Yo! Youth OutLook

The wet slippery streets of Madrid oozed with excitement and the festive essence of the Holiday season. Every few feet there were large, ordained, detailed flashing Christmas lights forming ribbons that wrapped around the faces of the buildings. Strings of lights formed giant stars that hung between buildings and lit the way as people roamed the streets. On one side of the street a group of men with musical instruments played lovely holiday tunes.

A small crowd gathered around to watch and then slowly dwindled away, but not before dropping a few coins into an open guitar case. For a second I almost forgot I was miles away from home, until I looked up at a giant glowing sign overhead and realized I hadn’t the faintest idea what it said.

On route to Europe, I tried to recall anything from my failed attempt to learn Spanish in high school but it was all one big blur. We passed through the automatic doors to see a crowd of people waiting for their loved ones to come out. No one came to greet my parents and I. We are the black sleeps who ran away for Christmas. For a brief moment I felt a little sad, seeing all the hopeful, excited relatives waiting for family members, knowing there’s no one there waiting to pick us up.

The metro system was bright and clean, with large TV screens projecting ads as passengers wait for their trains. I can hear Madonna’s new song over the loudspeaker and am suddenly confused as to what country I’m in, but I guess pop music is the real universal language. There is a hold up on one of the trains ahead of us and just as we exit our stop, a swarm of people try to get on. I barely manage to get out with my luggage. When I first heard we were going to take several trips on the Madrid trains, I felt a slight feeling of panic. I faintly remembered the Madrid train bombings in 2004, but I tried desperately not to think about it.

Our haven, Hotel Europa, was smack-dab in the middle of Puerta del Sol square, which is also in the middle of everything. In retrospect, it was like living in a giant outdoor mall. It was a mix between a giant-supermarket-mall hybrid and other random stores. I had promised people I would bring back gifts but I didn’t see anything that screamed European, or was not something I wouldn’t be able to find back in the US. So I settled for pastries and candy. Every other block, I would see the giant golden arches of McDonalds and cringed accordingly. The TV in my hotel room had more American movies than HBO back home, and there was a Ben and Jerry’s across the street. Never before have I been more horrified to see American brand ice cream.

As the days dwindled on towards Christmas, the streets were packed from dawn to dusk. It wasn’t till Christmas morning that I found the streets were deserted, except for us American tourists. The tapas bars were crowded to the wee hours and I desperately wondered when people work in this city. At night we dinned on bacalao frito (fried cod), huevo estrellados (fried egg and potatoes mixed together), Spanish style meatballs, which we enjoyed with a small glass of the house liquor.

In the morning we had our doses of strong spine-straightening coffee and sweet, thick hot chocolate, with the assortments of breads and pastries. It was a great breakfast to have before going out into the cold, wet weather. For several nights in Madrid, we went to Tapas bars and I would walk out smelling like I inhaled two packs of cigarettes. The lights in the bar were dimmed, all the tables were packed, and I could feel my taste buds growing accustomed to the mixed taste of potato and egg, but I still had an intense craving for white rice like never before.

The last time I took part in a family, cross-continent journey, I was maybe 14, en-route to the Philippines. But for this particular trip there was a reason to the madness. My dad was going to turn 50 in January. Since my dad desired to do some serious traveling sometime before he turned 50, it was a now or never sort of decision. If it weren’t for my mom’s intense researching of all the locations, I’m pretty sure my dad and I would have gotten engulfed into the craziness of Europe and been lost forever.

The two of us stared up at street signs with blank looks on our faces while my mom forged ahead. On a few of the days where we didn’t have much sleep, or were feeling the beginnings of a cold coming on due to the winter weather, our emotions got the better of us. Every so often, this would result in a clash, whether it be where we were, where we were going, or just getting on each others nerves for no particular reason. That’s the best part of arguing in another country, the chances of people hearing and understanding your ridiculous conversations are slim.

By way of high speed train we make our one day visit to Toledo. We ventured on in search of an El Greco museum and a house that the famous painter may or may not have lived in. The temperature was so cold we found a warm spot and sat by a pack of teenagers outside a museum who are munching on fries, burgers and sodas. Sitting in the warm sunlight, fluttering in and out of sleep, I could almost imagine the teens sitting on a bench in Golden Gate Park hanging out, except they were talking in a language I could barely understand. After taking in all the cigarette smoke and broken bits of Spanish I could decipher, we returned back to the high speed train that lulled us to sleep on our way back to Madrid.

Next, we hopped a 10-hour night train to Lisbon. My time zones were so off that I had no idea what time it was. The train rattled back and forth for hours and made stops that felt like days. We reached Lisbon groggy, tired and hotel-less. With a wee bit of help from a woman outside the train station, we packed ourselves on to a morning bus with a bunch of Portuguese commuters to our hotel, giving up our S1.40 euros each. One Euro is about $1.22 in US dollars. Boy oh boy, do I value the U.S. dollar now.

I was happy to know that Lisbon weather was very similar to San Francisco. Compared to the cold weather in Madrid, the spell of mild rain was a nice break. The scents of the holidays were still not far off. Nearly every corner we turned a vendor sold warm chestnuts wrapped in newspaper for only two euros.

Heading to the Lisbon airport early in the morning in a taxi through near empty city streets, I said my goodbyes to Europe. There was a random security check in Frankfurt, Germany and I discovered I really am a national security risk. Then I headed back to the perpetual obscured looking glass that I call home.

Eming, 20 takes picts and writes for YO and is hella tight! 1 of 1