The City Where Street Performers Wear Confetti Suits and Goat Masks and Cat Whistle at Passersby

Finishing up an after-dinner walk through Old Madrid's most populated and club/bar dense streets, the group was shuffling gaily through Plaza Mayor when several yelps and hoots emanated from a white tablecloth adorned table situated in the square. I had noticed the tables and the masks propped up in the holes cut out in the table. It wasn't until the shouting did I notice the masks move. Startled, I realized that these were men wearing face paint and shaggy wigs: street performers!

I was rather amused, considering I had never before encountered such theatre. I nodded approvingly and continued walking. My feet barely stepped through the ark onto the street when I heard a cat whistle. ¿Ya?* (yes, my thoughts come complete with upside down punctuation marks. batteries sold separately.) I thought disdainfully as I turned around, preparing to furrow my eyebrows. I did not see a sleazy Spaniard. I saw a mountain of confetti topped with a goat head and a hat. I giggled. The human current on the street pushed me forward, so I did not get the opportunity to photograph this fabulous creature. However, I have no doubt that Confetti Goat Man and I will cross paths again in Old Madrid, although I have to admit I am apprehensive of coming too close to him.

With colorful caprine thoughts, I finished my first day in Madrid. Now, I am sitting in my room--obviously--at the Hotel Regina in La Puerta del Sol, the heart of Old Madrid, thinking about my long, crazy day. At O'Hare, I cruised through security and spent the rest of my time prior to boarding watching the people at the gate, trying to decide who was British (I was flying British Airways). Spot the Brit, a lovely variation on one of my favorite games, Spot the Russian, which, by the way, I've also played many times today, at Heathrow and in Madrid. The flights from Chicago to London and from London to Madrid were rather uneventful, except for my excitement regarding various English accents all around me for twelve hours and my phone's impotence. Apparently, my beloved LG Shine and Europe are not amigos**. After dragging about 100 pounds of luggage from the baggage carousel onto a cart, from the cart onto a sidewalk, from the sidewalk into the trunk of a taxi, I was ecstatic to relax in the cool interior of the cab as I looked hungrily out the windows. In Madrid at last...and no idea how much to tip the driver at the end of the trip.

Upon walking into the hotel, Dana and I were greeted warmly by the BU staff, sent up to our rooms, and immediately dragged out again for a walk through Old Madrid. I didn't object; my excitement shoved my exhaustion out of the way and I enjoyed the mini tour through the tourist heavy part of the city, despite the heat (note to self: start learning Celsius). After the walk and a failed attempt to buy cell phones at Vodafone, we returned to the hotel, where I proceeded to almost set my room on fire due to a silly mistake regarding adapters. I was not aware that the hotel provides an adapter for those who may need it. Without thinking, I just assumed it was part of the general Spanish electric process. I plugged my computer into my adapter and that adapter into the hotel's adapter. Don't judge. We've all made dumb mistakes, ok?! I lay down to rest and began to dose off, so I decided to get up and set my phone alarm so as not to sleep through dinner. As I walked by my computer, I noticed that the battery was not charging, so I leaned down to fix the heavy adapter, only to realize that it was scorching hot, steaming, and releasing an odor of melted plastic. This has not been my day with electronics, what with my phone not working, almost setting the room on fire, and losing some pictures on my camera unexpectedly during the walk earlier in the day. Lesson of the day: technology and I are not friends! Hopefully, tomorrow's lesson will be something more Spanish.

*already

**friends