And we'll never be Royals, bro.

Report #2 covers my pre-Instagram* trip to Madrid and what I ate there.  
*Due to lack of Instagram, all photos are courtesy of Google Images. 

Howdy Gang!

This is unofficial report number 2. I am integrating well into Spanish society. I will soon be a North Carolina version of Ricardo Montelbon. As I have mentioned before, I was made to drive here. Plus I get to start all over with that pesky points system. Not that the cops could catch you. They all drive the same small cars everyone else does. There is one car style here and it looks like a Ford Festiva.

 

I might as well sit in the back seat of mine. Roads and sidewalks are both small and both made out of cobblestone. I was on a road recently that I thought was particularly steep. Then I realized I was about to drive down a flight of stairs. Then I rolled forward more as I stalled the car trying to go back up in reverse.

This weekend I went to Madrid. There I saw the Royal Palace and hung out with the king and queen in their throne room. There was lots of things covered in gold. 

 

Also, it seems that if you are royalty, it is your obligation to have lots of naked people on your walls and ceilings. In this respect, most college dorm rooms are practically a royal palaces, minus the gold and 30 foot ceilings. I think kings are just big frat boys. They even have really cool velvet togas. And the scepter: beer bong. 

After that I walked around the area where they had the Spanish Inquisition. The S.I. was when they tortured you until you admitted to doing something bad, at which time you were immediately tortured for doing bad things. This drew large crowds of people into a large square, including my friends the King family. I could tell the Kings hung out here because there were naked people painted on the sides of the buildings. One of the more popular torture methods was burning people alive. 

 Building on that "cooking" theme, the square is now full of cafes and with dudes who clamp their hands and bang on guitars while singing Spanish songs. I ate there and got pizza(that's a cheese pizza, Russell). Spanish pizza is different because they use about a teaspoon of sauce and a pound of cheese. The top of pizza was burnt, leading me to believe it may have done something wrong. 

Back in the homestead of Vigo, I saw Steve Patterson and some other American GKN people this week. It was quite a relief to speak American. The Spanish speak good English, but no American. Since I speak Spanish like Tonto, conversations are always burdensome. It is especially daunting when you say things and people start laughing. I recently attempted to make a comment in Spanish about a gage storage area, and actually noted that it was a good place to store a "woman's anatomical feature". The language thing has also rewarded me with some interesting menu selections. I ate octopus twice one day, leading me to wonder what words don't mean "I want octopus". I figure it is just some inside joke among the restaurant people: 

If an American comes in, they get octopus. 

More later. Peace out!

11 julio 1997

Note: All images displayed are courtesy of Google Images.