Vodafone Hell and Free Chupitas*

Day two in Madrid was a little more hands on. After a rather lengthy, but completely thorough and helpful, orientation at the Instituto Internacional, where classes will be held, we were let loose among the Madrileños--alone with each other and our Metrobus passes. The following events occurred in the course of the last seven and a half hours.

Adventure #1: Getting off at the Gran Vía stop, we got slightly lost because nobody had payed attention to the route on the way to the metro in the morning due to the presence of our Madrid-savvy staff, but found our way quite quickly and proceeded back to the hotel.

Adventure #2: The first order of the afternoon was to purchase cell phones. We walked to the neighboring Corte Ingles, Madrid's biggest department store.

It has everything. Because it has everything, there are several buildings that house different departments. Although I distinctly remembered entering a building with electronics on yesterday's attempt to obtain phones, I followed the rest of the small group of six into the building with cosmetics and lingerie. Try again. We walked around until we realized it was the wrong entrance. We walked out. The street we had been on seemed to have vanished...or we had left through a different exit. We walked back inside, past the security guards dressed in vibrant red blazers, and found the correct exit. Across the street, the electronics department welcomed us and we escalated to the third floor, excited about finally getting phones. I was suddenly very aware of the fact that I had no idea what I was supposed to do, so I looked at the available phones for a few minutes, trying to shake off the glances of the salespeople, not wanting to talk to them. I saw the phone I wanted, a 19E pre-paid LG phone. We finally got the courage to talk to the salespeople. Somos estudiantes y necesitamos teléfonos,** we said. ¿Qué tipos de planes hay?*** I know that I do not speak for just myself when I say that none of us fully understood the answer. We nodded, mumbled amongst each other, and asked about the pre-paid phone rates. There were two salespeople attending to us. ¿Cuánto cuestan los minutos?**** I really love Castillian Spanish, I think it is beautiful. It is a shame that I can barely understand it. After multiple explanations, we requested that the saleswoman write down for us the rules and rates. Major hubbub ensued. We finally all decided to get the same phones, only to discover that we needed our passports to purchase said phones. Thinking all activities that required my passport were done for the day, I had removed my passport from my purse prior to leaving the hotel, as had Dana. Fortunately, the hotel is located very close to Corte Ingles, so a 15 minute scurry later, Dana and I were back in the Vodafone department with our passports. We got the last two phones available and a new salesman who spoke English. Finally understanding all the answers to our questions, four of us returned to the hotel to figure out the phones and exchange numbers, only to discover that we had not been credited the 12E that come pre-paid with the phone. Disgruntled, we marched back to Corte Ingles. Upon seeing us yet again--the dimwitted Americans who supposedly speak Spanish but do not understand it--the saleswoman's face performed a maneuver that I cannot explain, but I know that she was not thrilled to see us. I was rather embarassed myself at that point, but explained to the salespeople our problem. Fortunately, I also understood the answer, so we headed back to the hotel again, exhausted but no longer disconnected from the world.

Adventure #3: Six of us girls had dinner in the Plaza Mayor: paella and sangría. Typical Spanish fare.

We had trouble understanding the waiter. Spanish skills are slowly deteroriating. Walking back from dinner, we stopped in front of Club Joy to discuss the possibility of going there the following week. As we stood there gawking at the cyan neon, a club promoter approached us and gave us passes for free entry to a nearby club. We thanked him, but lingered a second too long. ¿Queréis algunas chupitas?***** he asked us. Stupidly, I blurted out yes (I had heard about the free chupitas before, and, please, someone else be leader next time), so we followed the man to the nearby club, rationalizing that if it were sketchy, we would not go inside. The club itself, Cibeles Madrid, was not sketchy. It was small, but there were lights, booming music, and a well equipped bar. And we definitely got more than just a chupita. The situation was slightly awkward because it was completely unfamiliar to us, although it is apparently normal in Madrid. Downing our vodka orange sodas, we bolted out of the club, laughing at our odd luck.

P.S.-I would like to explicitly state that although it may seem iffy, nothing about the chupita situation was particularly sketchy or dangerous. We were in a bustling, illuminated neighborhood full of bars and clubs and we watched the bartender make our drinks for us.

*shots

**We are students and we need phones.

***What kind of plans do you have?

****How much do the minutes cost?

*****Would you like some shots?