Counting sheep and makin' bacon

C and I waded into our only Saturday night in Madrid with a little fear and much enthusiasm. I am determined to avoid the trauma of having my ID lifted by pick pockets or any of the other shenanigans tourists put up with in Spain. Its a great nation, but really... that's a tradition I wouldn't miss. I am not in a sporting mood!

With mermaid C by my side, I was in the mood to interview a few locals about their hometowns or about the manifestation we witnessed earlier in the day. C is really good at working out the translations. I am a good tripod. There were street artisans, romeos, club hawkers, senoritas with long hair of every color, boys and men in tight jeans... on thing I did not see evidence of was a hip hop or rap attitude. I heard some of this come out of the bars but I didn't see its impact on the street... and I didn't miss it. There is nothing stranger than seeing french school boys with baggy pants and shirts and their hats in reverse. Ok, it wasn't so common in France either but it is a presence that is undeniable!

As much as we loved sitting in a wine bar and taking in the atmosphere we loved walking the district just east of the Prado and witnessing the culture on the streets and in the windows... cafes, clubs, restaurants, museums of ham, irish pubs, tapas bars, etc, etc. Earlier in the night each cafeteria or cafe that had a TV chose to televise the speech that was being given at the protest march. Everyone was silent... these people believe their voices and their votes count and it continues to inspire me.

I could have walked all night but our fish dogs were tired from a day of adventure. Time to count the spanish sheep cheese.