London, Ho!

Well, here we are again. Time to chronicle the London Adventure before I forget all the murky details. For all you avid fans, I guess you know how my last attempt to reach the island fared. So this was the last attempt. For me anyway. No way I was going to sit through another painful three hours at the British embassy and fork out another eighty Euro's for a tourist visa.
The day dawned bright and....no, no..wait, the day didn't dawn at all. I was up at three am and at the train station at three thirty to get to Eindhoven Airport which is a good one and a half hours from Delft. Of course, that was the day the snow came, a harbinger of one of the coldest winters to hit Europe. I mean, this is my life, right? It wouldn't be fitting if it happened any other day. So trains were delayed, exasperated sighs were collectively released, fingers and toes froze and the ol' forehead vein started doing its dance. Only two words resonated in my mind. Thwarted. Again. I didn't fall to my knees and didn't look skywards and didn't yell, "Why? Why me?", although I was seriously tempted to do just that. By now I was used to the meanderings of (my) life. Besides, I didn't want to make a scene at Delft Station.
Surprisingly, there were quite a number of us at the station. I learned later that a large group was traveling to Barcelona and their flight was earlier than mine. Announcement after announcement sounded via the station's public announcement system informing us hapless travelers that due to bad weather there would fewer trains running. Smiling cynically, I shifted my bag from one hand to the other and my weight from one foot to the other. "Just a normal day" I muttered through gritted teeth and clenched jaw.
Eventually the train did arrive and we all clambered aboard, luggage and all. Getting to Eindhoven was uneventful. Of course at Eindhoven station there was a mad scramble to grab the shuttle to the airport. Chinese people ran to the shuttle as it pulled into the station, shouting to their comrades. Not that I could understand anything, but it was still funny. I got into the bus as well and off we went to the airport. From the bus station to the airport another mad scramble ensued especially through those nutty revolving doors. I mean, who builds these things for airports? Yeesh!! Anyway, I successfully navigated these obstacles before making my way to my super cheap airline counter. Boards plastered everywhere warned me that if my luggage was bigger than the allowed size it would not be allowed on the plane. And there were these weird cage type containers which apparently "match" the luggage size you're allowed on board. Of course even a nut job can tell that those dimensions are nothing like the ones described on the website and there's no way anything bigger than a backpack will fit in there. I wasn't hassled about this, fortunately. My security check was kinda interesting as well. I was thoroughly frisked by a security chappie. He even frisked my armpits. Really now, do I look like I'd carry weed to another country?
But all said and done, I did make it to the aircraft, snagged a window seat and finally breathed a sigh of relief. Now the only way I wasn't getting to the U.K. was if the plane skidded off the icy runway. Ha ha ha ... gulp .. ha ha...umm.
Finally the plane did take off and there I was, en route to the UK. I paused to let that realization completely sink in and allowed myself a smug smile. That was when the chappie sitting in the aisle seat tapped me on the shoulder. "Hey, is it ok if I put my jacket in this seat?" he said motioning to the empty seat between us. "Sure", I mumbled. Jeez, can't I have one moment of self satisfaction?
Anyway, landing at Stanstead was hassle free. Getting my visa checked and my passport stamped went off without a hitch. Surprising, eh? So, I relaxed my tense muscles and walked on to official UK soil. I shouldn't have. (Not the UK soil bit, just the relaxing muscles bit). Some nut in a suit sprang out of nowhere, waved his badge at me, said something about the Statistics bureau and started asking me about my country of origin and some such stuff. I just stared blankly at him for a moment. I guess he noticed, because he started enunciating his words and made his sentences really short. That kinda annoyed me. I mean, my English isn't that bad, its just that I wasn't expecting government johnnies to jump out of nowhere and launch off into twenty questions. But it was just two questions before he withdrew. Thankfully.
I made my way to the coach stop. (London is just an hour away from Stanstead by coach). The coach driver looked at my ticket, looked at me and exclaimed heartily "Ah, you're finally on time!!" (Yes. It is possible to exclaim heartily. Take my word for it). I guess this guy had heard about our legendary (Indian) sense of time. Heh...can't hold that against him, now can I?
So there I was, on my way to London, to hang out with (and sponge off) good ol' buddies I hadn't seen in ages. Joe Cynic was an old friend from the school days. He'd taken off to London soon after he picked up his degree and was steadily climbing up the university ladder. "Why Joe Cynic?" you ask, with that perplexed look on your face. That's easy. Joe Dripping-Sarcasm is too long and Joe Pragmatic is too formal. But I have to admit the sarcasm had been tempered to no small extent and the pragmatism came out only when it needed to.
The Sleeper was an old chum from college. After snagging his degree he'd retained his workaholic ways and was now plowing through the corporate world, business suit and all. "So why The Sleeper?" you ask (with that same perplexed look). Heh, you should've seen him in class in the old days. "He slept his way though class", an experienced observer would have said after...err..observing him for four years. The fun bits occurred when our no good lecturers caught him off guard. "OIE!!," they'd bellow, "What's this? Its only nine in the morning. Go wash your face, I say". Ah, that brings back back memories.
As, for the Financial Whizz Kid, she was working at some fancy company doing economics and other..umm..financial stuff. (I'm an engineer, so I don't get all that money talk. Cut me some slack here, lads).
Well, that's that. There's more to follow though, so stay tuned.

Before we move on......

There's something I totally forgot to do after the Madrid narrative. The souvenir board!! So here it is.

The two things I did collect. First, the Madrid metro map. Since I'm a fan, its on the board. The second is a Real Madrid mascot thingy. I'm not a fan really, but since I went to the Santiago Bernabeu stadium it was a small matter to nip into the Real Madrid store and pick up the furry little guy. One last thing about El Tigre..When I said ample portions of food are served, I meant ample portions for me. Why do I bring this up? Well, when the Europeans were describing the place to me, it was a little comical.

The French: When you buy a drink its very filling, man. You get a large beer (using both hands to symbolize a tall glass) and lots of food (using both hands to symbolize a wide plate). Very filling.
The Germans/Austrians/Belgians: Its a tiny glass, man (using two fingers to symbolize a shot glass) and you get some food (using fingers of one hand to symbolize a morsel of food).

Side splitting stuff, chaps, side splitting stuff. Pity I didn't get any opinions from the Italians and the Spanish. All these folk live on the same continent but are so incredibly different. Kinda like the situation back home in India, except that here I'm the outsider, so I see the funny side.
Anyway, I'm back. After two and a half unforgettably brilliant weeks in London. So the next few posts are going to be all about that. I've been moping around ever since I got back. Blame it on Vacation Withdrawal Symptoms or whatever. But things are getting back to normal. The weather is very very wintery. The frost remains on the streets and sidewalks (because the temperature is still below zero) which makes it fun to watch everyone walk gingerly around the place as though the spikes from Price of Persia are going to slice upwards through the ground. Of course when they slip everyone just goes "Whoa!!!" with a silly expression on their face. The frost also leads to all new fantastic ways of braking the ol' bicycle. Interestingly its only the guys who put their feet on the ground to brake. Haven't seen a woman brake...yet. (For the uninformed, ice on the streets=brakes are useless. Sure, they work and the wheels lock up and all that. Here's the nub: Locked wheels still skate freely on ice. Its a ghastly feeling when you're on the bike, but its real fun to watch). By the way, I took a toss last night. No bones broken, so I'm counting myself lucky. Maybe I should stop laughing at other people. Maybe.....

The Week that Was

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.......

Madrid: Sights and Sounds

Well, the first weekend in Madrid was devoted to mostly the sightseeing stuff. The whole thing was organized by the University. They split us up into groups, assigned a couple of Spanish students to each group and off we went. But before that they gave us a lunch. My gosh! I stuffed myself with so much ham sandwiches and the tortilla stuff, that I'm pretty sure I presented a ghastly spectacle of myself. I would have felt bad, but my fellow students kept 1-uping me, so by the end of the whole ordeal we were sprawled all over the place finding it difficult to move. In retrospect it was a good move because the tramping-about-the-city thing lasted quite a while.
So, about this walking thing....they gave us a piece of paper in which there were a bunch of locations and a bunch of questions relating to the locations, the general idea being that once we got to the location we would prance around, looking for Spanish folk to help us with the questions. The Spanish students of course weren't allowed to help. They just stared with a bemused expression on their faces. I'm not sure what the object of the exercise was but I learnt that most Spanish folk don't speak English. Darn frustrating it was. After a while, I pretty much gave up and let things be. The penalty for not finishing the exercise led to some weird activities (including me dancing the Macarena in the street along with some other chaps), but the Spanish students with us ensured that a fun time was had by all. On one occasion though, an old lady lost it and started yelling about how university students were ruining her life and what not. So, while the rest of us foreigners were huddled together, the Spanish students swung into action and placated her and sent her off. Apart from this, they were super enthusiastic and also were incredibly helpful.
"Hands on your wallets in this part of town. There's thieving afoot"
"In this area too"
"Also, in this area"
and other such information. After I heard reports of various student folk getting their pockets picked (during the course of the week), I was pretty glad that these guys were assigned to us.
They also taught us the alcol song, in Spanish. I don't remember the Spanish words but the gist of it was "Alcol, alcol, alcol. We're here to get drunk. we don't care about the outcome. Alcol, alcol, alcol....". We sounded it out in one of the city squares, and then sang it again as we were walking around. The locals gave us some strange looks, but that was it. None of the "Cease that infernal racket!" stuff.

Typical scene in downtown Madrid. Old buildings, busy streets, the works...

King Neptune. Why? Probably roman heritage stuff.

Madrid's coat of arms. Bear helping himself to strawberries. (I don't know. So before you ask...don't ask.)

The center of Madrid, also probably Spain, from the looks of it. (Yep, that's my shoe.)

The scene as we were leaving Sol. Sol means sun, and the name was given to the gate that used to be there. The gate apparently faced east and you could see the sun as it rose (in the old days, in the old days!!). But as you have cleverly figured out, this view faces the west. Quite a good view actually.

One of the fancier (and probably the oldest) squares in Madrid. It had seven entrances which for some reason was a big deal back in the old days. Also, I think its still a big deal. Hmmm...perhaps I should have payed more attention during the explanation.

This sort of thing is common everywhere. This and street musicians. Wonder if they make enough.

Mercado san Miguel. A market place/drinking place/eating place. Don't know if all mercado's are like this.

Old fancy cathedral. While we had to pay one Euro to enter, the interior was dimly lit. Paintings and sculptures could be lit up on deposit of additional Euro's in conveniently placed boxes. Good idea, sure. Only I ain't that well off. And by the looks of it, neither were the other tourists with me. The other cool thing inside was the occasional voice booming through the speakers, in response to the buzz of the rabble. "SILENCIO.....por favor." That would silence then for a while, but then the muted conversations would start again. Heh heh heh...

The palace. Since, there was some sort of (large) entry fee, we didn't go in. The Planner was livid. "In my country its free, completely free" he said, shaking his head sadly. Ach well....

The temple of Debod. Very fancy stuff this. 'Twas donated by the Egyptian government to Spain for help received during the construction of the Aswan dam. Look up Wikipedia for more details. Also visit this place when you get to Madrid.

The highlight of the weekend was, of course, meeting up with Loudmouth Lad. Why Loudmouth? Well, if you'd met him, you wouldn't be asking the question. Suffice to say he had a reputation for vociferousness right back from the old days. I hadn't met this chappie in a long, long time. Lets see now. We graduated in 2005 after which he took off to Canada. Then, there was this one meeting in Bangalore, sometime before I came to Holland with the usual beer quaffing. Apart from that....nothing. So, now, here he was for some fancy MBA program. Had he changed? Hahaha...not a chance. Sure, we'd ribbed him back then about the Canadian accent, but now that was slowly giving way to a normal one and before soon, probably, a Spanglish accent. Heh. Anyway, bear-hugs were exchanged, general craziness ensued, comments were made about my weight, the usual stuff. And then we hung out at Mercado san Miguel with his clique. Quite an interesting crowd. Folk from all over the world and all that. Guess that's the cool part about an MBA program. Some wine, a little beer, plenty of good conversation and heaps of tortilla later it was time to go. (Metro service shuts down at 1:30. Unfortunate, yes, but what are you gonna do?)
On Sunday, us student folk went to the Prado and Reine Sofia museums. The Prado had all the fancy stuff, colourful masterpieces and all that while the Reine Sofia has modern art. Now, I'm not a fan of this modern art stuff, so if you ask me I'd say skip this one and go straight to the Prado. That way, you'll have more time there. I could stick some pictures here but really, there would be no end to it. Best if you did the trip yourself.
That's it for now lads. Till later.

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.