador would end up here" he kept saying. I thought it was cute.

We hopped on one of those double-decker tours (the ol Papa gets tired walking around all day) and saw some awesome things. I love Madrid. I took so many damn pictures, but none of them are that good. Lame. Oh well. It was beautiful, just take my word for it. One crazy phenomenon I noticed while in Spain (starting with Madrid), though, is that a lot of dudes have fucking BOILS - especially on their bald spots. It´s f´ing gross and intriguing. I tried to sneak a photo of a dude with one on his head that was poking out of his hair, but it´s a little dark. Click on the picture to enlarge it. Tell me if you see it...

After the double-decker tour, I took my dad to check out El Estadio Santiago Bernabéu - where Real Madrid plays. We had a fun time on the tour. We met a few (upstate) NYers, I practiced Portuguese and nearly creamed my chonies seeing the pitch where tons of my favorite players worked. It was f´ing tighter than Chris Walters´ vagina. Chris, do you even read this anymore? Ha! Owned. We took a few pictorials. Now, you´ll see from where I get my dumb picture faces:

There is something about a fresh, football pitch that gets me pumped. Dad and I kept clapping and pushing each other and laughing. It was really fun. It made me wish I could give my eyes to my brother. I think he´d really like to see it... Also, Papi and I seriously contemplated buying tickets to go see Real Madrid play Juventus IN Italy for like 295€ each. It was ridiculous, but it included airfare, tix, bus, etc. If we were just a tad bit more idiotic we would have, but we obviously decided against it.

We got back to Aparthotel Quo Eraso and I went for a jog. It was really pretty. I ran through a park and up and down one of the main drags in Madrid. Um, running in Madrid = way easier than Paris. NO stairs and people don´t stare at you (as much). I ran back, showered, and took my Papoo to dinner at a little place nearby.

We had fun. I basically just asked him a bunch of questions about his childhood that I kind of knew already, but not entirely. We laughed a lot and kept remembering vulgar stories about things people in our family have done or said. My family rules. For dessert, we went across the street and ate chocolate or dulce de leche dipped churros. BOMB. Fucking stellar. We walked back, called it a night and got ready for our train trek to Algeciras (in Southern Spain) the next day...

Halfway done with my trip. Boo. See you later, homies!
T-Pain