Italy pt. 3

So after a heaping helping of rain and lunacy we headed to our hotel where we were informed that we were to be in our rooms by midnight.  They decided to enforce this rule by patrolling the halls after 11:30 and ordering anyone who was out of their room back inside.  You see the teachers believed the trip was intended to be educational and fun, kids know that this combination is rare and has been achieved only a few times in history (Bill Nye the Science Guy and Dr. Suess being some notable examples).  So our opinion of the trip was that we were supposed to have fun by doing whatever the hell we felt like, and that meant hanging out with friends in other rooms after midnight.  So what's the solution?  Talk to the teachers?  Wait till the next day?  Run across the roof while smoking cigarettes and jumping into second story windows?  If you answered number three, you're right!  The teachers however thought that this was uncalled for and had a meeting with us in the morning to reasonably lay out the rules and tell us that our action was a little over the top, but somewhere along the planning stage and the delivery stage something went wrong,  'What the fuck do you think you guys were doing last night?!  I caught a girl running across the roof and I have a good mind to send her home!  You're all a bunch of god damn hypocrites!  You want to be treated like adults but you act like fucking children!'  Yeah, they're a little more liberal with curse words here.  Indeed the teachers almost elected to go the 'third-world dictator route,' if people disobey your rules don't reconsider policy, eliminate the infidels.  Luckily it turned out that he simply had not had his coffee that morning, the rest of the trip the teachers were relatively calm (and no one got sent home). 
That day we went to Venice, an entire city designed on the Italian dream, take money from people who don't speak Italian.  Not there is anything wrong with that, everyone was incredibly happy to be ripped off at every corner because it was freaking Venice.  This city fulfilled all my misconceptions about Italy while being incredibly beautiful.  We visited a royal palace where paintings covered walls and ceilings to the point where you could not look anywhere without being bombarded by the royal family involved in Jesus-y scenes.  Our teacher explained that it was old school propaganda, they did not have the fast talking, beautiful bearded, Billy Mayes types back then, so they had to rely on artists.  The artists then painted members of the royal family in classic religious scenes proving once and for all that the king was divinely selected.  No way to argue with that logic.  If you can't trust an ad man, being paid in gold, who fears for his life if he disobeys orders... I forgot where I was going with that, but anyways the view was that they were pretty darn reliable.  The only problem I saw with this form of brainwashing your collective subjects was that unless there were guided tours of the palace (Royalty usually isn't too keen on that idea), then you only get to screw with your children's world view, and sure they might believe they're divinity but for some reason that doesn't help public opinion. 
The rest of the day we were free to walk around the river community, that I still think should be inhabited by elves, and find dinner while getting completely lost.  We also took a Gondola ride around the rivers that traverse the city during which our driver (gondolier? boat dude?) spouted off a few facts about the city while singing, no joke, Katy Perry.  The only fact I remember is that there were 152 churches in Venice and could not help but wondering if that automatically cancelled out sin on a city wide scale.  On our little circle around the block we came to many buildings that appeared to only be accessible from water illustrating one of approximately two benefits of a city built around rivers.  Don't get me wrong I loved Venice, it was beautiful and very few motorboats made it incredibly peaceful, it was nice having a break from automobiles for a while.

Did I mention really really beautiful

However, water is a substance amazingly easy to pollute and hard to clean.  Getting around was inefficient and slow.  Every vehicle was in a continual state of rot or rust due to constant exposure to water.

Or at least 36% water, urine levels unknown

On the plus side, many stupid tourists to take money from.  The Basques did not seem to go into the situation with the same mindset I did.  I knew the people of Venice were going to have no respect for us, we're like prostitutes to them, we get what we pay for, then we get the hell out of the way.  So I, in turn, set my standards to low.  For example, while my friends were complaining that a certain waiter was impolite I was just happy he did not stab me in the temple with an ice pick.  It's all about perspective. 
The next day we went back to Venice this time we took a boat bus all around the city and saw every water side neighbor hood for all its beauty.  I know I'm sounding a little repetitive with my adjective choice but there really isn't another word to describe it.

Lovely, doesn't that just sound too British and sarcastic?

But it really is worth it, if you're a world traveler Venice is one city you can't pass by.

Italy pt. 2

Okay, so we did not start the trip by going directly to Italy, instead we started in France.  Well actually we started in the school parking lot at seven in the morning before piling onto a bus where I witnessed, once again, one of the most annoying traits Basque people have.  The Separation.  Boys lined up at the second door, girls at the first, the bus was perfectly divided into front and back based on gender.  The only reasoning I received for this phenomenon was, 'But dude, they're like, girls.'  Yes, anonymous surfer talking boy, they happen to have different parts than you and me, but last I heard one of those parts was not a cooties gland or a stinger or six inch claws.  I'm pretty sure we can sit next to them and talk.  The other boys were not so sure, besides one couple (who sat right on the 38th parallel) the boys sang and shouted from the back of the bus while the girls sat in the front and most likely worked on ways to import enough Australian men to go around.  Later in the trip when the buses became progressively more cramped some were forced to sit away from their genders a fact which I exploited early on by intentionally not getting a seat in the back.  That may sound a little creepy at first, me trying to get forced to sit next to a girl, but sometimes it takes a little creeping to change a social norm, or at least to get to know some new god damn people.  Unfortunately the girls had planned for this eventuality and closed their ranks.  I got a seat next to one of the teachers, when the teacher saw me he promptly filled the chair next to mine with a bag and jackets before going to sit on a little pull out seat next to the driver.  On the plus side I could cut my wrists without interruption.  On later bus rides I did manage to sit next to a variety of people and tried my hardest to get to know them, but how tempting is it to sit next to and presumably talk with a stupid American who can't even conjugate hypotheticals correctly?  The answer is slightly more than being strapped to the back of the bus by the wrists.  So I got to sit next to people!  although there were some who clearly considered the concrete skiing alternative. 
When we descended the bus stairs we were in Bordeaux, a beautiful French city with numerous enjoyable locations to visit.  Like that street we were walking down.  Also a McDonalds.  Local artwork manifested itself in the form of graffiti, and a strict plan to preserve the past by steadfastly refusing to fix potholes in historic ten year old asphalt and concrete.  However our time was limited and we couldn't experience the natural wonders of the approximately eight trees the city cared for and we were soon off to the airport to really begin our adventure in Italy.  We started in Milan, a city that struck me as European but not entirely Italian.  Although that's probably because I assumed most Italian cities were full of rivers and gladiators, unfortunately they are not.  On the other hand we saw an amazing church, the second largest one in Europe, when I asked if the architect was compensating for anything no one understood what I meant and I died a little inside as my penis joke when unappreciated.  Although not being a Christian (or anything else for that matter) I estimate I have seen around eight quadrillion churches in my life time, just because they're freaking everywhere.  So I found another building much more interesting, it was sort of like a combination of a modern mall and the great columned structures of ancient times.  As an added benefit it was also covered in Christmas colors, red, snow, and green. 
That night I had a great meal, one third of a pizza and a calzone that I'm sure weighed more than some infants.  The pizza was covered in spicysalami (pepperoni) which brought a nostalgic tear to my eye and a tear of searing pain to my friends' eyes.  They can't even handle slightly spiced pig here, I'm not sure how I've survived for so long, but I do know that when back in the states we have family friends from all over the spice loving world, and I will be paying them a visit.  The next morning we walked around Milan some more before loading onto the bus, this was the day I sat up front with the teachers as well as the day I was able to observe the bus driver in action.  When a human being is talking while driving the danger is drastically increased.  When an Italian is talking while driving you should have your will prepared.  You see, when a normal person talks they move their lips, tongues, and voice cords or some internal gross thing like that.  Italians need to make eye contact and hand motions, they will swivel their head (away from the road) to face you while making elaborate gestures (the steering wheel can handle itself), and here's the kicker, this is for a normal conversation.  I'm not talking about during rush hour or in a road rage induced fury or even when they're so hammered/hyped on jeagerbombs that pulling a wheelie in a crowded rotunda seems like not such a bad idea, because Italians would not need the alcohol or the caffeine.
After suffering a minor heart attack on the bus we disembarked in Verona where we encountered pouring rain.  Walking from store to store looking for a good place to grab some dinner we eventually found a little shop with some nice menus (menus are when you pay a set price for a meal, side dish, and drink).  We were thinking about moving on when a man sitting outside smoking heard us speaking Spanish and jumped into the conversation.  He was thin and tall, with a face styled off of a movie villian who spends all his time underground, a scarf over his head and some rotten teeth nicely complimented the vibe he already had going on.  When he heard we were from Basque country he started speaking some Basque.  Not just Basque, but the Basque that was from San Sebastian.  For an American equivalent that would be like telling someone your from the States and he/she starts speaking English, then you tell him your Native American and he starts speaking your tribes language.  He invited us in for something to eat and a chess game, we were cautious at first given that his appearce told us he was after the stage of losing his hair and before the stage of calling a ring 'precious' and eating raw fish.  But then he told us he was Polish, to which we all breathed a sigh of relief, snapped our fingers in recognition, and nodded our heads knowingly, he was not Golum, he was Polish.  We went inside and commenced a five on one game of chess against a man who spoke four languages and rattled off facts and opinions about Basque Country and Spain that I think some of my friends were not even aware of.  Although to be fair, given what we learned later, he might have just been rambling off bullshit, although he did say that it was horrible how some people thought that anyone from Basque Country was a terrorist.  Clearly expressing an opinion against racistly(yeah I made that word up) judging people.  When it finally came out that I was American he directed me to his girlfriend who spoke English who was sitting in the outside room and suggested I keep her company.  I obliged and had a wonderful conversation that included stories of when she used play music as a street performer and her old husband was a love interest of Arte Garfunkel.  It is a complicated story and not my own, so I will not tell it.  What I will say is that when I tried to rejoin the chess game, because the woman had gone outside to smoke (and presumably for some privacy), her boyfriend told me to join her and stop bugging them.  I took it as a joke (wrong) but went outside anyways and talked more about how the couple has two kids, speaks five languages between them, and are still street performers.  I was confused, but when the chess game finished and it was time to leave my friends taught me why they were not higher up in the establishment.  Namely, the man was crazier than a coked up gorilla in heat.  He had participated in multiple rallies supporting terrorist organizations, told my friends that I was a terrorist because I came from the U.S, and had been deported from his home country.  The lesson, it doesn't matter how smart a person is, they can still be insane.  Insert picture of Dick Cheney here.

Italy

I am fully rested after the eight day trip around Italy, for which I am embarrassed.  When I came back from Portugal my host parents, although being very nice, could not hide the surprise and fear they felt when I first walked back in the door.  Over that trip I had walked uncountable kilometers and gotten an average of four or five hours of sleep per night, in short, I lived it up when I was supposed to be living it up.  In Italy I don't believe there was a single night when I was asleep for less than seven hours.  Bed time was 11:30 every night, so I'll skip over the night life of Italy, because I have no idea what it's like, I did however get a heaping helping of the day to day life that is living in a world full of hit men, con-artists, and other mafia related professions, so just Italians in generally really.
I say hit men because there is absolutely no reason to drive like the Italian people do unless your goal is physical damage inflicted upon whoever happens to be in your path.  I thought driving in Spain was crazy, and it is, but if an Italian heard me say that he would laugh and run me over for comparing him to a people who have less crazy in their terrorist organizations than he does under the hood of his Ferrari.  Sidewalks are considered legitimate parking spaces, people blow past red lights, and mopeds drive through gaps in pedestrian foot traffic , but that's pretty standard as far as crazy goes.  No, I'm talking about details like three lane roads with zero markings on them, cross walk lights that turn green and are red before you reach the other side, and other conflicts on the road that made me feel like I was back in Sri Lanka.  Also it would be entirely understandable to assume that fifty percent of all Italian traffic is people in road rage chasing one another, hell we even got yelled and cursed at by drivers, and we were on the sidewalks.  Bands of aggressive mopeds roamed the streets which to me seemed incredibly ridiculous.  A band of Harelys are threatening because the people on them are covered in tattoos, are most likely armed, and have that 'I don't care if I go back to jail, if you scuff my boot I will stab you' attitude about them.  Meanwhile those on scooters, with their perfect posture, might start off with a harsh confrontation if you anger them but would most likely invite you out for vegan coffee before the end of the day. 
Another paragraph on something general in Italy before I get down to the specifics.  There are people trying to take your money at every corner.  I don't mean in a mugger, beat you up, sort of way, more in a sleazy, used-car dealer sort of way.  'You want cheap knock off bags, we got cheap knock off bags, how about balls that splat but reform back into balls, maybe some play dough that you can shape like a certain male organ, none of that, well then how about I just tie this piece of string on your wrist, gift straight from my fatherland, looks good don't it, now you going to pay me mother fucker?'  Oh silly locals and or immigrants, please don't stab me when I turn around.  On the plus side we were never offered any drugs, except for twice, and even then it was only marijuana except for when it was cocaine. 
The food was hit and miss.  With such a huge population of tourists who have no idea how to choose a decent restaurant many cheap crap slinging joints are all over the place.  I will give myself a little bit of praise (even though I deserve more) on the point of food for where I choose to eat.  I'm not saying I chose well, but I took chances, only one time did I eat at a Hard Rock Cafe.  This is in comparison with some people who had Hard Rock three times and McDonalds upwards of six times.  In Italy.  Seriously.  I can understand because no of our meals were covered (I spent at least €150 on food alone), but then again, really? 
So now you have some background on what will be in the posts to come, I'll try and put them up quickly because April 12th or so I'm off to Madrid.  Birthday party followed by a trip with my family, I can hardly wait, San Sebastian just seems to love raining on me, literally.  Every time I come back here the storms come in force, but if that's how my city is going to play it fine, I'll just run away, Madrid gives me sun whenever I want, I never liked your stupid beaches anyways... (I know that in a week it will seduce me back with promises that now that winter is over it will leave precipitation for good, for real this time, not another drop will touch these shores, and maybe this time it will be telling the truth)

Portugal pt.5

The idea that our journey will soon be over is starting to cloud the thoughts of our exchange group.  What will it be like having to leave all these new friends?  Can we see each other again in the future?  How has our emotional maturity been affected and what will that mean for not only the new relationships we have formed but old friends waiting for us in the States?  To deal with these feelings we learned how ancient peoples handled similar situations of fear and unbelonging, violence and bloodshed.  Seems reasonable.  Day number eight and our group goes to Merida to study a Roman Colosseum.  Sometimes POW's who were stuck in a country not their own, other times the poor who just wanted to be accepted by their community, and usually animals, that had no idea what the hell was going on.  But talking about emotions and acceptance is for 21st century pussies.  If someone did not accept you in the first century you killed them in the face. 

Not pictured: Prime first date location for first century girlfriend

We were led into the holding cells where gladiators would have to wait and listen to the crowd cheer and boo while friends fought to the death.  Then we were led to the main ring where warriors would try and take down lions with little more than modern day kitchen ware.  Sometimes the ring was flooded and filled with crocodiles so that the fighters could enjoy a nice boat ride before stabbing one another in the loins.  Some people were amazed and disgusted that one of the most civilized cultures of the past was so violent, I was not.  There has been only been one change between then and now, special effects and video games.  Those who argue that video games cause violence have not studied history or playground behavior.  Watch almost any group of five year old boys none of whom have every seen an action film or shot a zombie, they will be playing something along the lines of imitate violence, until someone gets hurt, then it turns into tears, or real violence.  Then they go to high school and learn to smash each others' heads around with rules, this time calling it sports, I'm looking at you MMA.  What about the more sensitive people, those with problems that could not be solved by gore, the people who wanted the subtleties of their emotions explored, women.  Where could they go to deal with the difficult life questions?  To the theater of course, where when someone dies it is usually supposed to be sad, because they have a back story and a family and other stupid human traits like that. 

There's a pillow fight backstage

The structure was steep and designed specifically for bouncing one's voice all over the place so even a normal conversation could be heard all around.  In order to demonstrate a pair of Rotary students were selected to perform on stage while the main group sat in the nosebleed section.  Unfortunately the demonstration was to be singing and not screaming obscenities so, once again, my talent went undiscovered.  Fortunately the acoustics were amazing and the pair of voices were heard perfectly all through the stands.  Moments like that make me wish I wasn't so tone deaf that someone could beat to death with a tuning fork and I would never hit an actual note, but the songs were pretty anyways.  We then explored some other old Roman architecture, but in all honesty it is tough to top the image of gladiators getting eaten by exotic beasts while hearing opera belted in the background.  We end the day by taking a relaxing and reflexive walk around the city.
Waking on the final day was a strange feeling, the guide leading us around Salamanca really had no chance to get our attention.  Yes, the city was beautiful, and yes, we bought some souvenirs, but it was all over-shadowed by the fact that it was merely a stop on our way back to Madrid and going home.  That evening we gave our Rotary chaperons and bus driver gifts that we had picked up along the way.  Cards, with all of our names, and a fine bottle of wine for each one.  When we surrounded their dinner table with the wine bottles I believe the chaperons were confused and worried, for all they knew we were planning to get wasted right in front of them and tear up the dining room in classic rock star fashion.  But when the word gifts came out the chaperons were still confused, although less worried.  I believe that they have come to accept that teenagers are about as considerate as raccoons, we'll take all you have to offer, tear up your house, and mess up your garbage, but on the nice side, we usually won't kill you.  Unless we're rabid.
The next morning we said tearful goodbyes over Starbucks and Taco Bell.  Although a fan of neither, except for the occasional frozen caramel chocolate with just a touch of coffeechino, I followed hoping to spend my last hours in Madrid with friends.  On the return to San Sebastian I had a strange moment, almost as if I, as a male, felt emotions.  Weird, I know.  Anyways, tomorrow I'm off to Italy, readers can be bombarded with another storm of travel tips that will most likely get you deported.

Portugal pt.4

Sometimes I like to edit my posts, this is not what I'm doing with the Portugal trip.  This is pretty much raw but with spell check, so maybe like stir fried, and the reason that joke will stay in there is because I won't read this again.  I put on a slight filter a puke my thoughts onto the page, so the you will not see the big ugly chuncks but pretty much everything else, good and bad.  Maybe it is not my best work, but it has to be decent practice, and I still have a lot more to tell.  So moving right along, again.

Before breakfast a group of us head out to the beach to stand in the ocean and draw pictures in the sand, pictures that represent what America and our group was all about, and I'm proud to say that we drew exactly zero penises.  Although judgeing from the desks in school classrooms the Spainards have the same sense of art we do.  So after leaving messages in the sand we are again herded onto the bus for what is sure to be another couple hours spent doing nothing but... wait, we're here?  After a grueling ten minutes of travel we arrive in Lisboa.  Unload bags, choose rooms, return to bus, and off on a tour of Lisboa.  The guide was unremarkable, therfore I won't remark on her except in parenthsis (she sucked).  So in the interest of time I will skip ahead to the next day when a few other brave explores and myself dove face first into the rainbow orgy that is downtown Lisboa during Carnival.  After a enjoying a view of the Atlantic from a picturesque port we were distracted by the one thing even more interesting to teenagers than shiny objects.  Loud noises.  A parade made up of brass and drum bands, men dressed as women, and humans made up like zombies (and maybe some vampires that are allowed to sparkle safely once a year in public on a day of unadulterated flamboyance).   Also there was a woman who had enough confetti and streamers to choke an elephant.  That might seem like a strange metaphor unless you had met the woman, but I know that if the lady was in the sarengeti, armed only with colored and torn paper, she would try her hardest to shove it down the nearest pacaderms throat.  She was crazy and as we figured out later, not actually associated with the festival.  Just an older woman with access to party decorations and alcohol. 

She aimed for the mouth

She barely missed the mouth that time

I cannot tell you how long we wandered around downtown, because after five minutes my sense of time melted from over exposure to pure insanity and awesomeness. 
The next day was spent in two towns named Cascai and Estorial.  Not only do the names sound like they were taken from Final Fantasy but the communities themselves looked like they were the type of paradise only available in video games, or possibly, Inception style dreams.  First we visited Estorial, it is a town built on mountain sides, in the middle of a jungle, full of people speaking a foreign language.  It's as if settlers were heading to the coast, eager for a nice beach view, and just gave up, 'Fuck it, I like the mountains better anyways,' is what I imagine them saying.  Because really there would be no other reason to inhabit the area other than its beauty, so maybe the origional settlers were just super powered future watchers and could see the amazing industry tourism would turn into.  In which case I take back what I said about them earlier, no need to piss off time travelers.  In typical responsible adult fashion once off the bus we scatter in all directions getting semi-lost and fearing that we may actually be left behind.  Haha, just kidding, we sort of hoped we would be left behind.  I climbed one of the mountains with a couple friends in search of a castle because.  Just because. 
The second city was sea side and beautiful, but the best part had to be when we drove up a mountain and got a high view of the ocean and far off city.  The top of the cliff was a maze of eroded rock for the cautious ones to try and squeeze between and for the ninjas to jump across.  The scene was amazing until about ten people got completely covered in salt water by a wave that crashed all the way up the cliff side, then it was hilarious until it started raining, and I got wet, then it was uncool.  So with our newly soaked clothing the group returned to Lisboa.  It was the last night we spent there, good thing too, after four nights in Portugal we had seen pretty much everything the nation had to offer.  Time to check that off my list of countries to experience.

P.S didn't even spellcheck this one, how obvious is it

Portugal pt.3

I'm now realizing how much I will have to work to update everyone on the Portugal trip.  In two posts I've covered two days.  I'm going to try and move faster while still keeping the blog fun, or at least free of tears of depression/boredom.  So moving on, although the beautiful locations were seemingly without limit the time we spent with skilled tour guides was extremely limited.  Specifically it was limited from the time we entered the Mosque of Cordoba to the time we left the Mosque of Cordoba.  The next guide was no exception, she was worse than Buzzkillington, and he's really really bad.  At one point a student tried to help her out by telling the following joke: Question from the guide; 'Who knows why the palace was built so close to the ocean?'  Student; 'So they could party on the beach every night?' Alright, so maybe the joke would not have made it on Last Comic Standing, but we were desperate, the kid received a nice hearty laugh from the other Rotary students and this from the tour guide, 'Actually the beach was too cold to be much fun.  Also swimsuits had not yet been invented, and there was no way they could have had enough light to go to the shore line during the nighttime.'  And cue the awkward silence.  So saying she was tough to listen to is a bit of an understatement, sure I caught some fun facts but for the most part I spent my time expertly wandering much how I do in San Sebastian.  The location in question were Reales Alcazaras, architecture similar to that of Alhambra but on a smaller, more modest scale.  This palace would only take about six hours to see entirely which rests comfortably above my minimum time for home tours of three hours.  Move aside MTV Cribs, people are done touring your houses after an hour, go out and buy some more shit.  Just look at the royalty of the past, now they knew how to live.

Also knew how to starve all the ugly poor people

The rest of the day was free time spent exploring the city for hookers and cocaine.  But that's a story for another time, that time being when I'm apprehended by Spain's national authority and have to retrace my steps looking for a lost friend.


This friend

 Day number four, March 5th, my nineteenth birthday, also the birthday of a friend of mine on the trip, she too was turning nineteen.  Like most mornings we pile onto the bus which I was disappointed to find out had not been converted into a battle tank for my birthday, a little saddening, but bearable.  Five minutes into the bus ride it began to rain and would not let up for the rest of the day, a day that was spent almost entirely on a narrow seat trying to work out a butt cramp.  There was one stop on our journey, a place along the lines of a Columbus Museum which featured three ships which were supposedly the ones that had made the trip to America.  The issue was never addressed if they were real or not, but their ambiguity gave me confidence that they were the real deal, and that I would be kind of a douche if I questioned it.  I use the term museum loosely as a description of the location, it would be like a museum for the worlds largest matching set of furniture where you could see normal sized furniture, a few tools that may have been used to make furniture at one point, and a gift shop that has almost nothing to do with furniture.  Because really, who'd be interested in that?  However, the highlight of the trip had to be the video describing Columbus and his band of merry-genius-humanitarian-genius-good looking-super genius-probably well endowed crew men, and the video also decided to mention they were geniuses another fifteen times, because everyone knows, if you say the same thing over and over it makes it true.  Also, the video was told from three points of view, specifically the three ships.  Yeah, that's not a joke, whoever owns the museum had such a hard-on for Columbus that they created a full video fantasy where they could be ridden by him for a full thirty minutes.  The museum also featured the classic display full of leaves, sticks, and pinecones.  After another long bus ride we stopped in Algrave where the Pamplonians and I wandered into the wrong restaurant where we stayed for five minutes before trying to leave, got yelled at in Portuguese, and were threatened with a fine.  My birthday friend and I decided that our birthday would be the combined average of March 4th and March 6th while having nothing to do with March 5th.  But from this point on my adventures in Portugal are of a nineteen year old, not that kid that some people knew before I left on the Rotary trip, now I'm a man... but for realsies this time.

Portugal pt.2

Looking back on days past I'm realizing that I was a different person, the drug of Americans changed me, but I think this happened to everyone on the trip.  The first few days I was on my toes, I loved seeing new places, meeting new people, and had good stories and sarcastic comments on tap.  After three or four days I began to leave myself scattered about instead of collecting myself into my head each night as I normally do.  I just let waves of Americans wash over me and enjoyed the ride while others' voices went through my head but my brain was too tired to make a worthwhile idea of its own.  My demeanor returned to what it was in middle school, I was kind and polite but ultimately uninteresting, however experiences in that time will be the source of many stories, far too many to relate in this blog.  I will do my best to return to the cynical and sarcastic self that I have come to know and love.  I will put a ball gag on my false praise, handcuff my superfluous hugs, and bind up any future allusions to the gimp in 'Pulp Fiction,' no one needs to think about that more than necessary, and I have more things to make fun of and a voyage of amazing experiences and sleep deprivation that must be told.
I leave San Sebastian early in the morning and have a seven hour bus ride down to Madrid, upon arrival I have thirty minutes to catch the metro and find the 'Entrance Hall' to Mendez-Alvaro station.  At the designated stop on the underground I go towards the surface expecting to find waiting Rotary faces.  No dice.  I ask a worker if there is maybe another entrance that I had missed, she seems confused so I show her the email from Rotary on my BlackBerry and she shrugs and directs me to another, smaller, entrance hall.  I arrive five minutes late (1:35) and again find nobody.  I frantically ask strangers about some place named Mendez-Alvaro, one man responds, 'Do you mean the metro, the train, or the bus station?' I have no idea.  A double fail, one by me, one by Rotary.  Utilizing the small amount of common sense that I have earned I decide that since we are traveling by bus it would make sense we would meet in the bus station, a long shot but it just might work.  The bus station is a combination of confusing tunnels and outdoor lanes spreading in all directions, but eventually I find the front of the complex.  Turns out the "Entrance Hall" of the bus station is a two story megastructure and I have no idea which of the ten entrances to use.  I wander around some more before finding the Rotary group about fifteen minutes late, I'm fried after traveling for so long and decide to talk to friends instead of telling an adult I had arrived.  Apparently I had used up my daily common sense ration.  For thirty minute Rotary searched for me while I let my mind shut down because who needs to think for themselves in a group.  Eventually Rotary discovers that I've been with them for a while and after a brief round of applaud the idiot (me) everyone takes their seats and we are off on what will become ten of my best days in Spain.
Because I had not been on a bus for enough time that day we decide to head to Granada and check out the Jewish neighborhood before bedtime.  This is where I was first introduced to what my Pamplonian friends (A group of seven or so people that are spending their exchange year in Pamplona) called the 'Black Girl Pose,' or BGP for short.  It may seem inappropriate, but really nothing was meant by it, just stick out your butt and purse your lips, like a Zoolander-Bluesteel-Bootylicious pose.  But that is kind of annoying to say so, BGP.  Whether in front of ancient architecture or modern graffiti BGP is the way to go.  We finished the day with a beautiful view of the city and no idea what to expect for the next morning or the week and a half to come.  We may have known what to expect had we checked the itinerary in each and every one of our email accounts, but what fun is being prepared?
The next day we woke up at around nine for a surprise visit to Alhambra, a palace/walled city that spans five kilometers.  We had less than half a day in a location where one could explore for twenty-four hours straight.  The architecture and nature were blended and designed in such a way as that even though it was extremely elaborate everything seemed natural.  It appeared as if there was no other way the land could have possibly formed except in the shape of this expansive palace, some gardens were trimmed others were slightly more free.  It is one of the most beautiful locations I have ever seen and I think a fair number of other Rotary students would agree with me, which was why we were all pretty frustrated with the guide.  Her motto seemed to be 'Talk slow, walk fast, don't let anyone fall behind,' so despite our best efforts my friends and I were not able to get lost.  The woman would usually stand in a shaded, semi-interesting location, and talk for fifteen minutes before blowing through Atlantis and The Road to El Der ado in five minutes with just enough time to barely point at a battle to the death between Alien, Predator, Optimus Prime, and Gandalf.  All the rushing made sure that we would get to the gift shop with enough time for her to have a smoke while we bought over priced trinkets.  Now, I never argued with or made fun of this woman to her face, which took restraint, but that was only because I knew my future plans.  In April I plan to return with my family.  However, had that been the first and last time I had the opportunity to see Alhambra I might have been inclined to inform the woman that she could stick her microphone in a place where one would not usually put electronic metal sticks. 
Later that day we went to the Mosque of Cordoba.  The huge forest of pillars that surrounds a tiny church is a spectacle that I had never seen before.  And the tour guide did not even force me to think about passive aggressive threats I might have to employ.  In fact, every part of our time in the Mosque was amazing from the relevant history, to the blending of two cultures, with beautiful artwork, and jokes that were actually funny.  Although I wish someday to see a great Mosque in an unmutilated form the structure was still beautiful.  Now form some history.  A long long time ago, probably in the fifties or something, the Mosque was just a Mosque and Christians were all up north.  But the Mosque was reconquered and some people began challenge the Mosque, they wanted the structure turned into a church.  Local officials in the area told the religious architects that there was absolutely no way that they were allowing such an impressive building to be defaced by religious pettiness.  So the church's designers did what any rational adult would do, they ran to the king to get his permission, presumably while describing their opposition as stupid-dodo-faces.  The king granted them full access after getting tired of hearing the fool-proof argument of 'If we DON'T get the Church, we'll throw a TANTRUM right here in your stupid PALACE!'.  So now there is a gigantic Mosque with a church in it, later when the king saw what had happened after his permission was granted he was quoted as saying 'If I had known what they wanted to do I would never have let it be done.'  Bet that one stung.  The Mosque/Church is still pretty amazing so my recommendation would be to check that out.  Anyways, if anyone actually reads this, keep an eye out for part three, it will be along as soon as I un-stick my eyes from the computer.

Portugal

This post and ones that follow may be slightly different from what I have written in the past.  The reason?  I'm recovering after quitting, cold turkey, something I had consumed in copious amounts for the past ten days.  It just seemed harmless but after just a few hours without it I became cold and scared of the future.  It was around me all day, every day, during the Rotary trip in Portugal and southern Spain and on my bus ride back to San Sebastian I was worried if I could ever survive without it.  But after almost twenty-four hours without any exposure I again am feeling more like my normal self.  Of course I will still have some problems, after all, I have just quit one of the hardest drugs of all.  Americans.  In the United States everyone uses in moderation, some coy sarcasm here, a 'That's what she said' joke there, but it is so common no one worries about their next hit.  In San Sebastian I have yet to encounter a single American who was staying more than a week, so there was not much, but enough to get by.  On the Rotary trip there were forty-five students the majority of which were Americans, and some of which were very potent.  The problem with Americans (as well as a portion of Canadians) as a drug is that it is involuntarily absorbed through the ears and occasionally through the eyes (such as entering a holy building finding the most holy and respected place within that building, and shaking your booty like its your job).  I could be sitting on the bus, trying to make sure that I stayed calm, did not go too crazy, when all of a sudden, in the row ahead of me, a burst of pure American sass with finger waving and head shaking.  The other replies with a good old 'Mhmmmm, knaw whatcha meen mon' (translated: Yes, I understand your situation), and I'm hooked.  It may not all be in one post but over the next few days I will attempt to clear the haze that surrounds the memories of the Rotary trip.  I believe that the blog may be therapeutic, so prepare for the next post to be soon, if not, I may have collapsed in a heap shooting 'Family Guy' and 'Scrubs' directly into my ears and eyes, I pray that I can transition into moderation again without a full blown relapse.