Weird, Wild Stuff

So, I've come to the end of my non-trip. Crazily and scarily enough, I would have been in Valencia when that train derailed had I not suffered through the seventh circle of hell and left.

So, I've been enjoying Alicante - a wonderful resort-type town with plenty of interesting restaurants, culture, and of course, insanely beautiful women. I'm not exaggerating either. Even the policewomen and the girl cleaning the trash off the streets were gorgeous. My hotel is right near the water, so every day I walk down to the beach, around the water, enjoy lunch at an outdoor cafe and read in the shade of a nearby park. And the people here never sleep. Two nights ago I was walking around town about 11:30 at night, and the old Spaniards were all sitting in this promenade, dressed up in their Sunday best (it was Monday). The women, pristinely coiffed and painted, fanned themselves and chatted while their husbands, some in polyester suits from their youth, others in more contemporary "senior" fashions, sounded as if they were discussing world politics, or more importantly, the World Cup.

One thing I've noticed here too - I don't think Americans by and large are more unhealthy than our European counterparts. We're just fatter. We eat larger portions, eat too quick, don't exercise enough, and we don't smoke nearly as much as Europeans do. But, thin doesn't always mean healthy. The majority of the people here have guts or poochy stomachs. And McDonald's and Burger King are always packed. Plus, these people walk everywhere. The food has been a good mix of international flavor. I've eaten at German, Turkish, Spanish, French, Italian, and American restaurants, all mixed with the local tastes. That mostly means adding fish from the Mediterranean. I've found a new way to fix a tuna sandwich, by the way.

So, the other night, I'm enjoying my evening stroll around town, enjoying the glow of the sunset on the buildings, the smell of the fresh flowers, the sound of the several water fountains around town, and the sound of Spaniards partying into the wee hours. I come to a street about two blocks away from my hotel and there are these two girls standing out in front of this large red door with a neon sign above it. It was a restaurant and house community, so I didn't think too much of it. As I walked past, the black girl said to me in English, "Good evening."
I smiled, nodded and said, "Hello."
"Hey, where are you from?" she asked.
Curse my friendly nature (which is bizarre 'cause I hate people) I stopped and said, "America".
She grabbed my hand, rotated to my side, locking arms with me, "I love America. It's a great country."
"And where are you from?"
"Jamaica."
"What on earth are you doing here?" I asked.
She starts to walk toward the big red door, pulling me along with her. "Come inside for a drink and we can talk in there."
I planted my feet and she tugged on my arm, like trying to get a dog to obey the yank of its collar. "Thank you, but sorry, I've to meet some friends for some late night shenanigans. Maybe next time," I said and walked away. And maybe if my affinity for plump, Jamaican prostitutes changes, too.
Never a dull moment, folks. Never a dull moment.