It was the best of nights, it was the worst of days: Jerez, Cadiz, Sevilla Pt. 2

Brandon and I arrived in Sevilla and had no idea what we were doing or where we were going. As little as I knew about Cadiz I knew even less about Sevilla. We went to the tourist office in the train station and had them book a hostel for us and then set off to find said hostel. Naturally we couldn’t find it. Sevilla, like Cadiz, has tight little roads and walkways with tall buildings on each side, which is very disorienting for foreigners. We wandered around for a while in scene that I’m sure if looked at from overheard resembled two mice in a maze looking for the cheese. We found another hostel in the labyrinth and checked in there.

OK it’s at this point of the story where I get really, really, really stupid. If you have some imagine of me as pristine angel who is vying for sainthood, please close this window now, I’m just going to disappoint you. We good? Only people who want to hear about the drunkest night of my life left? Good. Oh who am I kidding, there’s only like 4 people actually reading this and two of them are my parents and they already know this story. Anyway, enough of the disclaimer, on to my belligerence.

Drinking is expensive here, especially mixed drinks. To combat this, Brandon and I bought a fifth of Smirnoff and a six pack of coke and proceeded to quench our thirst. After essentially killing off the bottle we called the girls we had met in the Madrid train station two nights earlier (I told you they would come back into play) and agreed to meet them somewhere. Needless to say, I was, oh shall we say, “buzzed” when we met up with them. I also hadn’t eaten all day, so we all thought it best to get a little food, which is just what I ate, a little bit of food. Not nearly enough food, I would come to learn. Or actually having food in my system might be completely moot with how hammered I got that night.

So, with the vodka already doing its work I had a glass of wine at dinner, or maybe two. After dinner we did a bit of a bar crawl, mostly trying to find a place that was still open. It’s hazy exactly how many places we stopped at before reaching what was going to be my final destination. I think we went to two bars, and two rum and cokes and a number of some cinnamon flavored shots, before we found a crowded little stand around bar. They had musicians, but no stage, everyone was standing and occasionally a song would break out. I ordered another rum and coke and at this point was quite drunk. I was having a fantastic time though. I met an older Spanish woman and an older Spanish man, both of whom I spoke impeccable Spanish with. Whatever normal hesitancy I have with speaking Spanish with the locals drowned in the alcohol. The older guy and I talked for probably 45 minutes before the forces in my stomach started working against me. The wine, the rum, the vodka, the cinnamon shots, they had all come together in collective effort against me. My forces were no match, and all of the sudden I was violently ill.

At this point I want everyone to know that I’m planning on composing a formal apology letter to Sevilla and its people, in Spanish. However since I’m doing it in Spanish it may take a while.

So yeah, I got sick. I threw up. I threw up a lot and in numerous venues. Brandon, who was also very intoxicated himself, and I tried to walk to back to our hostel. I say “tried to” because honestly, I had a towel on my head to wipe vomit from my mouth, keep the torrential rain off my head, and because I probably thought it looked cool at the time. I have never been so drunk in my entire life, and this is coming from a 20 year old college kid. It was a stumble back to hostel. It also might have been an authentic, get a Priest to come out and confirm it, touched by an angel miracle that we found the place. We were both smashed out our minds and we managed to find a needle in a haystack, and I’m not sure we found it on our own volition. I threw up again at the hostel in a trashcan and passed out.

The morning came all too quickly, as it often does after nights such as this. I threw up before showering and knew that I was in for a long day. As the night before was the drunkest I’ve ever been, never in my life was I as hung over as I was Sunday morning. We lugged ourselves out of bed; I threw up again, gathered our belongings, and called a cab. It was pouring rain, we didn’t have any dry clothes as the clothes we had on last night were still went from the monsoon. The cab took us to bus station where I again, threw up. I had finally removed all foreign material from my body; I was ravenous and thirsty but wasn’t going to be burned again: no food until Madrid. Unfortunately for me the problem was two fold, let’s say that I was loosing water out both ends. By the time the bus came I had gotten the courage to take down some water; my body gave back the water before I got on the bus.

There was a bathroom on the bus, thank God. But it was one of the most unpleasant places to be, even by my standards (keep in mind my head was in a bus station toilet earlier that day). I used it a total of 4 times on the 7 hour ride back to Madrid. We stopped in the middle of our trip, I was dying of thirst. I ran into the station and bought 500ml of water and, like an idiot, drank all of it. 10 minutes later I gave back 500ml of water. We hit traffic on the way back and sat for an hour. Sleep was impossible; the bus was noisy, crowded and bumpy. I wanted to die. Hell is a 7 hour bus ride with the worst hangover of your life. I was finally able to hold down water by Madrid. I skipped school the next day; just because I could drink water and not throw it up didn’t mean I was still retaining water. A good 48 hours after I stopped drinking, I started getting over my hang over. It was the best of nights and the worst of days.