There's a Hand Down My Pants and it isn't Mine

For some, having a beautiful Spanish girl?s hand down their pants might seem like a dream come true. Unfortunately it was rush hour on the metro and we were far from alone. Oh yeah, and she was trying for my wallet. It was extremely subtle and quite unnoticeable with the jostling crowd but a buddy of mine saw it happen and alerted me. Luckily I don?t carry a wallet and had nothing in my pockets but some lint. So Madrid became the first city I?ve even been pseudo-robbed in.


Being in Madrid, I decided to take in a bullfight. Despite the fact that I was supposed to be disgusted by this barbarous event I found myself actually enjoying it. Now let me be clear here: I don?t like the idea of killing a bull for sport, it?s definitely cruel, and I will probably never see one again, but it was a thrilling cultural experience and exactly the kind of thing I came to Europe to see. Thousands of locals packed the stadium on a rainy afternoon to see the fight. A vibrant crowd filled the air with energy. The fluid, graceful, movements of the matadors in their traditional garb was exciting. People passed around platters of tapas (little snacks) to everyone in the vicinity as they cheered and jeered the spectacle. It was a little slice of life that was decidedly unique in an increasingly homogenized Europe. I feel I can say this with at least a modicum of authority since, in seven cities, I have yet to be more than ten minutes from a Starbucks.
It seems the only other thing to do in Madrid is get drunk. There are an awful lot of bars and people are still loudly roaming the streets at three in the morning. I met a bunch of interesting people again at the hostels and we roamed around the usual sites but Madrid didn?t really do it for me. I?m not much of a drinker and some soggy weather didn?t improve my outlook. The real highlight was the Palace of Something I Can?t Remember Right Now. I also went to the Prado museum, home to hundreds of impressive paintings from guys that died a long time ago. Discarding Madrid like a soiled sock, I headed off to Seville.
Seville was the Spain of my dreams. Narrow cobblestone streets, colorful buildings, incredible architecture, beautiful plazas, amazing gardens, up to 50% off on life insurance. Wow. Unfortunately due to a series of scheduling snafus I ended staying for only about 6 hours. I still covered a pretty good chunk of the sites on a gorgeous day. It was here, in Seville, that I experienced probably my first moment of pure synergistic perfection in this world. For one reason or another it appeared that everyone in Seville was getting married on the same day. For some reason there were literally dozens of couples wandering around in tuxedos and wedding dresses having their pictures taken by photographers. The sun was hanging low in the sky as I walked through an arch into a pedestrian plaza behind a truly stunning cathedral. The plaza was rectangular, surrounded by colorful buildings and bordered by low trees that were full of brilliant, ripe oranges. In the center was a fountain with ducks. The spire of the cathedral could be seen over the edge of the buildings and everything glowed with the reddish hue of a setting sun. Several brides and grooms mulled around the plaza, striking poses. It was at this moment that the cathedral bells started ringing, a brilliant echoing sound that reverberated off the walls and touched the very soul. My eyes immediately welled up with tears. It was, for me, a perfect moment. And I will leave you with that.