a little out of order.

Before Glasgow Day Three, I need to vent a bit, and in any case the blog I have all typed up for that is stuck on my laptop whose battery has died and I don´t yet have an adaptor for Spain. This is an ancient, ancient computer I´m typing on, the buttons are different and the S and W keys aren´t orking very well. Bear ith me.

Yes, Spain is where I am. I´m still calming down from the overwhelming entrance to the country. First I couldn´t figure out the train. It took me a lot of looking dumb and lost before I read the one sign that explained that there was construction on the rails and my stop was closed. When I got to my alternate stop I looked at my map and thought, "It´s a nice evening. I´ll just walk across town, get a feel for the place." Well it turn out there´s this holiday called "Easter". Some dude died. Now every year around this time Spain has these crazy parades with four tiered crucifixes and giant float made of candels. This would be a neat spectacle if I was a) expecting it and b) it wasn´t blocking every conceivable route to my hostel. And I walked right into it and didn´t know what was happening until I was smashed on a sidewalk, feet off the ground, with a marching band playing and candlelit Jesus above me. I´m not sure I´ve been in a stranger situation.

On the bright side, I got to see, literally, the entire town, even the rougher areas that some of the locals with their children were seeing for the first time too. Becaue there were so many people out, dark creepy areas became somewhat friendly. The scenery would go from hard scrabble, crumbling clay building with graffiti everywhere to a castle, surrounded by tall skinny palm trees that leaned across the moon.

The map got me there, even if I had to take the longest route imaginable. The direction that the hostel provided said to not climb the hill. Apparently that meant, "climb most of the way up the hill, then turn left up the dark, steep stairs climb the rest of it." The hostel does not have wifi like it claimed, the showers are down the scariest hallway I´ve seen since my late grandpa´s wine cellar he called the Dungeon. There´s a very loud and drunk girl from Chicago in the bar that´s right next to my room who is trying desperately to screw any and every boy with a funny foreign name. The boys for their part are drinking straight out of a bottle and smoking a four-foot high hookah. It´s enough to make a girl not want to stay in a hostel ever again. (When I win the lottery) I could just hop in a cab and say, "take me to [respectable hotel]" where upon arriving at my room I could then fire up the laptop and write a blog about what a chore it is to fly.

Tomorrow I will hopefully be more with it.