Spainglish

Lulled into a false sense of security by my ability to parler my way through France with relative ease, I dont give a second thought to my Spanish liguistic abilities until we are across the border… and by then it is too late.
To clarify, I speak a wopping three words of Spanish and I taught myself those on the bus. My driver, who happily spoke to me in French will now only yell at me in Spanish, and it occurs to me that this language thing may be a bit of a problem.
Why is he yelling at me? Why wont he let me back on the bus? Why wont you speak English? Or French? Throw me a bone Mr. Busdriver…. He doesnt throw me a bone but he points at the dinner where the rest of the bus has gone for breakfast, shakes his head and I realize that this extended pee break is actually my first Spanish breakfast. Pitty, Im not hungry.
We get back on the bus, he speaks more Spanish, the bus laughs… at me (I know this because they point), welcome to Spain.
Nineteen hours and several pee breaks later [ if gotten rather good at knowing which ones are to be used for peeing and which ones for eating), and Im in Granada. I made one friend on the bus, a peculiare woman who confessed that she didnt quite understand societies aversion to canibalism [seriously?) but she was continuing on to Morocco so we parted ways… shucks.
First item on the itinerary is a shower. Second, free Tappas. In Granada, with every drink you order they bring you food and its free. It might be cheese, olives, falaffel, macaronie salad, sandwhiches, anything goes but its usually pretty good and always free. The beer is cheap and as long as youre drinking they keep feeding you. Its pretty easy to enjoy a lunch of free tappas and a few beers for four euros which makes Granada a pretty lively party town.
My host is Martel from Montanna and she is marvelous. She knows how to party and she speaks spanish, which makes her my new best friend. Were both young, fun and SICK.
Doesnt stop us from hitting the chipitoria (shots bar) and the discotech. With every shot you take you get a cupon, you save the cupons and get a souvenier, I save enough for a cowboy hat (25) which I think is the greatest thing in the world until I wake up the next day and feel like like someone played a death match round of pingpong with my head.
I climb a mountain sized hill and enjoy a nice view of the Alhambra and my drunken falafel purchase from the night before while I recover. I love Granada.
The city embraces the spanish lifestyle to the fullest, meaning 1pm is when you should hope to wake up, but its okay and not uncommon to sleep past 3pm. Everyone shuts down in the afternoon for a siesta and if youre going out you might start getting ready around 1am and be in bed by six or seven in the morning if youre having an early night. I wish I was exagerating, Im not. Anyone who knows me, knows that this is the complete opposite of how I function but I faired surprisingly well.
I did better with the schedule change then I did with the language barrier anyway. When it came time for me to exit Granada, I fudged up. My fear of getting on the wrong train prevented me from getting on the right one and rather than making my way full steam ahead to Barcelona, I was standing on the train station platform alone, in Granada, crying … and then they turned off the lights.
This train that I wasnt on was the great big dominoe for a series of missed buses, trains and airplanes but I didnt know that yet.
Take two: I buy a ticket for the same train the following day, this time I get on it. Success .
Next stop Barcelona, Ill just shut my eyes and sleep soundly… some people can dance, some people can sing, I have the god given talent to be able to sleep anywhere. Couch, airplane, kitchen Floor, you name it. This is why I travel so easily. But, I can not sleep on the Spain train from hell. I almost wish I had missed it again. Its loud, the lights stay on, my compartment is conveniently located between the washroom and the bar. Im sick, Im tired, and Im going to shove that cell Phone up your ass if I hear your bootylicious ringtone one more time.
The train stops in Barcelona two hours before my plane leaves for Italy. The doors open and Im the First one off the train, I hop in a cab, I get to the bus station, I buy my ticket, I get on the bus, I look at the arrival time, epic fail. By the time we arrive at the airport my plane will be in the air. I give up, Im too tired and too sick, I want my mommy and a bowl of soup. I find a hostel, I briefly consider sightseeing but decide to save some excitement for tomorrow.
I realize that there are worse places I could be stuck than Barcelona, which is good because Im there for three days. If I was smart I would sleep, take it easy, drink tea and eat soup. Im a stupid stupid girl. A bunch of German dudes befriend me and make it their mission to take me out. They speak really good English but ¨im sick and feel like im dying¨ doesnt seem to be in their vocabulary. Neither is ¨i have a 6am bus¨ a box of wine later Im feeling a lot better and so I go out and party like the rockstar that I am. Viva Barcelona. I should mention that I saw a lot more in Barcelona than the hostel and the bar, but I was so sick that its kinda blurry and I remember feeling like crap a lot better than I remember the sights and sounds. It was good though. I think I liked it.