Oh. em. gee. This place is quite possibly heaven. And I say this even after having to sleep on the beach for the first night due to every. single. pension. being full. Completo. Don’t even bother ringing the bell. And this was after checking at least 25 of them out.
I got discouraged and I was weary. And naturally thirsty. When I am feeling any of these emotions (and some select others), I always look for the nearest bar and/or bottle of wine. It’s my coping mechanism.
This is Lonster’s sad face because I am making him drink “again”. Again?! The fact that we stopped is the problem – we are on vacation! Lonster and I have very different ideas about alcohol; in that, I want it all the time, he wants it rarely. I could feel the judgement in his eyes every time I suggested we grab a drink. Luckily I can drink through it.
We finish our bevies and continue searching until dark for a place to stay. To no avail.
Around 10pm I suggest we get some wine and dinner. We wander away from the Parte Viejo and search the other side of the canal. We find a quiet bar with people eating outside (my only requirement – outdoor dining) and Lonster’s “buen provecho” opens the door to a night of craziness with 2 adorable Quebec girls. Lonster continues searching while I stay behind with our bags, so we don’t have to schlep them all over the city. Code for: I want to stay and drink with my new friends. He bought it. Mwhahahahaha!
He finally turns back empty handed and we realize we will be sleeping on the beach for the evening. My life is so hard.
We continue eating and drinking until the bar shuts down, then grab our mochilas and go out in the town. Yeah. We were those people. I felt like a fool.
I was a bit surprised when all the bars shut down at 3am…early for Spain. And it was raining. And we were supposed to sleep outside. It all looked a bit grim. Plus my flippy floppies had lost all of their traction and every step was a precarious battle with slick, rain-drenched concrete and gravity. Visions of wiping out and cracking my coccyx were dancing in my head. Oy.
We mosy on over to our bed (the beach) and stumble upon a wooden surf shack with a substantial covered porch. Score!
Lonster makes our bed.
50 ft from the beach. Perfect. Even if I only slept for 3 hours due to drunken passerby being simply amazed by the fact that 2 travelers would sleep on the beach.
Lonster woke up super early. There he is!
During his morning hours while I was still sleeping, he took a walk on the beach and saw the following:
- a couple having sex on the beach amidst onlookers
- a pigeon get scooped up by a hawk
I don’t know which one is more fascinating.
The next day, the gods of luck are smiling upon us and we find a great, clean and airy room for 35 euros pp with a massive shower. Love.
Our day involved ice cream, finding every Ecuadorian within radius (Lonster loves them), the beach, Lonster making a sand turtle named Leon, walking toward Jesus, and a lovely dinner. Here is our day presented to you with a montage of photos:
This is our 2nd and last night in San Sebastian, which makes me sad. I am headed back to Madrid, and Lonster is continuing north to France.
While sitting at Jesus’ feet, we saw a huge beach party being set up down below. This is where we went after dinner. Well, first I grabbed a couple of beers from a bar, THEN we made our way to the beach, excited to hear some great music.
Yeah, turns out it was a party for a bunch of 14 year old pre-pubescent teenagers. Not what we had in mind. But never ones to poo poo a situation, we simply went and sat on the beach and passed the night drinking (just me) and amusing ourselves with the provocative public displays of affection so characteristic of the Spanish. Waves, wind, stars, young and forbidden love, reggaeton… these are what make a perfect night.
On our way to the train station the next morning, we stop for cafe con leche and I snap a few shots:
On to Madrid y’all.
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I want to meet «les deux Québécoises» one day!