I like going to Southern Europe every now and then. On Monday I travelled through Spain to go to Portugal. I was most amused by the waiter in Madrid Airport who clearly believed he was a matador. Every gesture was excessively overdone and as he handed me back my credit card, all that was missing was him stamping his right foot and clacking a set of maracas in his left hand above his head (better that than him sticking a sword in the back of my neck and me falling down prostrate at his feet I suppose).
The improbably sun tanned and youthful yet silver haired taxi driver with his Ray Ban sunglasses in Lisbon was another character. Despite us being unable to communicate during the 15 minute journey from the airport, as I left his car and picked up my suitcase from the boot he started to well up and hugged me as if I were his long lost brother. I know times are hard in Portugal but I wasn’t expecting a tip of 60 centimes to warrant such a reaction.
That said life was very different as soon as I checked into my businessman infested hotel. I do know they say that business is dog eat dog but it’s been a long time since I had to prowl the floors of my hotel at the crack of dawn to find a stray ironing board and iron to ensure I looked vaguely presentable at 8AM. Humpf.
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