Food Fiasco

My sister and I are sitting in a bar, eyeing our hamburgers. They are on toasted sandwich bread. Upon poking around, we discover that they are very close to completely raw. We decide that this is interesting and that we are also no longer hungry. We do not eat the burgers.

The best part is that we did not order burgers. I speak me some pretty good spanish. Halfway decent, at least. I got A´s in my spanish classes, I can understand Telemundo, I can watch movies without subtitles. No one here understands my accent. It is totally ok except I really wanted a bocadillo de pollo. My sister and I are pretty sure that he was all, "¿What is she saying? OH, she´s American. She must want a hamburger."

So he looked at us and was all, "hamburguesa?" and I was all, "Sweet! Hamburguesa must be, like, their word for ´meat-filled sandwich´, but our word for ´hamburger.´Excellent" NOT SO. Hamburguesa means hamburger. Oh well.

We are still pretty hungry, but there´s this place that´s like a cave and has pitchers of sangria (the world of alcohol is delicious). On the walls are quotes and sayings and they get easier and easier to translate as I get more and more drunk. Just like it is easier to speak spanish! Is it awesome? It is awesome.

Tomorrow! Barcelona! Train ride! I heart trains. I am all, "Well, I could sit in a plane for an hour and get all sick and dried out or I could sit in a train and read and have lots of cushion-y leg room!" and I usually choose train.

It is the time of sangria! And ice cream! And then tea! And then maybe wine! Or mojitos! Who knows what post-tea future holds!