Apologias, mi amor Inglaterra.
London, you are quite civilized indeed, and I thank you for all the good times we shared. Call me sometime!
[She never will.]
As for you, Spain...
Well, first of all, I had my camera stolen.
[At this point, the audience is obliged to make a collective gasp.]
*COLLECTIVE GASP*
[Thank you.]
It was in an internet cafe, on La Rambla, a high-traffic tourist street in Barcelona. I was editing my wiki, when all of a sudden this guy comes and sits directly behind me. He edged his seat close to mine, and it made me a little uncomfortable, but I figured it was just the all-too-common rudeness which I have observed in Spain. So, I simply moved my chair in a little and continued typing. I felt a little rustling, but when I turned around he was just adjusting his coat on the back of the chair. Eventually he got up and walked off.
A few minutes, later, I was thinking about the photos I had taken, and decided to review them on the camera.
Much sadness ensued.
Secondly, all the restaurants I have eaten at here so far have been, frankly, terrible. Or perhaps, at the best, passable -- but nothing beyond that. London is like a culinary haven full of profoundly delightful jewels. All these burnt paellas and cold tortillas españolas can just be thrown out as far as I'm concerned. Enough said about that.
One thing in Spain's favor: our hotel in Barcelona was four star, and it *showed.* The room was like a sparkling vision of newness and modernity, and you had to pass over a glassed-in ocean view bridge to get to your room. Maravillosa!
The one in Madrid, in which I am now, is surrounded by three things: bingo houses, sex shops, and prostitutes. Enough said about THAT.
Anyway, back to not writing my paper for Roswell... and my room without internet access.
Sadness.
[She never will.]
As for you, Spain...
Well, first of all, I had my camera stolen.
[At this point, the audience is obliged to make a collective gasp.]
*COLLECTIVE GASP*
[Thank you.]
It was in an internet cafe, on La Rambla, a high-traffic tourist street in Barcelona. I was editing my wiki, when all of a sudden this guy comes and sits directly behind me. He edged his seat close to mine, and it made me a little uncomfortable, but I figured it was just the all-too-common rudeness which I have observed in Spain. So, I simply moved my chair in a little and continued typing. I felt a little rustling, but when I turned around he was just adjusting his coat on the back of the chair. Eventually he got up and walked off.
A few minutes, later, I was thinking about the photos I had taken, and decided to review them on the camera.
Much sadness ensued.
Secondly, all the restaurants I have eaten at here so far have been, frankly, terrible. Or perhaps, at the best, passable -- but nothing beyond that. London is like a culinary haven full of profoundly delightful jewels. All these burnt paellas and cold tortillas españolas can just be thrown out as far as I'm concerned. Enough said about that.
One thing in Spain's favor: our hotel in Barcelona was four star, and it *showed.* The room was like a sparkling vision of newness and modernity, and you had to pass over a glassed-in ocean view bridge to get to your room. Maravillosa!
The one in Madrid, in which I am now, is surrounded by three things: bingo houses, sex shops, and prostitutes. Enough said about THAT.
Anyway, back to not writing my paper for Roswell... and my room without internet access.
Sadness.