Bishop

Spanish men crash and burn too.

January 25th, 2008

The next night we are hanging out at the Dubliner when we hear a cackle of female voices coming from the back.  Apparently, it is a celebration – a bachelorette celebration.  Sean and I look at each other and just grin.

We are experts at this and we wanna show the Spanish and their “piropeo” that the Yanks have game too.  We hold back and watch as the carnage begins.  Time and time again the Spanish try and dive into the hoard of women.  Time and time again they retreat with their tails between their legs as they are dismissed over and over.  I head over to the supposed leader – there is always one. And I befriended her.  I flash my Cruise smile and told her I was getting married in a few months so there was no way I was going to sleep with her tonight – no matter how much she wanted it.  She laughed and invited us both to join them.  I wish I had taken a picture of the looks from the Spanish guys.  BTW, Sean has some decent pics over at his blog.  He writes better then me anyway.  We spend some time there – they were getting pretty trashed – one chick even flashed me her taco.  We take off, we are both old enough we know you should always leave on a high note.  We head over to some Argintina  Salsa place and befriend some locals.  The guys asks me for $6 euros and comes back with a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black and hands it to me.  Man, I am really starting to love it here but we are leaving in the morning.  We visit a few more places and Sean bags it in.  I stick with them until the sun comes up.  I head back to the hostel and as I walk around the corner in the hallway I see Sean’s feet sticking out. He is laying there, sleeping, in the hallway.  I forgot to give him the keys.  It was kinda funny actually.

Well, against my better judgement I let my head hit the pillow.  I wake up, what seems 10 minutes later, but really is 3 hours.  We only have 1:30 minutes before our flight takes off.  Mother fucker.

I wake Sean up, yell to him to take the bedroom and I got the bathroom.  I rake my arm over the sink and pile whatever was there into my suitcase.  We will sort it out later.  He does the same for the clothes on the floor.  But, poor Sean misses a $100 pair of jeans, which he doesn’t discover unutil we get home.  Poor bastard can’t catch a break.  We run outside and pray we can find a cab driving around at 9:30am on a Saturday.  We are oh so lucky and I say this to the driver as I point to him, “You Mario Andretti. Fast.  Barajas.”  His eyes light up with excitement, which should have scared the shit out of me then.

This guy could be his little brother, we are zooming all over the place.  Sean is in the back going, “What the fuck did you tell him?” as he is thrown from side to side.  Between that and the hangover I am trying not to throw up.  We get there and the meter says something like $35 euros but he asks for $50.  I give him $60 and we dart into the terminal.  Sean, my good friend, becomes the ugly American and cuts to the front of the line getting into the Internationl terminal and almost starts an incident.  I follow him and answer their snears with “estúpido” and point to Sean.  We get through and settle into our seats just as the place backs away from the terminal.

We are headed home.  One a little lighter than the other, but both us heavier in the understanding of a foreign culture and experiences that not many in the States ever partipate in.  Most assuredly, this experience was great because I chose to travel with a guy who has the right mentality.  Cool and calm even when things weren’t going right.  And upbeat and fun without doing stuff that would get you thrown in jail.   I only make a point of saying this because I have been on the trips from hell and it was only because of the people I was with.  I tip my drink to you as you travel through China.  I wish I was there – almost.

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