My flatmates are not very fond of hosting travellers, so I told Thomas that he should leave on Sunday, before they come back from their villages. So he tried to look for another host for the next days. Yesterday he managed to contact Jeremy, another parisian, whom he didn’t know, and who couldn’t host him either but who was very nice with him and showed awareness. We decided to meet up Jeremy, who was at the moment with two french female travellers, showing them around. Jeremy waved a hand at us, he recognized us by Thomas description. I don’t know much french, but I think I undestood “I’m wearing a green t-shirt, and he is wearing a red one”, and these two details were enough to be recognized among all the people that were hanging around in Plaza de España. I could have thought that the waving hand was not for me, maybe he is waving hello to another person, but for some reason I was sure it was him, and besides, he was with two girls, so it should be Jeremy.

They were sitting on the green grass, and we too set our asses down after introducing oneself to the others. The girls were beautiful and were drinking beer, we men got to drink pastis in glass cups from Jeremy’s house who apparently lived a few steps from there. The girls were just passing the weekend here, they were from Lyon, they found Madrid very big, they said some places look like New York or something, and both of them agreed on that Madrid was a nice place to visit, but no to live in. The blonde was more talkative, the other looked like a quiet artist. Jeremy was very thin and took ages to find the right word when he wanted to say something

Later, when the girls were standing up getting ready to go to have dinner at the house of the person who was hosting them, and interchanging some last words in french with the guys, a tall blonde guy, who seemed to me a kind of romantic english pirate, appeared from nowhere and said “français?” with a smile. We would meet the girls later after dinner for some drinks, so when they definitely left I invited Raphael, the newcomer, to sit down with us and stay for the fiesta if he was alone and had nothing to do. He looked somewhat shy, and although he was getting bald on the front, he was nice-looking. So there we were, four people who didn’t know much about each other, but didn’t know many people in Madrid anyways, and wanted to have a good time. We had someone to take a picture of us.

Later we went to J’s house to eat. There we met his gay flatmate, who was waiting for the heater to turn the shower water hot. He was without shirt, and covered his chest with his hands while talking. When he saw that the heater was taking its time, he went to put something on. J made salad for us. We ate green and drank water. When done, he asked if we were full, and I lied a light Yes.

We left to have a drink somewhere while waiting for the phone call from the girls. On the way, I talked mostly with R who seemed a very interesting person to me, the conversation were in english and spanish, we talked about music, among other things, and I learned he was a guitar player and he loved flamenco. He mentioned “fados”, I didn’t know what it was, traditional portuguese music. They are songs about pain, he said, sad songs. So, obviously, I got intested in this music. And I wonder now why some people like sad songs, why we have thirst for tragedy, why one of the songs I have played more times, according to last.fm, is Verso por una niña muerta (verse for a dead girl). Why T likes ska, and I don’t, finding it too… happy. Shouldn’t this be a bad thing? why we like to chew the sadness, to appreciate it? Is this a kind of masochism? No, of course not. Has it something to do with the fact that some people, me too, like scary movies? I mean, fear is bad, we shouldn’t like something that tries to impose fear on us, but actually it happens that the more scared you get the more you like the film (if it’s a scary movie). Why Shakespeare wrote… why there are so many tragedies written since …ever? We humans are weird, aren’t we? Anyways…

Out there in the night, you will find people who wants to invite you for a drink and take you to a pub. They make a direct approach, speak fast, smile at you. There are a lot of pubs, and no one wants to go into a pub where there’s no one, so the pub managers need to put people in somehow, so they have these people working for them, they are walking the main street, they tell you “free drink”, you follow them to the pub, you suspect most of the customers in there must be having a free drink, probably they had, then they decided to stay for another drink (this time, paid). So we had a soft sangria for free, and as the place was not so pleasant, we left.

Then we went into Bodega de la Ardosa, and asked for beers except Raphael who asked for a glass of red wine, una copa de vino tinto, he said, yeah, you can say just un tino, I said. Posted on the wall, there’s a board with some drinking records. The winner is someone who apparently drank 17 pints in less than three hours. Obviously this is not so important for me as to remember how many pints exactly, so most probable it’s not 17 but another number. On other blackboards it was written what there was for eating and the prices. I decided not to look at it because it was expensive and I was getting hungry.

Two missed calls, oops, I didn’t hear them. It’s an unlisted number, probably the girls, or their host, a spanish guy. I call back and the blonde answers. She tells me where they are, not far from here I say, I tell her to wait there, we have to finish our drinks first.

Then we meet them at a terrace in Plaza del Dos de Mayo. Time for only one beer, because they’re closing in 15 minutes. Then we move to another place, and after one beer they turn on the aggressive lights, which means “get out”. Then we went to another place which… well, a good night. When the girls left at around 5 am, we didn’t see any reason to stay longer, so we decide to leave too, although I was having a nice conversation with R about acting, music, dancing… J took one direction, I and T took the other, and where is Raphael, I asked T. He had been all night long saying “I’m going home”, and only stayed with us after some of us insist him to stay. If he had left when he first said I’m going home, he would have left 4 hours ago. Now that everybody leaves, he decides to stay alone in the pub.