Occasionally, in Ireland and Spain, we go for a McFlurry, which feels a little anathema to me. Yet when an establishment like McDonalds––which I usually avoid completely for its very-bad-for-you nature––when they have free Wifi and we don't know where our hostel is, McDonalds comes in very handy. As does a McFlurry when you need a little something other than bread, sausage, cheese, and carrots.
Starbucks takes it up another notch, though. Whereas Spanish coffee is condensed and strong, fueled by a strong espresso culture full of cafe con leche and cafe cortados, there's nothing quite like the size and, with it, the continuity of a large, American coffee. Needing something to remind me of home, I stroll into a Starbucks in Sevilla and get all the way to the counter before I realize the horror: they only have one coffee brewer, and it's decaf. In DuPont Circle, DC, we have five. Yet I'm already there, so I place an order for a cafe americano, much the same thing, made with espresso and hot water. And it's good, that full flavor, the sixteen ounces that no Spanish coffee can touch. While I'm fine not having a home, I wish I could pack up this coffee and bring it with me, in a French press, like the tortoise its shell.
In other news, Merav finds me out slower than Ryan. While Ryan understands a good bit, I am the only Spanish speaker, which is to say, I am the only one who can ask for complicated directions, then gather Ryan in so he can help me understand what in the world is being said in reply. He figures me out the quickest, but that's also because he knows me better.
Merav, however, is different. So we both tell her, as I did Ryan, if she are ever stuck in a restaurant without knowing what to order, she should say this simple sentence. Same as––and yes, it is rather miraculous that it works in this setting––if she is ever interested in a Spanish guy such as Manuel-the-awesome-Spanish-barman-wearing-a-Big Lebowski-shirt-who-is-30-the-perfect-age-for-a-28-year-old-single-Israeli-woman-who-is-kind-and-introduces-us-to-great-new-music-that-we-like-and-inspired-him-to-play-the-ukelele, if she meets a guy like this, she should simply say, "Quisiera el pulpo." Though she never used it (and I don't think we'd have let her), I would have loved to see Manuel's face should she look at him flirtatiously and subtly say: "I would like the octopus."
Later, after finding this out, Merav tells us that octopi are actually quite smart. During her diving-with-dolphins-and-taking-pictures-of-them job, she learned that someone put food in a wine bottle, dropped it in the ocean, and the octopus actually opened the wine bottle and got the food. For the easily amused (like me), that image is a simple joy of life.
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