Natasha

I went home with a waitress
The way I always do
How was I to know
She was with the Russians too??!!
-Warren Zevon

There’s something about Madrid: no matter how hard you try to be good, sometimes it just doesn’t work out. Blame it on Madrid, I guess. It’s certainly not my fault. Plus I’ve always kind of sucked at ‘being good.’

Anyway, after the blowout on Friday night, I awoke at 4pm. Martin was rousing me by telephone to go watch Leceister England play Munster Ireland in some European rugby cup. This Irish bar was packed. The Irish love any chance to throttle the English for 800 years of oppression. But Munster lost.

So then the other folks met us for dinner, then we went to Sol, the tourist area with all the bars. Some of the others decided to go to a nightclub but it was 1 AM and I decided to call it an early night (that is early for Madrid on Saturday). Deirdre and I took same Metro back (the Metro closes at 1:30 AM and then you have to cab). So now it’s 1:45 or so and I haven’t seen the crowd at the Mural Bar, my main delving into Spanish culture across from my cell, and I decide to have one last beer and say hello.

The place was hopping, there was a big party for somebody’s birthday and all the regulars were there. I met some new folks and introduced myself as El Dude, which gets a lot of laughter. Then when they try to say my real name, they understand why. So I’m talking Spanglish with this dude, when this blonde hottie interjects herself into the conversation. She spoke some English and Spanish with us. Her name was Natasha, born in Moscow, had lived in Madrid for 13 years, and was now divorced. I thought she was with the guy next to her, but she said she wasn’t.

She kind of looked like a blonde Christina Ricci, which is probably why I couldn’t say no to going with her to a ‘disco’ when the police made the bar close at three (if the police don’t come they may stay open all night). Thankfully, it was more of a DJ place than a disco and I danced my ass off with her til 6:30AM. She could really shake her boogie and she chain smoked like Joni Mitchell. It didn’t matter. Whisper sweet communist propaganda into my capitalist ears! Then we went to a Cervezaria for breakfast. We got there at about 7AM and it was jammed! Everyone was getting breakfast from the night before. Madrid is a dangerous place. I got to bed at half past 8.

Mel, using Skype to talk to me while I typed franticly, said, “Geez, you’re just like a kid in a candy shop, aren’t you?” Es verdad (true).

My Nana always used to tell me “The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.”

Es Verdad, Nana. But I sure am enjoying the ride. Besides, hell only exists for right wing extremists and Mormons.