True to Wake Forest form, I truly believe that we may have scared the crap out of some local Spaniards, simply by doing what we do best: raging.
We began the night at El Tigre, a hole-in-the-wall tapas bar near the Gran Via and somewhat near Sol, the center of Madrid and the nightlife capital. We were packed like sardines into this small-ish bar, most likely due to the oversized, six-euro mojitos special. These were no ordinary mojitos—these were mojitos on major steroids. I took one sip and, oops, I didn’t like it. This was a problem, considering the high cost and my desire not to fall behind on the tipsy train. Thus, I sucked it up and took it like a champ. Halfway through, however, I was over it. I had done all I could do to salvage my dinero, but enough was enough.
Being the avid wino that I am, I decided to toss the mojito and order a smorgasbord of wine. This tactic proved much more successful. I was challenged to chug the wine several times, which, given the acidity of the wine and the lack of space to even move around in this place, was no easy task. At about 2 a.m., we were kicked out of El Tigre because it was closing (maybe because they don’t like Americans … or maybe because they don’t like American boys who sport Vineyard Vines/Southern Tide shirts and khakis on the reg).
The city ‘centro’ in daylight (that we invade during the nighttime).
We headed into the Plaza del Sol, and our group of about 15 Deacs was lured into an Irish pub called Fontana de Oro. Because of our “connections” (a.k.a. sketch promoter man who took us), we were able to skip the lines and walk straight in. Rage. We were greeted by many stares, once again probably due to the attire (our men’s lack of graphic tees was truly disappointing to these people), and the sweet sounds of Grease. Yes, Grease the movie. The whole group started to serenade each other with “Summer Nights,” “You’re the One That I Want,” and “Greased Lightning.” I had to break out my cardio funk moves for that one.
Bright and cheery (and showered?) the morning afterward.
The music continued with 80’s classics like “Walking on Sunshine” and made its way through the 90’s and Spice Girls. The chicas in our group went nuts in an ode to our childhood. After several hours at this bar, the group decided to take it to a discotheque down the street. Unfortunately for me, I wore wedges and my feet were absolutely killing me. Therefore, after walking the streets barefoot for several minutes (I know, that’s foul), I decided to cab it home. The five blisters on my feet are my battle wounds, scars of a successful first night out in Madrid, with the promise of many more to come.