Maximum City (Dos)

Well, I wouldn't want to call Madrid Maximum city, the original title being taken and all, but I must say the city is alive, pulsing with life and bursting at the seams with all sorts of activity. But, before all that, let me start at the beginning. The flight was uneventful, no mishaps, nothing. I expected the typical crap, so I did the usual split-underwear-between-bags trick. But...nothing. I was traveling with one of my friends, the Planner, but blow me down if there weren't a whole bunch of characters from Delft. All of 'em heading to Madrid, some for the exchange program and others for vacation. A nice little reunion was had before we boarded the craft.
The landing at Madrid was smooth. Have I ever mentioned how much I like smooth landings? Our hostel was situated in downtown Madrid. The old historical downtown, not the new downtown with all fancy buildings. And the best way to travel in Madrid? Metro, baby. Sheer pleasure, if you ask me. That was officially the best metro network I've seen. Criss-crossed the whole city and made every location accessible. We bought the one week tourist pass which means you can use the metro innumerable times for one week. A pretty nifty deal if you plan to do plenty of touristy stuff. But since we were here for a course it would have made more sense (economically) to pick up the ten-rides ticket. But heck, not that I'm complaining. Just telling you.
With all the pickpocket stories I heard before I got here, I went into India mode as soon as I stepped out the airport. My wallet was in my front pocket of my scraggly jeans and the thumb of my hand was hooked nonchalantly into the same pocket. Of course, a professional would have ripped out my pockets without me knowing it. Still, we all gotta do what we all gotta do.
At the hostel we got to our room and it was occupied...by a Greek girl no less. One of those 'holy-moly' moments. The worst part was the rooms had some sort of annoying electronic lock system so we were trying to open the door for a good five minutes before we finally got in. Making a ruckus the whole "what's-wrong-with-this-door?" time, I might add. Wonder what she was thinking, on the inside. Because she sure didn't come and open the door for us. Anyway after we popped in, we all adopted the customary shocked-frozen-statue pose, then we exchanged mutually confused looks before we launched into introductions. Of course we didn't stay long there. The Planner and me took off to explore the surroundings. Before you all die of curiosity, let me tell you, we were moved from that room to another room. Presumably the girl told the hostel chappie about the situation and everything was resolved. Darn awkward it would have been otherwise.
The first night out in Madrid was pretty interesting, mostly because the place was bustling with activity. Buildings were lit up and city squares were chock full with middle aged diners.
We tried the fancy Spanish wines. Brilliant stuff, absolutely brilliant. You've got to do it. Don't leave Spain without trying them wines.
With the wines we also had Jamon Serrano, which is a sort of ham, typical of Spain. Apparently the pigs are fed one specific type of nut the whole time. No normal pig food, just this nut. Ay caramba!! To be honest I wasn't so gung-ho on the ham. It had large bits of fat on it and I don't like fat. Uuugh!!! To top it off we had Tortilla Espanola, which is a pie type thingy with potatoes and egg. (Yeah, yeah, I know its called a Spanish omlette, but I still can't get myself to call it that.)I was instantly hooked and over the coming days I would be shoveling large chunks of the stuff down the hatch with nary a care for my arteries.
After all that, we strolled here and there but nothing else blog-worthy happened except of course for the bikes being hauled to impound. Heh heh....whaddya know, it happens here as well.
That's it for now. Adios!

Long time no see

I've been terribly remiss about this blog, now haven't I? Well, its been a real busy month, this. I finally got back to Delft last Sunday after a solid 9 days in Madrid. Yep, Madrid. Eat your heart out, chaps. But seriously, now that I'm back I need to tie up all loose ends related to academia. About time I started to churn out those results and things, otherwise I'll end up spending more time at the university and that's not so light on the ol' wallet. Settling back into the Delft routine wasn't tough. In fact it rained while I was on the way home from the station and soaked me to my socks. Not that I'm ticked off or anything. It was the most appropriate Welcome-Back gesture. Holland, baby.

In other news, the sixty Euro running-the-red-light fine arrived. Only it came with a six Euro administrative fee. I feel the pinch lads. Ouch.
Also, I've got to add, Family Guy is officially on my crap list. I mean, did you watch that recent episode? An absolute travesty lads. Totally disgusting. What are they trying to do? Test viewer loyalty? Well, they've lost me for sure. Or did the talent all get up and walk away? Even Stewie and Brian don't seem to be doing anything remotely funny. In fact, the only thing I was doing while watching the last episode was desperately clenching my fists and restraining myself from rushing to the sink and scooping my brains out with a soup ladle. Gaaah!!

Anyway, the next few posts are going to be about Madrid, the one week exchange program (of course, why else do you think I went to Madrid? Holiday?) and other general student madness. Just thought I'd let you know.

'Day of the dead' or 'El dia de los Muertos'

Or rather, the day of the dead party. But lets face it, that title caught your eye didn't it? Have I mentioned how good Latin American parties are? No? Well, take it from me, they sure know how to have a good time. The day of the dead is officially on November 2nd, but the Latin American crowd in Delft decided to kick it off this weekend. What happens on the day of the dead? Apparently its something like All Souls Day, where people remember the dead folk. Just wiki it or google it. You'll get all the gory details. But, as a good Mexican friend of mine aptly put it, yelling in my ear over the loud music, "Its just another reason to party". No reason to argue with her.
Anyway, the scene at the place was complete with the altar and skulls and candy and poems and the works. No Catrinas though. Latin American lasses with jet black tresses mingled with shiny-shirted Latin American chaps, laughing and yelling the whole time. Too stereotypical, you think? You don't hear me complaining now, do you? Of course, no Latin American party would be complete without the fancy salsa stuff and it was there, all right. Oodles of it. This dancing stuff is in their genes. Their hips move fluidly with the music and their feet are ever so light. Even their foot tapping is amazing. Gosh, its times like this that makes you think about the unfairness of it all. I mean look at us Indians. All we've got is some movie-esq, vulgar pelvic thrusting. Sensual, forsooth!! Its only a matter of time before some poor viewer gets his eyes poked out.
This time I resolved not to be a party wallflower. I dove resolutely into the crowd and tried shaking a leg. The end result was predictably unfortunate. As patient and as nice as my good Latin American amigo's were, I ended up looking like there was a two by four stuck in my butt. Ach, well, always a next time, I suppose. The music alternated between the fancy salsa stuff and anti-establishment songs. Anti-establishment songs are good in the sense that I can at least tap my foot to it. Of course when you feel the frost-bite in your toes mere foot tapping will not help. In which case there's nothing to beat jumping about in a crowd, pumping the air with your fists and repeatedly yelling Puto! in tune with Molotov's song of the same name. And before you go bananas let be repeat here what a Mexican chappie told me. Puto is apparently a very common thing to say in those parts of the world. It doesn't mean any offense and apparently blends seamlessly with the local language. So there. But now that I've told you this don't go spouting the stuff at meetings and other social occasions. I won't be held responsible if you get the stuffing kicked out of you because of some clever Puto related joke you cracked at the last party you went to.
The other highlight of the evening was the chappies coming up to me and speaking Spanish. And when I say "Sorry, nada espanol" (I know, i know, its bad Spanish), they do a double take and go "Ah, sorry, how was I to know? You looked like you were from our parts." The grin on my face on these particular occasions nearly split my head in half. I typically respond with a "No problemo. Gracias." And if you think that total strangers are doing this to make me happy, well, then I'm just going to have to ignore you. Although this does make me wish I'd learnt some Spanish by now. All in all a good time, lads.
Enjoy the official 'Day of the dead'. While you're at it polish some gravestones. Also, whack some stuff from the altars. It makes the good folk believe that the spirits of the dead people came back for some of their favorite thingys. Go on, now. Quick, while no one is looking.