How to star in Taken 3

Not to say these past couple days in Spain with my uncle weren't exciting, but holy crap when you're on your own in a foreign country you realize how lost you can really get, So far the advice I can give is,

1. If you're lost in Spain but it looks nothing like Anacostia, don't freak out, you're fine.

Long story short, my uncle flew in with me to Spain because he got a great deal with the airlines and "he's never  been before, so why not?" Fair enough, I'll allow it. So these past couple of days we explored Spain together. It's amazing how people who are originally from Wisconsin believe that everyone speaks English. And if they're unsure if that person speaks English, they'll yell at them in English. Because I think that's how we were all taught the language. So these past two days my uncle and I had a great time exploring Spain and yelling at people in English. I seriously couldn't be happier that he was with me those first two days because Spain is big, but so is he (dem swedes, you know?)

Today I took a bus from the hotel we were staying at to the centre of Madrid. When the bus driver saw all of my luggage and noticed that I was the only one carrying it across four different metro stops and many small streets he gave me a pathetic look and said "buena suerte." Thank you sir, those two words were all I needed to gain enough stamina to take those 80 lb bags to my new home for a week. They weren't, but if you are a girl in Spain and you look decent (as in not near death or homeless) people are more than happy to help you. So, this Spanish dude with a 6 year old girl carried my kajillion pound bag down about three flights of stairs (because why would they make escalators in Spain?) and once again gave me the pathetic look followed by "buena suerte." Well, fuck you too. And thanks for your help. And your daughter is adorable.

I finally make it to la Calle Argumasa numero siete where I proceed to ring the doorbell.  Not only does no one answer but some old lady walks up to me with a bad case of resting bitch face and asks me what the shit I think I'm doing, all in Spanish. I think the only reason I understood was because people ask me that a lot here. I told her I was looking for Marcelo, who was nice enough to rent out a room in his apartment for a week, and she said no Marcelo lived there. This is where my second point of advice comes in:

2. If it looks like the location where you made a reservation to live that week is nonexistent, go to the nearest bar with wifi so you can cry to your parents and get a drink.

At this point my arms fell off about 3 blocks ago from carrying my bags and all I wanted was a drink. So I immediately walked away from the lady with a case of the resting bitch face and to the nearest bar with wifi where I was greeted by the bartender, Alejandro. My assumption of Spain was confirmed at this bar. Punk is not dead. If it happened to die at one time, it is now resurrected in Madrid. That being said, Alejandro and I got along famously.

I asked Alejandro if there was a Marcelo that lived around here and he said no. Which means no because everyone knows everyone in this part of Madrid. I'm sipping (gulping) down my much needed glass of wine and all of the sudden this dude walks in and says "eres la francesa? Which means, are you the french girl? No.. no sir I'm not French but thank you for asking? But he's insistent I come with him so I say sure, why not, I'd love to star in Taken 3. Also, his name is Mario not Marcelo.

We make our way down the street where I'm planning out exactly where we'll start filming the comedy that will become the most amazing prequel to a somewhat exciting movie. I quickly learn that this might become reality when we walk past apartment 7 (where according to the reservation, is where I'm staying) to apartment 5. I found after going back to the bar where I left my unfinished wine that people do this for security reasons so that they themselves are not taken. I don't mean to be brash but Mario-Marcelo looks like Mr. Bean's twin who would probably not feature in a film about kidnappings. We make our way up into the apartment and he shows me around the place.

This is my wonderful room for the week

This is the living room where Mario/Marcelo and I shared a melon (whatta guy)

The kitchen/ laundry room/ living room/ bull fighting arena/ place to feel even more like a giant because the appliances are tiny

And finally, the teeny tiny bathroom. 

If this is the last you hear from me, contact Mr. Bean. I'm pretty sure they're directly related or at least best friends so he probably has access to Mario/Marcelo's diary.

Peace&Blessingz y'all <3