Snarky's Undead Yearnings

For those of you over the age of 25 who might value your sleep...do not stay at a hostel! They are the cheap, yet evil playgrounds of the undead youth. One night in my Barcelona hostel, a hostel that believed it a good idea to put 12-14 people in each sleeping room, I was awakened at 1, 2, 4, 6, 8, and 9 in the morning. I felt that I had been through some cruel sleep deprivation experiment designed to get me to desire to sustain myself solely on rioja and the brains of my young sleeping companions. Luckily, Scooter dissuaded me from such a ghastly repast (and the hostel in Barcelona has dissuaded me from staying in anything other than a private room in the foreseeable future).

But I digress...where were we...back in Lisbon, I believe. Lisbon is a quaint little town - cobblestone streets, little cafes serving Fanta Naranja (the cousin of Orange Crush, and ubiquitus in Europe) lining the streets, terra cotta shingles, and every so often, the random local offering tourists hashish and cocaine. I observed the drug peddlers going up and down the main tourist strip in Lisbon, asking random cafe eaters whether they were interested in the little packet in their hands. I'm not entirely sure how the peddlers marked their prey other than to say that Scooter and I were offered drugs only once - when we were holding hands and being snuggly late at night, while a bloke we met from Australia who hadn't shaved in 6 months was offered pot about six times during his stay in Lisbon. I therefore deduce that hairy and/or lesbian = druggie. I can only imagine what a find a hairy lesbian must be.

Ahhh! My Internet time is running out. Until next time...

The quaint town of shingles and drugs...