Posts Tagged ‘spanish’

Who is that Guy?

Wednesday, May 16th, 2012

There’s a new sock creature in town but no one really knows who he is.

That guy sock creature

Hello, Sir.

He is one of those mysterious types – people are saying he is either an undercover agent working for some secret governmental department (or the tax office) or he is Spanish. His moustache would suggest the latter but no Spaniards are that tall. Have you seen his legs?

That guy sock creature

He's really tall for a Spanish person.

There is also the question of the remarkably spiky hair that descends down his back. Rumours are spreading that maybe he comes from some sort of demonic land and has come to influence innocent children, encouraging them to join his cult, but the fact is he doesn’t talk to anyone. Not a soul. No one even really knows if he can speak, and if he does, what language. Maybe, they say, he doesn’t have a tongue.

That guy hairy back

You can't blame a guy for having a hairy back, but this is just strange.

Everyone refers to him as either, “That Guy”, “The Red One” or “Alf” as they figure he’s from another planet. He doesn’t seem to be as friendly and outgoing as the real Alf, which is really quite disappointing. All That Guy does is walk into the pub staring with his blank-eyed-look at no one in particular, and then he points at the bottles of Coke lining the fridge. He sits at the bar, sipping slowly through a straw, occasionally turning to look at who has just walked through the door. Once he has finished his drink he will order another, and then a third, a fourth, until the sun goes down, everyone heads home and the pub closes. He will then place the exact change on the counter, slide from his chair and leave.

That guy moustache

He sure does stare a lot.

No one knows where he lives. Once some of the neighbourhood kids tried to follow him home, but they lost sight of him when he disappeared into the woods. Some people say he gets sucked up into an alien spaceship and they claim to have seen bright lights shining over the deepest, darkest part of the woods at night time. Others say he climbs down a hole into the depths of the underworld, while others insist they have seen him walking past their windows in the early hours of the morning.

That guy hole in sock

He shows signs of having led a tough life – clearly life is hard where ever he is from

Normally the town’s folk wouldn’t put up with someone as strange as him hanging around, but the problem is that he is also a highly profitable tourist attraction. Bus loads of tourists roll into town every day hoping to catch a glimpse of this strange personality. The pub has never sold so much Surf ‘n’ Turf and the newsagent is making great business selling tshirts with “I Survived Seeing That Guy” and “What’s He Looking At?” printed on them.

You, too, can survive seeing That Guy – he’s on sale at my Etsy Store.

Flight Update

Tuesday, June 14th, 2011

Well, we’re back in Paris, I have done a load of washing and we have been to the supermarket and restocked the fridge. We’re on ‘healthy eating’ diets for the next while so we bought lots of vegetables and we’re replacing wine with sparkling water. I’d like to put a specific period of time on our new eating plan but we all know it won’t actually last long. I haven’t done the big weigh in yet and don’t plan on doing so until tomorrow morning, although discovering that I am 10 kilograms heavier thanks to Dutch poffetjes, German beer and Greek olive oil is maybe not the best self-esteem booster before going to a job interview. ANYHOO. We’ll have hot bods to go with our sexy tans before you know it.

So I promised to let you know who sat next to me on the flight from Athens to Paris. The answer: no one. It was great! But I do want to tell you about the family who were sitting in the row behind us. It was a couple in their late 30s with their 4-ish year old son. The man was German and I’m not entirely sure what the woman was but either Spanish or French. Anyway, the little boy is who caught my attention as he happily kicked the back of my chair and sang songs and talked loudly in German, French, English and Spanish. Fluently. He moved slickly between the languages, turning to his Dad and speaking German and then back to his Mum in French. Clearly every family member spoke every language as they all chopped and changed between them. It was just AMAZING. I was so jealous – I wanted to turn around and congratulate the parents and shake the boy’s hand for being so brilliant. Being that young and having so many languages is just wonderful. Sure, I think he needs to learn some manners and he was never disciplined for kicking the seat or banging the tray table, but he can travel the world and communicate easily. I’m going to have to have severe words with my parents now. This just isn’t fair.

Meanwhile, Paris is just as crazy and noisy as when we left. Apparently we went on a holiday… I’m not sure. I don’t remember.

Madrid Part 3

Tuesday, May 10th, 2011

The People

The staff in restaurants were always very friendly and helpful and joked about our lack of Spanish speaking abilities. The first night though I think we managed to find every single grumpy Madridian. No one seemed happy to serve the stupid tourists and we thought we’d be doomed for the entire trip. Until the next morning we had breakfast at the bar next to our hotel and were served by a welcoming and friendly young guy. His name was Junior and he spent time each morning teaching us Spanish. He was 27, worried about turning 28, married and showed us photos of his son. He started the trend for friendly Spanish people who looked after us, gave us good food and even gave us free drinks. I wanted to give everyone hugs.

Our hotel was run by a lovely, short Spanish lady who must have lived in the apartment block where the hotel was located. She spoke no English and we spoke no Spanish yet we managed to understand each other. She insisted on carrying our bag to our room before giving us a map, explaining the three different keys we needed to get into our room and then leaving us to enjoy the city. The hotel was great – Coup found it on Hostelbookers for just 20 Euros a night for private rooms with ensuites. The hotel was located in the centre of town, close to everything, and was situated in a dodgy looking apartment complex that had weird looking people living in it. The room was tiny but amazingly clean and despite having walls as thin as paper we managed to sleep like babies.