Otherwise known as the week of the CFD. So, why did I take CFD? The only reason was to get to Madrid and take in the city. Which I did, by the way. The added bonus was all the cool folk I met in class. Lets see if I got the tally right, three Germans, four Belgians, one Austrian, two Frenchmen, a Czech guy and a girl from Morocco. And then of course there was me. The solitary Indian. (What did you say? No, no...I'm not smiling. Honest.)
Anyway, let me first say that the German stereotype I had, etched in my head is all gone. Blown away to bits. Teeny tiny bits. Germans are friendly. Well, friendlier than all the Belgians...put together. Or maybe its just that, these particular mix of Germans and Belgians were a strange batch. Quite possible. But wait, lets just focus on this crowd here. Other hypothetical situations for another time. One of the German guys had a super thick accent. Golly, it was thick. Just like that learn English advertisement with the German coastguard. The Austrian guy also had a thick accent. He was cool too. Been there, done that kinda guy. One of the Belgians hung out with us. One of those serious chaps. He told his jokes in a grave manner and a straight face. That added to the humour. Heh...but you should have been there to actually experience that. The other Belgian guys didn't bother integrating. They kept to themselves and getting into conversation with them was impossible. For me anyway. The Czech guy also kept to himself but I think that was because he was ill. And near the end at the farewell party he asked me questions about India and how we couldn't drink beer and party there. Now, I didn't exactly roll about on the floor and laugh my guts out but I did manage to correct his view. He in turn corrected some myths I had been harboring about beer. Apparently they have a city in the Czech Republic called Pilsen and that's where pils originated. I had a hard time believing that, what with my recent Belgian trip and all, but Wikipedia confirms it all so.....As for the French, they kept to themselves too, but I suspect that was because of the language thing. Yeah, they love their language. But the Moroccan girl probably influenced them and therefore they didn't have a problem with group integration. Cool, eh? An unlikely mix, but a good mix nonetheless.
On day two, we began our cooking escapades. The first time it was just the two German guys without the thick accent, the Planner and me. It was simple stuff, just pasta bolognese, but incredibly well made. And there was enough leftover so we asked around at the crowded hostel kitchen and a French group took it of our hands. That kinda started a buzz. The next day, the Austrian, the Belgian and the thick accented German joined us. More fancy cooking, full stomachs and leftovers (which were gladly accepted by the French) later it was official. The CFD lads could cook. And cook well. This continued for the whole week.
For lunch of course we were at the faculty cafeteria. Have I mentioned how much Spanish folk eat? No? Well, they eat a lot. And everything they eat is soaked in oil. I guess, all that dancing helps keep the weight in check. At one time I was separated from the German/Austrian/Belgian clique and was eating by myself when.....surprise, surprise...I was joined by the French group. Of course, I was glad of it. Always a pleasure to talk with people with different mindsets. The conversations were interesting.
"Hey, I just saw Slumdog Millionaire. Does that stuff really happen in your country?"
Umm.....yep.
"How are you finding the Netherlands? Good? You need to visit the South European countries like France, Italy and Spain......more"
Hahahaha.....they just couldn't resist saying that.
"You're in Spain. You need to drink more wine rather than beer"
You said it dude.
"You need to hang out with the South European people more. Otherwise wherever you go you will see large beer mugs" (I am not making this up.)
At this point I was laughing and pretty much choking on my food. Trust the Frenchies to come up with something like that. Maybe the French translation makes more sense. The lunch and the conversation ended with them urging me to drink more wine, eat paella and indulge in other Spanish delicacies.
This is one of the nifty parts of the EU. They're small as it is, but the differences they have are phenomenally large which makes life all the more interesting. Hope I get to meet all the EU folk before I leave here.
Now, for the Chueca episode. When we first got there, we were all gung ho about wanting to try Spanish food. So we made some inquiries at the hostel reception and the guy told us that the best place for food is Chueca. On our way to the Metro, one of us was looking at the map, when a Spanish man just walked up and asked if he could help. He then proceeded to tell us that Chueca was the best place for food and very kindly pointed it to us on the map. Now this was kind of weird for me, because ...well...I've never seen it been done elsewhere. But apparently, this was normal behavior in Madrid, helping tourists and all. (By the way, all conversations were in Spanish, so t'was only the Spanish speaking folk doing the talking). Ok, so that was two thumbs up for Chueca. So we made it there, stumbled out of the metro station and hunted for a good eating place..of which there were plenty. However, in addition to the numerous tapas joints, there were also an equal number of porno rental shops, sex shops, clubs and other such establishments. Mostly with pictures of semi-nude,big-muscled and well-oiled men on the front. The realization that Chueca was Madrid's gay district wasn't like a hammer blow to the head or anything. More like a mild electric shock. Not that I'm against these chaps or anything, but the sight of men tongue kissing at street corners and penis shaped door knobs shakes the unprepared soul to no small extent. Just wish somebody had warned us. Oh, by the way, food at Cheuca is top notch stuff. Delicious and all, but rather meager in quantity for the amount we paid. That was my only grouse, but perhaps it was only me.
As for the other delicacies we tried in Madrid: First there were churo's. Incredibly sweet, incredibly filling, incredibly tasty. Sadly, the ensuing brain freeze prevents you from ordering more of it. Then there was an deadly mixture of eggs and bacon/fish and oil. Yep, oil. It was like the third ingredient. I forget what this was called, but this was a traditional dish. The eggs and meat were delicious, but the oil killed all appetite.
Perhaps it was intentional. Finally, there was Stomach of Cow. Again, I forget the Spanish name, but this was also a traditional dish. It was ok. Pretty bland. And it felt spongy and rubbery on the teeth.
Ah, well, an experience is an experience, eh?
The last evening in town was spent with good ol' Loudmouth Lad. Lots of beer and lots of Sangria went down the hatch that night. The good old days were discussed with great back-slapping and hi-fiving. Of course, I must say, that the present days were also discussed with equal camaraderie. I mean, these are good times, aren't they? On this note let me introduce El Tigre to you. Its where we were for the first part of the evening. El Tigre is a tapas bar where you order a beer and you get a plate of free food. How cool is that? Apparently this is common here, but El Tigre was the only place I had been to which actually did this. And just a little heads up, lads. El Tigre was packed with foreigners/tourists.
And that chaps, was The Week that Was. And thus my Madrid narrative comes to an end. Of course, if I remember anything more, I shall pack it in here. So until then.......
On day two, we began our cooking escapades. The first time it was just the two German guys without the thick accent, the Planner and me. It was simple stuff, just pasta bolognese, but incredibly well made. And there was enough leftover so we asked around at the crowded hostel kitchen and a French group took it of our hands. That kinda started a buzz. The next day, the Austrian, the Belgian and the thick accented German joined us. More fancy cooking, full stomachs and leftovers (which were gladly accepted by the French) later it was official. The CFD lads could cook. And cook well. This continued for the whole week.
For lunch of course we were at the faculty cafeteria. Have I mentioned how much Spanish folk eat? No? Well, they eat a lot. And everything they eat is soaked in oil. I guess, all that dancing helps keep the weight in check. At one time I was separated from the German/Austrian/Belgian clique and was eating by myself when.....surprise, surprise...I was joined by the French group. Of course, I was glad of it. Always a pleasure to talk with people with different mindsets. The conversations were interesting.
"Hey, I just saw Slumdog Millionaire. Does that stuff really happen in your country?"
Umm.....yep.
"How are you finding the Netherlands? Good? You need to visit the South European countries like France, Italy and Spain......more"
Hahahaha.....they just couldn't resist saying that.
"You're in Spain. You need to drink more wine rather than beer"
You said it dude.
"You need to hang out with the South European people more. Otherwise wherever you go you will see large beer mugs" (I am not making this up.)
At this point I was laughing and pretty much choking on my food. Trust the Frenchies to come up with something like that. Maybe the French translation makes more sense. The lunch and the conversation ended with them urging me to drink more wine, eat paella and indulge in other Spanish delicacies.
This is one of the nifty parts of the EU. They're small as it is, but the differences they have are phenomenally large which makes life all the more interesting. Hope I get to meet all the EU folk before I leave here.
Now, for the Chueca episode. When we first got there, we were all gung ho about wanting to try Spanish food. So we made some inquiries at the hostel reception and the guy told us that the best place for food is Chueca. On our way to the Metro, one of us was looking at the map, when a Spanish man just walked up and asked if he could help. He then proceeded to tell us that Chueca was the best place for food and very kindly pointed it to us on the map. Now this was kind of weird for me, because ...well...I've never seen it been done elsewhere. But apparently, this was normal behavior in Madrid, helping tourists and all. (By the way, all conversations were in Spanish, so t'was only the Spanish speaking folk doing the talking). Ok, so that was two thumbs up for Chueca. So we made it there, stumbled out of the metro station and hunted for a good eating place..of which there were plenty. However, in addition to the numerous tapas joints, there were also an equal number of porno rental shops, sex shops, clubs and other such establishments. Mostly with pictures of semi-nude,big-muscled and well-oiled men on the front. The realization that Chueca was Madrid's gay district wasn't like a hammer blow to the head or anything. More like a mild electric shock. Not that I'm against these chaps or anything, but the sight of men tongue kissing at street corners and penis shaped door knobs shakes the unprepared soul to no small extent. Just wish somebody had warned us. Oh, by the way, food at Cheuca is top notch stuff. Delicious and all, but rather meager in quantity for the amount we paid. That was my only grouse, but perhaps it was only me.
As for the other delicacies we tried in Madrid: First there were churo's. Incredibly sweet, incredibly filling, incredibly tasty. Sadly, the ensuing brain freeze prevents you from ordering more of it. Then there was an deadly mixture of eggs and bacon/fish and oil. Yep, oil. It was like the third ingredient. I forget what this was called, but this was a traditional dish. The eggs and meat were delicious, but the oil killed all appetite.
Perhaps it was intentional. Finally, there was Stomach of Cow. Again, I forget the Spanish name, but this was also a traditional dish. It was ok. Pretty bland. And it felt spongy and rubbery on the teeth.
Ah, well, an experience is an experience, eh?The last evening in town was spent with good ol' Loudmouth Lad. Lots of beer and lots of Sangria went down the hatch that night. The good old days were discussed with great back-slapping and hi-fiving. Of course, I must say, that the present days were also discussed with equal camaraderie. I mean, these are good times, aren't they? On this note let me introduce El Tigre to you. Its where we were for the first part of the evening. El Tigre is a tapas bar where you order a beer and you get a plate of free food. How cool is that? Apparently this is common here, but El Tigre was the only place I had been to which actually did this. And just a little heads up, lads. El Tigre was packed with foreigners/tourists.
And that chaps, was The Week that Was. And thus my Madrid narrative comes to an end. Of course, if I remember anything more, I shall pack it in here. So until then.......
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