My high school Spanish is really coming back to me, only because I’ve been speaking it exclusively for the past week. Thank you, high school Spanish, for providing me with a valuable outlet for something I thought I would never need to use.
Las Palmas is the main city on Gran Canaria, an island of the Canary Islands, which, although part of Spain, are geographically right next to Africa. The climate is similar to California’s — although you won’t see as many pechos on the beach in LA compared to, say, La Playa Ingles in southern G.C.
There are loads of activities in Las Palmas. During my stay of a few days, I slept with multiple women in one night (Isabella, Maria, Cristina — you know who you are!), dealt some sweet party drugs with Ricardo, camped for 24 hours in the middle of the desert with only a bag of nuts and my ipod touch to keep me alive, and stayed up late watching police dramas in my aunt’s house. **Only one of the above actually happened. If you can guess which one it is, I won’t be impressed. Just ask Maria about it.
In Madrid, I stayed with my friend who investigates homicides for the police (just like in the police dramas!) He always carries a gun, and can park anywhere-the-hell he wants, as long as he places his siren and police clipboard on the dashboard. And he can get through traffic by putting such siren on top of his car and turning it on. — I’m thinking about a change of career now. I mean, come on. No more people allowed in the club? Flash my badge and it’s all good. Don’t want to come home with me? What’s wrong with you? I can freaking drive you back in a POLICE CAR. But really I just want my parking spot.