DAY FOUR:
¡Felíz Navidad!
So, what is there to do on Christmas Day in Madrid? Most of the regular stores are closed, but the streets are filled with carolers, revelers, beggars, lovers, tourists, performers, cops, vendors and blanket pirates (I’ll explain that later). There’s really only one thing to do, get out there and enjoy the show.
"Darth Santa" One of the many street performers.
Dad, Barb, Caitlin & I spent the day doing just that, wandering around, buying souvenirs at the gypsy & Moroccan markets, having snacks at Papi’s Pizza stand, checking out cathedrals, watching the street performers do their strange and sometimes talented thing, avoiding pickpockets, and enjoying the beautiful weather. Although Madrid is technically farther North than Tulsa and Philadelphia (and it is cold as hell in December in both of my hometowns) it was normally about 55-60ºF during the daytime, and with plenty of sun, it was quite pleasant.
During the day, I stopped at a Farmacía because I wanted to see if Viagra could be purchased over the counter. Indeed it can be purchased over the counter in Spain, and I was still concerned about the fact that Meléna was right about one thing last night: As we were haggling the pussy, my dick was completely asleep, not even a halfsy. There I was, two gorgeous young girls all to myself, in theory ready to have a wild interlude, and my buddy was snoring. That concerned me greatly.
Actually, I’d been curious about Viagra for some time anyway. Who wouldn’t be? If you’re old, and it can put some sap back in your stick, great, good for you, but the thought that went through my mind (and likely millions of other young men’s minds when it came out)was, if it can resurrect an old, flaccid dick, what would it do to mine which seems like it’s ready to go all the time? Oh my! That would be truly impressive! At this writing, I’m 41 years old, and haven’t had much of a problem in that department. There was an incident or two of performance anxiety with my last girlfriend, but really, I think I just started to hate the bitch and my subconscious decided to override the situation. Right after that, there was a similar occasion with a co-worker one late night and my buddy was sleepy again, but in retrospect, that may have been my Guardian Angel and my subconscious teaming up because it really would have made things complicated at my job if we’d had sex. You can get a package of four mighty purple pills for € 60 at the Farmacía, so I seized the opportunity.
Later, the four of us regrouped at the apartment to rest, refuel, have some more wine, and figure out what we were going to do for dinner. I made reservations for us at a Thai restaurant and then we hiked about 3 miles to go find it. There is an inexplicably vast amount of stuff to see and do in Madrid; it truly borders upon sensory overload at times. What I really appreciated was the intentional beauty of the city. Even features which would otherwise pass as insignificant to some, such as storm drains, guard rails or trash cans were crafted to make life more beautiful. Consider that there are also statues and monuments everywhere, which is why at this point, the significance and lifestyle of the “Spaniard Stroll” began to become clear. Seriously, with that much to see, the quality of materials, the complexity and attention to detail, and the level of craftsmanship in everything around you, it would be absurd and foolish not to take the time to appreciate it; especially if you’re visiting.
Monumento di Carlos IIIGranted, everybody in the world is going to have a bad day now and then, but I often wondered what it would be like to be a part of that world where your environment is comprised of centuries of works dedicated to the appreciation of life. It just blew my mind several times during the vacation.
I spent a lot of time documenting the food on my daily FaceBook posts, so I’ll summarize now and state that somehow, every single meal in Spain was top quality.
Basically, it tasted like food was meant to be: no preservatives, no microwaves, no artificial anything. We had a glass ofvino tinto at every meal and a little bit of bread that consistently produced the reaction, “LORDY! This is...(nom-nom-nom!)”. Life was good.
As we hiked back to our neighborhood, I called my family in Oklahoma and wished them a Merry Christmas. It took about an hour to walk back to our apartment because we stopped frequently to check things out, and after climbing the spiral staircase once more, the mood was one of reticence and languor. I however was not ready to turn in for the night and headed toward the established bordellos from my research.
On the West side of the Puerta del Sol is a street called Calle de Arenal where I’d noticed a lot of guys heading towards at all hours of the day. My research indicated that the bordellos are often called “Whiskey-Bars” or “Clubs”, not to be confused with an actual bar or a discotheque. 
- They are, by design, always populated with an ample selection of friendly hot women.
- The proprietors do not want you to go there to drink.
- There are no pool tables, dart boards, video games, or any other entertainment except for the obvious; the patrons are not there just to “hang out”.
The business model is, you go to the bar, tell the “bartender” which girl(s) you want, buy a drink for yourself and her {or not, you don’t have to [the shelves of bottles were very dusty (just an observation)]}, and then off the two (or three or four) of you go to a private room.
I picked, or rather she approached me, a beautiful, fair-skinned, raven-haired girl who called herself Dóna. We chatted briefly at the bar while I tried to hand-roll a cigarette, but she and the bartender would not shut up about the transaction, so I asked where the bathroom was and excused myself to swallow two Viagra and urinate in peace. When I returned, I attempted to have my cigarette but Dóna was purring and asking me to visit with her alone, so I killed a shot of rum, grabbed my beer, and off we went. We entered a room that looked more like a VIP lounge at a low grade strip club than a bedroom, and Dóna told me it was € 50 for 30 minutes, anything I wanted. So I told her I wanted to have a cigarette and enjoy my beer which seemed to surprise her. The thing is, I had no idea how long Viagra takes to produce results and if I had thirty minutes with this beautiful young woman, why rush things? It was Spain after all.
Dóna curled up next to me and we chatted for a bit, fortunately she spoke very good English, and then she went over to a thermostat and adjusted it because it was kind of chilly in there. She turned to look at me and then posed and asked, “You like?”
“Of course! Yes, Dóna. You are really beautiful.” I don’t think hookers blush that often, or maybe she was just an incredible actress, but she did seem to as she smiled and repeated, “Beautiful, ĕs-Scōtt?”
“Yes, very pretty.”
To summarize, Viagra is a modern miracle of pharmaceutical science and we had a lovely time. Before we left the room, she confided that she was Romanian and that her name was actually Eléna. She asked me to call her cell phone tomorrow because that was her day off, and I could visit at her apartment, € 100 for two hours, anything I wanted. When I asked her to teach me something in Romanian, she said, “Te iubesc,” which means, “I love you”. After a warm hug, she said, “Char vă place,” (“I really like you.”), “Please call me tomorrow, we have nice time.” Poor, sweet girl. It was time for me to get the hell out of there. On one hand, she seemed like she would have been cool to hang out with while I was in Madrid, but at those rates, I would have needed to rob a bank to share her company for the week.
It had been a good long Christmas day, so after leaving the bordello, or “Whiskey-Bar”, or whatever you want to call it, I headed back through Calle de Arenal, and thanked the Polish young lady who worked for that place and pointed me in the right direction earlier. I browzed around the Puerta del Sol for a little bit, took some more pictures, and watched the cops beat up some punks that were getting rowdy and stupid. By the way, don’t fuck with the cops there; they all appeared to be young and athletic and they seriously do not play nice.
As a side story, dogs are not required to be on a leash in Madrid. In fact, some of them appear to be independent citizens or homeless (I’m not making this up). On several occasions, I saw a finely groomed pooch walking along the sidewalk, moving with the crowd, watching for traffic in the street, and then crossing on it’s way to whatever doggy errand it was on that day. Craziest damn thing I’ve seen in a while. I also spotted several poor mangy little creatures huddled up in trash and blankets, with or without a human companion, along the walkways. While I was out wandering Christmas day, I saw some nasty cur getting rowdy and stupid, barking at anyone and everyone, and the cops surrounded it and withdrew their pistols. Instantly the dog surmised his odds and got the hell out of there (I’m really not making this up). Different world.
After the show was over, and the cops had thrown most of the hoodlums into an armored black bus, I headed back to my neighborhood. The closer it got to New Year’s, the crazier the streets got at night. At first, I felt like going upstairs to crash, but I wanted to be a part of the madness for a little while longer, so I grabbed a sidewalk table at the Taberna again and had a beer. After about an hour, I satiated my appetite of the scene, returned to the apartment, and slept like a baby.
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