oh, where to begin, where to begin.
we got to barca around four or five in the afternoon: hot, tired and thrilled to be amongst spaniards. we grabbed some fabulous food and went up and checked into our hovel. i mean hole. i mean hostal. we grabbed some rest, went out for a bocadillo in a sandwich chain (shut it. it had air conditioning, which was desperately needed at this point). then, we decided to hunt for a decent pub. true, the proverbial bar had been lowered to the point we could shuffle over it, but we were in barcelona and we meant business. this, of course, left only one choice: hogan’s, an authentic australian bar squai on las ramblas.
a pint of fosters here, a pint of fosters in an irish bar and the hunt continued. we happened upon- get this- another irish bar. ok, a few more. but that’s not really the point. the point is people, that we were in an irish bar. which means the trouble was a-brewing. i asked cs at the beginning of the trip what the over/under was on us being in the middle of stag party at some point. we should have made some points, because before you could say “yes, i’ll have that fifth pint of fosters, please” there we were.
they were even easier to identify than usual because they were all wearing matching soccer (ok. football. they were brits) jerseys with a picture of the groom as a four year old and their nicknames on them. before i could say “how much do i owe you for that drink?,” we were in the midst of four of the eighteen members. let’s call them herbs, plan b, rio and mark. because that’s what they were named. at least according to their shirts.
quite quickly, and without warning, i had entered into a transaction with, um, rio, to meet up at three am at the hard rock cafe for a little action if neither of us got lucky before then. i was totally kidding and not taking him seriously, of course. i think he sensed this so he broke out the big guns: the pinkie swear. now i was legally bound. it was for serious a true blue straight up transaction. no flirting or leg work. it was a five minute once over from either side and then a contract.
alas, as chance would have it, we never got to frequent that fine, movie-themed establishment because we kept chatting at the bar. rio asked if i’d like to accompany him to get some fags (cigarettes, not homosexual men). i told cs i’d be back in ten seconds as i hadn’t yet decided what my involvement would be with this gentleman, but when we got to the newstand and he asked me how to say condoms in espanol, i figured what the hell? he’s totally full of himself and british, but really hot (think jason statham) and i’m young, white and single. so, i told the man “un paquete de condons” and off we went. i rolled my eyes when he told the shopkeep “the big ones, please.” let’s come back to this later.
after a brief stop at my hovel (it was closer) during which we were kicked out and i remembered that i am far too old and well paid to be staying in places that don’t allow guests, we headed off to his fancy pants hotel and headed straight upstairs. i think it was around the point that he held the door open for me that i finally decided that i’d probably hook up with him. alright. ok. it was when he told me that he liked the cut of my jib two hours before, but let’s pretend.
anyhoo, all you need to know:
(seriously. more or less, this is what we’re talking about)
without getting too graphic, let’s just say that his little throwaway comment at the newstand was not only not a joke, but an understatement. i thought we were going to have product relevancy issues.
he taught me several handy phrases in egyptian arabic which revealed that he was, in fact, egyptian arabic and quite pleased by my earlier statements regarding the US and UK’s treatment of muslims.
i was called, in all seriousness, a ‘naughty minx.’
i am totally hooking up with more self-centered playboys. good god did that guy know what he was doing.
finally, i LOVE this transaction thing. no nonsense, no time wasted. which rocked, because it meant more time for play.
when i was ready to leave at seven am, he got dressed to walk me home, much to my surprise. he was insulted that i even conceived of the notion that he wouldn’t be a gentleman. i was like “take no offense, in new york, i’d be like ‘bag of peanuts,’ i’m getting on the subway.”
he gave me his email and told me to tell him when i’d next be in london, which i readily, though very wearily, agreed to.
cs lewis was happier to see me than anyone had been in my life. my “ten seconds” had been more like four hours and she was concerned. for a hot second. then we hi5ed ourselves to sleep.
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