When in Spain

Party like the Spaniards! Last night Celine and I joined several members of the local couchsurfing community for drinks, and ended up bar hopping until four in the morning. We were waiting for a few bars to open (at 4 AM!!) when we decided to head back and sleep. Half American, half French Celine wasn't the only dual citizen, and when we started the night our group included my American self, our ex-pat French host, two German men, a young Sweedish woman, a local of Cuban and Spanish parents, and one born and raised Spaniard. By the end of the night we had picked up an Indian man, and a very annoying American girl.

Our first destination was packed due to their 1 Euro beer special for Valentine's Day. The crowd had piled into the street, and included a huge number of study-abroad American students. The Spanish-Cuban teaches classes to American students at the university in Alicante, and was embarrassed to happen upon his students. I was also embarrassed by some of the Americans on the street, including one girl who said, "Don't you just miss America? I mean, they do, like, everything better there." The same girl grabbed the shimmering sport coat of a passing local and shouted with an awful accent, "Mee goostah les sparkles! Mucho!" Meaning, "I, like, really like your sparkles."

The guy in the sparkly coat worked for a nearby bar offering free shots, so we followed him for the glowing green freebies and cheap beer. This is where we picked up the Indian and American, and lost our host and one of the German men. We headed on to a jazz bar for another beer, where it was quiet enough to get background from everyone in the group. At that point, Celine and I were the only two who had met beforehand, and it was fascinating to consider how this group of interesting strangers ended up drinking and getting to know each other. The other American girl monopolized her corner of the conversation chattering nervously about her bad Spanish and her frustrations with Spanish banks.

I don't mean to get on my high horse, and I could sympathize with this girl's anxiety, but talking to her took every ounce of patience I possess. I tried to avoid walking next to her, but when we fell in stride together I couldn't help making conversation. She explained to me that her study abroad program arranged everything for them -- something that always makes Celine and I jealous, since we're on our own in France. When I asked why this girl had a Spanish bank account even though she didn't work here she explained, "Well, like, my dad gave me 5000 dollars CASH before I left, and I just didn't want to worry about all the exchange fees. I mean, I can only withdrawl, like 200 Euros a day, and that is, like, not THAT much. It's kind of cool that I can use my SPANISH debit card when I go shopping. But my dad puts money into my American account too, so it's kind of frustrating to have to transfer THAT. And I went to three branches of my bank and NO ONE speaks English. I'm like, come on, you guys."

And I'm like, who IS this girl? She doesn't know where she is, or who she's talking to. I personally think 200 Euros is a lot of money, as it's a QUARTER of my monthly salary. Her manner of speaking and ignorance also made me hope that no one would group us together as "the Americans." I hate pretension, and I don't think I'm better than anyone, but I have seen some of the world, and I would hate for anyone to imagine her as a representative of young American women. After this exchange, I did avoid her, and Celine insisted that she pay for the tequilla shot she took with us (she didn't offer, despite her reserve of thousands of Euros). That conversation and my irritaion was tangential to the rest of the night, and I spent most of the time enjoying the down-to-earth members of the group.

The last bar we went to was celebrating it's 10 year anniversary and giving out free gifts with every drink. I won a lighter with the mark of a popular rum from the Dominican Republic, and with my personal appreciation for Caribbean rum, I was more than happy. My prize was coveted by some of the smokers in the group, but they all won T-shirts and keychains. Spain is known for being lax about marijuana consumption, and I watched people roll splifs (cigarettes with hash, or marijuana resin) on the street and in the bars. That is not something you see in France, and certainly not in the States. The night ended with Celine and I dancing, then a stop to try a Spanish favorite, red wine and coke, which we shared as we walked through the streets.

Celine and I are not used to such late nights, so we slept until 3:30 this afternoon. When we woke up, Celine had all the symptoms of a bad cold. We spent the afternoon getting some fresh air, and stopped at a pharmacy, where Celine went in for decongestant and left with an anti-itch allergy treatment. That's what happens you don't speak the language and have a bad dictionary! Tonight we took it easy to spare our immune systems and our pocketbooks. We leave tomorrow after a last look at the city and a last taste of it's cuisine.