Abenteuerlich Reise Teil 1: The Rain in Spain
Today I decided to go for a walk, but halfway through it started to rain. I elected to head back, thinking: ‚Gee, I wish I had my raincoat...oh yeah that Irish girl lost it.’ Now, in case you’re scratching your head wondering: ‚Which Irish girl is he refering to?’ Don’t worry, you’re intitled. The story begins, as you might have guessed, with rain.
I remember some sort of rhyme involving the rain in Spain, and I can vouch for it, they aren’t kidding. Despitie our travel guide’s assurances that it doesn’t rain that often in Madrid, it was raining when we got there. (Though in the guide’s defense, it did say that if it did rain, it would be in November.) I remember at first we were mocking the whole ordeal: ‚You call this rain, Madrid?’ we said, or, ‚Look at all these people with their big raincoats, it’s hardly even sprinkling.’ We said these things, and we meant them, it was hardly sprinkling after all. By the second day my shoes were two shades darker and water logged, ever step bringing a small fountain of water to my dampened feet. We spent the day in a museum, trying to figure out other people’s art. That night we had decided to hit the club scene, which I am not big on, but was told by pretty much every source (guide book and all) that Madrid was most famous, world famous in fact, for its’ night life. And, honestly, who could pass that up?
Our method for finding the best club was asking the people staying in our hostel, which is how we met them. We found three Irish girls and one Argentenian to accompany us to some of the world’s greatest clubs. We hit the rain soaked streets, but it didn’t matter, back then I still had my raincoat. Fifteen minutes toward the first club and one of the Irish girls, called Rachel, begain to complain about her lack of rain gear. Being a gentleman, I insisted that she take my rain coat. Begrudgingly, she took me up on my offer, and I was later told it was a nice offer indeed.
Around 3AM, our group was separated, John, the Argentinian and I decided to head home, seeing as we were all soaked to our skin, and it was still pouring. We eventually found the hostel, but didn’t find the Irish girls until the next day. The next morning, or more aptly, the next day around 1PM, the Irish girls were hurredly packing after being kicked out of the hostel a mere 3 hours after they were supposed to have checked out. Rachel found me in the common room and broke the bad news. My rain coat was lost, possibly for ever. She felt bad even after I assured her it was no big deal...three times. She finally fit in one last apology just before a hurried goodbye moments before they all got the boot.
Still, after all this time, I didn’t miss my rain coat until today...
Today I decided to go for a walk, but halfway through it started to rain. I elected to head back, thinking: ‚Gee, I wish I had my raincoat...oh yeah that Irish girl lost it.’ Now, in case you’re scratching your head wondering: ‚Which Irish girl is he refering to?’ Don’t worry, you’re intitled. The story begins, as you might have guessed, with rain.
I remember some sort of rhyme involving the rain in Spain, and I can vouch for it, they aren’t kidding. Despitie our travel guide’s assurances that it doesn’t rain that often in Madrid, it was raining when we got there. (Though in the guide’s defense, it did say that if it did rain, it would be in November.) I remember at first we were mocking the whole ordeal: ‚You call this rain, Madrid?’ we said, or, ‚Look at all these people with their big raincoats, it’s hardly even sprinkling.’ We said these things, and we meant them, it was hardly sprinkling after all. By the second day my shoes were two shades darker and water logged, ever step bringing a small fountain of water to my dampened feet. We spent the day in a museum, trying to figure out other people’s art. That night we had decided to hit the club scene, which I am not big on, but was told by pretty much every source (guide book and all) that Madrid was most famous, world famous in fact, for its’ night life. And, honestly, who could pass that up?
Our method for finding the best club was asking the people staying in our hostel, which is how we met them. We found three Irish girls and one Argentenian to accompany us to some of the world’s greatest clubs. We hit the rain soaked streets, but it didn’t matter, back then I still had my raincoat. Fifteen minutes toward the first club and one of the Irish girls, called Rachel, begain to complain about her lack of rain gear. Being a gentleman, I insisted that she take my rain coat. Begrudgingly, she took me up on my offer, and I was later told it was a nice offer indeed.
Around 3AM, our group was separated, John, the Argentinian and I decided to head home, seeing as we were all soaked to our skin, and it was still pouring. We eventually found the hostel, but didn’t find the Irish girls until the next day. The next morning, or more aptly, the next day around 1PM, the Irish girls were hurredly packing after being kicked out of the hostel a mere 3 hours after they were supposed to have checked out. Rachel found me in the common room and broke the bad news. My rain coat was lost, possibly for ever. She felt bad even after I assured her it was no big deal...three times. She finally fit in one last apology just before a hurried goodbye moments before they all got the boot.
Still, after all this time, I didn’t miss my rain coat until today...
posted by Keith @ 6:22 PM
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