¡Loco!
Crazy!
After my previous failed attempt to salir por la noche, I have now redeemed myself.
AND IT WAS AMAZING!
Asturias is famous for it's cider production, so naturally we were inclined to attend the happenings of Gijón's festival de sidra. This obviously involved a evening jaunt on the sidrobus. Yes, a double decker ciderbus. West country, eat your heart out.
There were different stops around the city and each bus took you to a different set of siderias (cider taverns), each one serving an individual type of tapas and a brand of sidra. While waiting in the queue, 2 of our girls began talking to some guys and well, so you're the organizers of this event, wow, but wait, you mean we need to go to a sidrería first to get those
green bandanna things and a map and then we can get the bus? Oh, so as we're with you he'll let all all 13 of us on? Great, thanks! Within 10 minutes we were fully equipped for the night ahead with maps, adorned with green scarves and with 3 dad-age admirers in tow.
We arrived at the first stop, went straight to the bar where we spent the first (and pretty much only) euro each of the night on 3 bottles. I should explain that here cider is sold in 70cl bottles for around 2,50 euros with a strength of around 6/6.5%. These Asturians mean business. Asturian cider also is not fizzy, so to create bubbles it is poured from a height, above the head into a specific shape of glass. Therefore, when you are being served, you are constantly being served. The bartender will only pour around 2/3 inches into the cup before passing it around, poring the next and refilling the first. All very busy and skillful. And drunk. The tapas we devoured was cod, spinach and chickpea soup while the bottles just kept on appearing. After spilling cider on me, the table, everywhere, a man came over with a large blue paper sheet and laid it on the table; taking this as our cue to leave and spare the furniture, we were told to sit back down. Behold a giant plate plate of battered squid pods and tentacles appeared, followed by calamari rings. With mice made out of lemons! Just when we had annihilated the food and screeched excitedly over the mice, an olive palm tree appeared.
NIGHT MADE.
We proceeded on to the next, after the organizers had taken several photos of us being excited and generally sidra-tipsy (prompting the debate if one of us was expected to sleep with them for all this generosity). The next stop involved the local traditional dish of fababda (bean soup with chorizo and other meats) and pork ribs. The barman was also kind enough to put holes in the corks to make us cork ties for our scarves. We looked like boy-scouts gone AWOL. The 62,50 euro tab was picked up by the organizers. Who then paid for taxis to take us to a bar. And our drinks at aforementioned bar. By this point at 1am one person had been taken home and another had left to then be sick in a bath. We poorly karaoked along to the songs before abandoning our benefactors to go and dance.
Spanish clubs, here at least, are easy affairs: free entry, a range of people from older women down to students where everyone is socially accepted, and no ID hassle or queuing. I am dubious of the music quality but have no basis of taste upon to judge whatsoever, while quickly developing a taste for euro-pop.
After leaving one place, a guy comes out and starts having a go at one of our (now depleted) group about taking his girlfriend's jacket. Suddenly there are 2 small police cars and she's handed her ID over, while obviously having no jacket of her own, let alone his girlfriends (who is no where to be seen). Spain may be different but there's always THAT one person on a night out.
We were briefly reunited with our sugar daddies outside a bar who offered us tequila shots, we declined and danced some more next door. Left at 4, got to bed at 5am after carefully drinking 700ml out of a measuring jug to be sure of avoiding the apparently 'worst' hangover that sidra can produce.
Going out has never felt like so much of an achievement, a marathon finished.
¡Noche loca!
