A Random Encounter in Spain with my Cousin

By some random chain of events, my cousin Chris, who grew up in BC, moved to Pamplona, Spain, 3 days before I arrived in Madrid. Our colliding paths were discovered only on Facebook, and he invited me to hang out with him. Of course I jumped at the opportunity to see a familiar face, even though I’ve only seen the guy twice in the past 12 years.

Ocean View from San Sebastian

It’s about a 5 hour bus ride from Madrid, and When he picks me up from the bus station that night, it’s a wonderful feeling to have someone there to greet me, not to mention a huge relief to not have to find a place to sleep that night nor worry about transportation to get there. He drives me to the swanky hotel suite he is living in for a few weeks while he gets his living situation sorted out. I’m liking these circumstances more and more.

Incredible Rock Formations Along the Coast

“Are you tired? Or do you want to go to a topless bar?” He asks me.

I laugh. I assume he is joking but as I don’t know him that well I am not quite certain of his style of humor. I reply that going out sounds fun…I’m just hoping he’s joking about the topless bar part of it.

The rocks almost look fake

He takes me to a tappas bar and we share a good laugh when I confess the miscommunication. Tappas are a sort of smorgasbord of delicious Spanish h’ordeuvres. Conversation flows well and I realize that even though we haven’t seen each other too much over the years, we get along really well.

More Ocean Views

Chris plays the perfect host. The following day he takes me north to the coast. The weather is dismal but I enjoy the ride and the countryside and the Atlantic ocean. That night he treats me to a delicious dinner where again we sample the local cuisine at a Cideria, or a cider house. There are six barrels of gigantic size proportions loaded with delicious cider. The pressure is like a hose and we have fun filling our glasses. After dinner we meet a pile of locals around the cideria barrels, most of whom don’t speak English but are hellbent on talking to us anyway. I can only laugh as we try, mostly unsuccessfully, to communicate. We get a big kick out of the burly, older, bearded man who keeps saying, “Ex-squeeze me,” when he wants our attention.

Pouring a Glass of Cider

Stretch those arms for the ultimate pour!

We hit it off well with our new friends, one of whom is apparently the president of some sort of social club. Pamplona is famous for it’s Sanfermines festival and running of the bulls every July (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/San_Ferm%C3%ADn) and the social clubs have something to do with that. They invite us to their “social clubhouse”, which is just a hole in the ground karaoke joint. Now my friends back home know that I really hate karaoke, but how do you say no when they introduce me to the bar as a guest from Canada and want me to take the stage? And guess what song they cue for me?

The Macarena! And they all know all the Spanish words and sing their hearts out in the audience, all eyes on me. I bumble through the prompts but give a hearty, “Heeeey, Macarena!” every time it comes up. I marvel at their ability to sing every single word. I butcher the song as only a Canadian, English speaking girl can do, and with relief remove myself from the stage when it is finally over (Do you have any idea how long that song really is?). They proudly show us some of the props they use in the annual Running of the Bulls parties and want Chris and I to try them out. Of course we indulge them, having fun in the process. It is such a wonderfully random and completely local night, and the language barriers are hilarious.

The locals want us to go "bull riding", in honor of their city's annual and very famous "Running of the Bulls"

The next evening we go to a get together with some of Chris’ friends. I meet a whole pile of people and they all greet me with a kiss on each cheek. Spanish flutters around me, but they do understand English. I want to interact but I am suddenly feeling quite ill. I hope it’ll pass, but it only worsens as the evening wears on. Someone gave Chris and I a ride, and I don’t want to party crash. But at one point I run to the bathroom, afraid I might throw up everywhere. Fortunately, I dodge that bullet. I try my best to put on a brave face, and finally we leave, getting two kisses from each new friend before we do so.

I go straight to bed and wake up hours later. I rush to the bathroom and puke my guts out. What an awful feeling! I make it back to bed and sleep and sleep. The next day is not fun, but I slowly regain strength. Fortunately it seems to have been a 24 hour bug, and I am very thankful I am with Chris– who brings me water and aspirin and blankets– and that I am not crammed at the top of some hostel bunk bed.

The Netbook Drama Continues

If anyone has been following my journies, you know that on my first flight I left my netbook on the plane and was unable to recover it. I am a computer person and I decided that the expense was worth it for me to get a new one, so I ordered one online in North America. My intention was to get it shipped to my Inca trail tour company in Peru but at the last minute my tour guide said it was a terrible idea because Peruvian customs would tax me out the wazoo, possibly hold it up, and treat it poorly, possibly damaging it.

When I found out that Chris was moving to Spain, my father investigated taxes, customs, etc. and it seemed like a good place to ship it for a staggaring cost of $100. At the time of shipping, my cousin did not have a Spanish address in Pamplona, so gave me the address of his friend Irena. It was to arrive Thurs Nov 5, the day before me.

When I got to Pamplona, I was excited to finally get my netbook. I’d ben waiting for it for almost 5 weeks.

Chris informed me on the Friday that UPS called and said that it would be delivered on Monday. Also that because the dear friend who shipped it for me overvalued it, that I owed the Spanish government close to $200 in taxes. Suddenly this netbook was costing me too much, but I couldn’t back down now. My father seemed to think that I might be able to get the taxes back as I am not a Spanish citizen.

On Monday, still sick, Chris called UPS. They said the parcel would be delivered sometime that day to Irena’s. As Irena wasn’t going to be home, Chris and I camped out there for the day. I fell asleep on the couch, still fighting the remnants of the flu.

The day wore on and on with no package. Chris had to leave and Irena was back, so she called UPS Spain for me. They informed her that the netbook would be released from customs the following day, when I was on a plane to Morocco! I had no idea what to do. I weighed all options and called UPS USA, where the product was originally shipped from. They informed me that my options were: abandon the package ($500 into it!) or ship it back to the States but pay all customs charges and return shipping (several hundred dollars). What an expensive, lose/lose situation.

Dejected, I hung up the phone with UPS unable to believe the turn of events. Chris was back by now and we tried to figure out another solution, but were hitting dead ends left, right and center. Then the door buzzer rang. It was after 5pm.

It was a UPS driver! Chris ran down with the cash and came back to the door. He held up a piece of paper: “It’s only the customs documents,” he said in resignation.

My heart sank.

He grinned and produced a box from around the corner. “Just kidding!”

I smacked him, then he gave me a swooping bear hug as I let out an annoying girlish squeal. So I finally got my netbook by some miraculous stroke of luck just in the nick of time. And I love it. Now if only I could get that tax back, the story would truly have a perfect ending…

Chris and I don traditional Sanfermines masks and "fight"