Honey, can you call me back in 30 minutes. I’m at the police station.
December 12th, 2006
Well, that’s how I answered the phone when Chel called me. I was in San Sebastion, Spain. Sean and I needed to get out of Pamplona for awhile. I wanted to see more of Spain then the dry, sticky sangria and piss filled streets.
Our favorite Aussie chick was packing up and heading out for the bus stop in Pamplona when she asked us if we wanted to go a free Bob Dylan concert in San Sebastian. Ummm, yeah.
The Spanish countryside is amazing. We took a bus from Pamplona to San Sebastian and it is amazing the quality of people you meet traveling. Everyone is cordial and pleasant to talk to. They understand that there is a difference between a country’s politics and the people from that country.
We (Sean, I, and the Aussie chick) get to San Sebastian and we meet up with some of her friends at the train station closer to the beach and we are all standing around joking and having a good time. It would figure it would get fucked up. Sean puts his bag down between his legs and never sees it again. The pick pockets work fast in this city. He lost his passport, some clothes, and the overnight stuff he brought. So, we have to go get a police report so he can take that to the consulate in Madrid to get an emergency passport. Thank God we are leaving from Madrid because that’s the only consulate in Spain.
Well, we spend the next two hours walking around San Sebastian – what a cool city. Too bad we were in a bad mood. Hey, work called me while we were walking around and I had to deal with some emergency back in the States that couldn’t wait, but at least I had my stuff.
I was able to use my limited French in this city as that more people could understand me. It is nice that this city butts up against France. Chel calls me when we are at the police station and I have to call her back. She is amused but immediately takes charge about finding out what Sean needs to get on the plane back to the States. She is awesome.
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