I couldn’t help but notice, since she was a cute little brunette who didn’t speak a word of English, but more to the point, you can’t wear the same thing day after day without someone noticing. Then this morning at the hostel in Barcelona, I’m at breakfast, eating my croissant and going through yesterday’s photos and what should show up at the table? No, not the same girl (which would be an even better story) but one of my hostel mates wearing the exact same shirt! I think I am being stalked by a mass produced piece of Arctic Monkeys apparel.
The point of this? Well, it’s threefold. One, I know who the Arctic Monkeys are. Two, despite indications on my blog, I have been in both Madrid and Barcelona within the last week. And three, I really am working on sorting through the flood of photos on my hard drive, trying to organize them into coherent blog posts. Frankly, it’s a lot more fun getting out and taking photos than hanging out at the hostel going through them. One of my realizations on this trip: nothing interesting happens at the hostel. Let me amend that – nothing that interests me happens at the hostel. There is all kinds of drama going on, but most of the time, it’s happening in a different language, and I don’t really care anyway. Besides, it usually smells like teen spirit there and that can be a powerful funk that does not encourage lingering about. So no, gentle reader, I have not forgotten about my blog. I’ve got lots of cool stuff coming, so stay tuned, and thank you for your patience. I leave you with this voluptuous bronze nude street sculpture I came across while wandering in Madrid. You’re supposed to rub her rump for good luck. OK, I may have made that part up. But considering the obvious wear pattern on her bottom, I don’t think it’s much of a stretch.
You don’t see that in a hostel. OK, well maybe you do but you certainly aren’t allowed to rub it.