spaghetti rehab.: I Love You Xabi, Spanish Comes Naturally.

If you grew up in the Warner household you’d know lateness is an accepted aspect of our lives. A 6:30 dinner plan means a 7:30 arrival, Church at 4:30 means strolling in at 4:45 usually with a few glares and stares and occasionally a “Welcome Warner Family!” from the pastor. We have no different of an outlook when traveling. Leaving Whitefish Bay at 3:30 for a 4:25 flight overseas is acceptable; we’ve never missed a flight. Whoever said that you need to be at the airport 2 hours ahead of time needs to write a letter of apology to the rest of the world for all wasted time waiting around in airports. Plus a little stress and cardio vascular exercise in airports is good for the heart.

….Our flight to Madrid was scheduled for 9:20am Saturday morning. At first, my obsessive compulsive friends, Ellen and Maried, wanted to catch a cab at 7am. It takes 15 minutes to get there. If my math is correct that would get us to BLQ 2 hours and 5 minutes prior to departure . (About an hour and a half earlier than needed.) So I begged, pled, said things I didn’t mean until we finally made a compromise: 7:30. Fine, I could live with that.

The night before our flight, I had 3 (AMERICAN-MADISON) boys staying at my apartment. Because my irresponsible self thinks nothing through, I truly believed we could go out, show them a good time AND be in bed by 1 in order to wake up for our flight the following day. One thing led to another, Cafettino saw that we had a good time, 1 a.m. came and past, and finally at 4am the semi-responsible Paul Abu-Taleb dragged all of us home. Thank you ABUuuu.

After snoozing my alarm clock and ignoring Ellen’s calls for about a full hour, I leapt out of bed at 7:45, threw clothes into my backpack, brushed my teeth and bounded downstairs—leaving the 3 gringos in my room to slumber some more. Getting into the cab at 8:10 cut it close even for me, but I was the most relaxed out of the group. Every 3 seconds Maried was fervently checking the time on her nugget phone and Ellen was making a game plan that involved us sprinting through the airport, skipping all of our fellow passengers in the security line and begging the stewards to reopen the plane for us. Unnecessary wastes of energy. After running through the completely vacant security maze (annoying, but cal burning) we made it safe and sound onto the plastic airplane.

To conclude this obnoxious tangent and get onto my Madrid vacation, I would just like to reiterate the fact that YOU DO NOT NEED TO GET TO AIRPORTS 2 HOURS AHEAD OF TIME. 20 minutes is just fine. Keep life’s pace up, you’ll live longer.

3 highlights of the flight:

1. Old Italian woman yelling at the flight attendants for knowing only English and Spanish and not Italian. Old women run this country.

2. Passing out for the entirety of the 2 hour flight.

3. Waking up only to tell Ellen how “turbulency” the flight was and how I thought I we were going to die.

We didn’t.

Upon arrival in Madrid, Maried gave us a safety speech informing us to always keep our belongings in sight and look out for one another. Puerto Ricans can be very paranoid. Every time we rode the metro Maried would pick out the person who looked most like a gypsy or thief and stare them down for the whole ride. Not rude, uncomfortable or racist at all. For the most part we were successful. I, however, was pick pocketed. But sometimes I can be smart and hide my expensive things in the secret trap doors of my purse. So my loving gypsy thief only got my pack of stride gum. SUCKA.

Santiago Bernabeu

In Madrid, we did Madridy things. I found it necessary to constantly yell the random things I knew in Spanish like:“La cuenta por favor!” or “Buenos Dias” even when it wasn’t morning and “Tu gato es feo”. (Thank you Seniorita B. at WFBHS for teaching me, I definitely remember more than I thought I did!) I worked very hard on the Spanish lisp that I may or may not have developed one in my own English speaking.

We walked around everywhere, getting our bearings of the huge city. Let me rephrase: Maried and Ellen got their bearings; my wonderful sense of direction kept me dazed and confused the entire time. I let the two of them navigate while I scoured the town for attractive Spaniards and practiced my Español.

We trekked down Paseo de la Castellana, in order to get to Real Madrid’s stadium, Santiago Bernabeu, to pick up our tickets. The walk was beautiful, however I was a little side tracked, concentrating only on my shivering body because of Madrid’s sub arctic temperatures. Apparently Spain is not immune to the cold; tan attractive Spanish men have led me to believe otherwise. Or maybe I should have forgone my Posh Spice Diva outfit and actually worn clothes for January’s temperature. Not sure where I went wrong.

One of the nights we went out for Tapas and Sangria. I’ve never liked Sangria because it’s too sweet…but there is something about drinking it… in Spain… with two of your best friends that makes it extremely enjoyable. Then we retreated to our hostel to pamper and shove our feet into 6 inch heels before going out to Kapital, Madrid’s famous 7-story club.

Our Arrival Time: 2:00 am

Arrival Time of the Cool Kids: 4:00am

I’ve never been the loser that’s the first to a party or dance…but I’ve now been the loser that’s been the first to the club. I’m okay with this. After dancing for a few hours, meeting some painfully awkward Portugese/Brazillian guys (whom Maried loathed) and getting attacked by a sub zero tempurature vaporizer (see video) we decided to call it a night (or morning) and walked home. Highlight of my trip: taking off my heels at the end of this night.

Plaza Mayor

Later, we did more Madridy things. Ate bocadillos, people watched in Plaza Mayor, ate Burger King, saw the Palace, butchered more Español, and of course went to the Real Madrid vs. Mallorca game. The game was a lot different than I expected. Spainish fans are relatively calm and very respectful unlike the chauvinistic a-holes at Italian soccer games. Overall, my Real Madrid experience was enjoyable and I wouldn’t be upset if I married a man on the Real Madrid team, just saying. We celebrated Madrid’s victory by indulging in Paella, Chorizo and of course, more Sangria. (I then received about a million texts from my sconnies at home that the Packers won! SUPER BOWL!!) aka, more celebration with Sangria.

Our last day was spent eating Bob Warner style. We went to Mercado San Miguel (similar to the Public Market in Milwaukee) found a table, got a glass of wine and then sampled as many stations as we could. We had croquetas, crostinis, potatoes with hot sauce, bacalao (cod) and many more Spanish delicacies, which unfortunately included the worst piece of cake I’ve ever eaten in my life.

We managed to fit in Parque del Ritiro, which is one of the more beautiful parks I’ve ever seen. Then realized our flight leaves in about an hour and we should probably make our way to the airport.

After getting off at the wrong metro stop, sprinting through the airport, me (kindly) screaming at an airport lady, and Ellen screaming at fellow passengers, we made it to our plastic plane and immediately passed out for the duration of the flight. Clearly exhausted from all the fun we had in Madrid. (Or, 3 mile long sprint through the airport).