Basement Camping & Norwegians

This weekend. What a doozy. After the last customers left the house on Friday we decided to go to Alicante (the neighboring city) for a night out on the town. What Renee and I didn’t realize, as we frantically readied ourselves, was that this meant an 8 PM to 7 AM experience. After dealing with kids from noon to 7 we may have rethought that decision. Alas, we were delightfully clueless. We loaded into the car with all the ‘kids’ of the house, the madre, and some guy who I haven’t seen before or since.

Anyway, it turned out that our friend who knows Alicante best scampered off to meet some friends and Renee, myself and our other roomie formed a little gelato-devouring trio. We ate dinner on the boardwalk and then sat at the gelato place for upwards of 2 hours. Around 2 AM we decided we needed to go find something to do. Somewhere between accidentally ordering green ravioli and eating my weight in hazelnut (accident again) gelato our guide informed us that he knew next to no one in Alicante, even less about the bar situation and that we had no way to get home until the trains started at 7AM (unless we took a 30 Euro cab ride). We were all “Oh well we can power through”….turns out we can’t. We weren’t dressed appropriately to get into the discos and had no idea where the beach parties were. We ended up wandering the streets for another couple hours and then eventually deciding to go in for the cab. The original plan was to sleep on the beach but after our friend told us what generally happens to beach sleepers we decided we would spring for a cab ride. Totes worth it.

There are two types of thieves in the area that we live. There are the Romanians, who case your house and go all cat burglar on you, planning every move very carefully and avoiding people at all costs. Then there are the Cubans who hop the fence with a bat and a hell of a lot of fearlessness and take whatever they can get their hands on. The house where we live is highly protected and, lest we be suspected of being Cubans and getting shot with the gun the madre might or might not have, we decided it would be best to avoid waking her up at all costs. No one had a key and all the doors were locked. We ended up going into the basement that used to be an outdoor classroom for the daycare center the house once had. We scrounged together some cushions and tried to sleep but the place was creepy. Like something out of Saw. Also the only available toilet was the size of a breadbox. I’m not even exaggerating. I’ve never seen such a small toilet. I could have put it on a keychain. Needless to say when the gardener saw us at 7AM wandering out of the basement still in party clothes he just gave us a funny look and kept watering the azaleas. I was going to try to explain but it 7AM, I don’t think I have the vocabulary, I had to make tiny tinkles in a tiny toilet and anyway the azaleas really needed to be watered.

Is This Real Life?

The next day we were invited to go to Benidorm, a nearby beach town, for the day to hang out with our new friend the hairdresser, his husband, his two kids and one of his hairdresser friends and his family. The beach was crowded and hot and wonderful. When we got in the car to go eat lunch I was left with only one question lingering in my mind…Why is it that only older women feel the need to go topless? Not that saggy boobies bother me but I just wonder why they want avoid tanlines. Maybe they’re doing a topless photo-shoot for Motor Scooter Magazine or something. I’m not here to judge.

We went out to eat then back to the Norwegians house. They. Had. Air-conditioning. It was like cold manna raining from the Trane heavens. While I don’t think Renee or I can be categorized as ‘picky’ we have definitely been feeling the complete and utter lack of A/C. Maybe I’m just super Americanized but when I wake up in a pool of my own sweat at 6 AM and the phrase “que calor!” is as common as “hello” it begs the question…why not invest in some central air!!?!! It doesn’t even get as hot here as in Ok! I mean, hell, I’ll even bring you one of those window units in my carry on! Just sayin’. So anyway I took a nap. I slept through four screaming children and Ben Ten: The Original Movie in spanish in order to sleep in an Air Conditioned room. I don’t regret it.

Well it turns out the Norwegians are a fun group of people. We talked about how we like to eat at 6 and go to bed early. Apparently, the 2nd largest community of Norwegians, besides Norway, live in Benidorm Spain. They have this huge party there every year and the princess of Norway (Guys. Norway has a princess!) comes down to get crunk or whatever it is Norwegians do. Maybe get tårögøßÜten? idk. Anyway, much Abba and Infinity by Guru Josh (kill me) was played. I talked to the wife for a while, she was beautiful, about 6 ft tall, blonde, ex model and the whole time she was talking all I could think was the German Coats skit on SNL. I was pushed in the pool fully clothed, there was skinny dipping by the Spanish, an in-ground trampoline and a turkey next door who randomly gobbled. A good time was had by all.

Eine Karriere in Bildern. Obviously.

Hoobastank (or if you’re my mom ‘Hoobaskank’) came on the radio on the way home and I sang the whole thing.

Talk about a struggle of a Monday morning. I gave up trying to reprimand in Spanish and switched to English. It actually worked better. Probably because they didn’t know to what degree I was threatening them. I’m going to continue to play off this “fear of the unknown” angle.


3 thoughts on “Basement Camping & Norwegians

  1. I would rather see a picture of the pool or the wife than the album cover. I already have that.

  2. Jeez!!!! please, dont sleep on the beach!!! Havent you seen the movie “Taken”??? I will always cover transportation expenses in an emergency!!! Was there a miscommunication on how you were to get home?

    I bet you fit right in with the norweigins with your blonde hair

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