Botellón

September 11

Friday was a blast. Some friends and I attended the Botellón in downtown Granada. Essentially, Granada’s youth gathers in a large park and they bring their own drinks and chat/enjoy the open air before going to their favorite bar or discoteca. An interesting tidbit: the myths about Spanish class and moderation with regards to alcohol are a complete myth, at least in Granada. There was malt liquor, boxed wine and cheap vodka chased with cola as far as the eye could see. It was very interesting to observe, however. My friend and I spoke with a group of Spaniards for about 15 minutes. The topic? Pau Gasol’s pervasive supremacy throughout our planet. He really is one of my favorite athletes. He is objectively kind, he plans to finish medical school after his career, and he is just plain graceful on the basketball court. But the mania these guys had for Pau bordered on worship. Well, I should really say “bordered,” at one point, the guy standing next to me claimed he was God.

            Back to the story, we left the Botellón around 3 a.m. because the girls were getting tired. After we walked them home John (my roommate) and I stopped in a bar to use the aseos. When I came out of the bathroom, John was talking and laughing with the bartender. It took me a second to recognize the bartender, but I almost fell over when I made the connection. It was Marco, a gentleman with whom John had engaged in a serious political debate about Iran’s ideal role in the Middle East. To add a little more context; John can hardly speak in complete sentences in the present tense, the discussion took place at 5 a.m., the venue? A 24 hour Chawarma establishment. John was also cripplingly drunk at the time. I was not, so I was the one mediating the discussion, translating for John as best I could (and leaving out the less enlightened comments that really had no grounding in fact). Despite this near international disaster, Marco greeted us both warmly. And, although the employees were packing up and wiping down tables, Marco poured us both a delicious dessert shot whose name escapes me. He walked us to the door and told us to come back any time we wanted.

            I think that’s just a fun little anecdote and the circumstances were mostly chance, but it made feel like I’m fitting in more and more in this city and this culture.  

Un Saludo,

Erik