The day has finally arrived; I’m going home to England. It’s a strange feeling, knowing that you’re leaving a place that, without your conscious awareness of it, has become a home to you in itself, and with it, leaving behind all the aspects of your life there. It feels almost as if none of it is quite real, as if I will wake up this time tomorrow in my little room in Madrid and smile about that dream I had.
I’m glad I managed to get out the house last night; otherwise the hours of waiting in that void between home and here would have seemed to stretch endlessly in front of me. As it was, Marellia invited me to go to a meal with her and some friends, who were celebrating the Fiestas Patrias peruanas (Peruvian National Holidays). It seemed an especially fitting way to celebrate the end of my Spanish adventure - with something representing the Peruvian one I was about to begin.
Marellia and I had been waiting to hear from Meryan that she had left the house, but when 9pm came and went, we decided she must have left and forgotten to let us know, so began to make our way to Pacífico on the metro. We were meant to be meeting the rest of the group at the restaurant at 9.30, so when it got to 9.45 and there was still no sign of Meryan, we began to wonder what was going on. At 10pm she finally returned Marellia’s calls, and it turned out we weren’t meeting at Pacífico at all; we just had to change metros there and go two more stops to get to the actual meeting place.
We found out from this phone call that she was still miles away, so when we got off the next metro we decided to kill a bit of time by going into Llaollao for a drink. It was really quite chilly (by Spanish standards) at this point, so the granizados (ice drinks) we bought probably weren’t the best idea ever. We’d only just sat down with said granizados when Marellia’s phone went; it was Diego, a friend of Meryan’s, who was just arriving at the metro station and said we could meet him there since Meryan hadn’t arrived yet. We took our Llaollaos and went to meet him and two of his friends from Japan.
I knew that this was a special night for the Peruvian community of Madrid, but I hadn’t expected the sight that met us as we walked into the restaurant; the room had been completely covered in decorations and there was a singer on-stage performing Peruvian songs - salsa and meringue and all those types of music that are irresistibly rhythmical.
By this time, it was already gone 10.30, and it was 11pm by the time Meryan had arrived and we had ordered our meals. As usual, I was the difficult one, and this time, not only was I the only vegetarian, but I also had very little idea of what anything on the menu actually was. I made the fatal mistake of asking one of them to order for me - probably not the best idea, when you consider that ‘meat’ and ‘chicken’ are classed as a separate category in their culture.
Anyway, when my meal arrived, it was served in a tall cocktail glass, a beige liquid topped with two king prawns and a mussel. I tentatively felt the side of the glass, and it was as I’d feared - cold. Most people who know me will also know that king prawns are one of those things in life that I just cannot face - much like mummies and spiders. Unfortunately this felt like one of those occasions where not eating it would offend everyone present, so I didn’t have much choice. I managed to get through the extremely spicy cold soup, which seemed to be made of onions and an unidentified type of fish. When it eventually came to the point when I could put off the king prawns no longer, I had to ask one of the guys to show me how to do it - which they obviously found hilarious. They did the one for me, and then I had to do the other; the poor little prawn pleaded with me with its big black eyes, and I ripped its little head off.
After I’d finished decapitating sea creatures, more people turned up at our table (whose meals arrived at midnight)! We ordered more drinks (an enormous jug of sangria) and not long after, got up to dance. I love salsa music, despite the fact I have only a vague idea of how to dance it - and the Peruvians seemed happy I was so keen to get involved with their culture.
A couple of jugs of sangria later, we were ready to move on to somewhere else. It was around 3 by this time, so all the clubs were at their most expensive. Nevertheless, we took a taxi into Sol and found a cool club that let all the girls in for free (which the guys accepted much more willingly than I would have in their position). I got bought more drinks too, so didn’t actually end up spending anything. I also got asked to dance by a guy who was even more keen on salsa than I am and, more to the point, actually knew how to dance it. Once you have a good partner, it’s not too difficult just to follow their lead, and it wasn’t long before we were a blur of quick steps and twirls, and he was lifting me up above the crowd.
So, somehow our civilised, cultured meal and quiet last evening turned into yet another crazy night out - and instead of getting back on Saturday’s last metro, we got back on Sunday’s first, at 6.30am. Dawn had broken and it was completely light when Marellia and I had finished our snacks and gone to bed - perfect, since I had until 1pm to sleep until I needed to start getting ready to leave for the airport.
Of course, these things never work out as planned - and at 11am I was wide awake. On the plus side, this did give me plenty of time to wash my sheets and get everything properly sorted before leaving. My journey will take just over an hour and involves changing metro lines twice; luckily, Marellia has been lovely enough to offer to come with me, so can help me with my cases up and down all those horrendous steps. It’s like I said in my last entry; there are some really lovely people in the world.
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