Aqueducts, Castles and Shouting at Homeless People

I took this photo thirty seconds before I ran over to the Aqueduct and karate kicked its ancient stone ass to the ground.
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Let me begin by saying that a baguette split in half by a single piece of fat-laden ham does not constitute a sandwich.  The Spaniards need to put down their cigarettes for a bit so their taste buds can relay this message to the proper culinary authorities.

That said, there´s a great place in Madrid, Museo de Jambon, that actually serves flavorful dishes for cheap nearby Mad Hostel.  The paella contains far too many ocean creepy crawlies with little to no meat (crawfish, prawns, etc.), but the pollo asado is brilliant.

Allowing a hobo to sense weakness is akin to peeing one´s self in a boxing ring

The closest I've come to visiting Disney World.
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Speaking of food, let me tell you Murphy´s Third Law of Backpacking: a hostel breakfast touches on all 4 food groups -- a) fruits and veg = a thimble of OJ; b)dairy = add a splash of milk to your 6oz coffee; c) grains = a croissant; and d) meat = your hand, as you gnaw on it 15 minutes after getting up from the hostel "breakfast".

But in fairness, that breakfast fired me up enough to get to Segovia the next morning.  Segovia´s aqueduct and cathedral are nice, but the Alcazar (castle) is the main attraction and takes up the majority of the visit.  Not only is this castle built out onto the cliff overlooking the Castille countryside, it´s ornately furnished to capture the essence of its former glory.  There are lavish ceiling carvings and lattice work, classic artwork and even fully-mounted replicas of armored knights in the great hall.  No trip would be complete without an age-reminding climb to the top of the keep for a gorgeous view of the town from arop the castle.

Possibly my favorite picture. It's taken from atop St Juan's Tower in the Alcazar, and framed to perfection.
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After finishing up my visit, I sat down for corizo tortilla and fanta at a sidewalk cafe on the road to Segovia.  A homeless man approached me mumbling and pointing at his mouth as he bent over my shoulder.  I simply said "Lo siento" and went back to looking at a map only to find his shadow had not moved from my table.  In my most polite Spanish I once again said I´m sorry , but he continued to persist.  I tried to ignore him for about one minute, at which time the waiter thankfully returned and shooed him away.

Another shot from St Juan's Tower.
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Yeah, maybe I´m a jerk and should reward the homeless guy for being extra annoying, but as I´m currently unemployed, on a tight budget, and never like to reward violation of my personal space, I didn´t fork out some change.  I´d much rather give it to the waiter, which I did.

But I was sort of mad at myself for being so passive when the hobo continued to bother me.  So, when the same homeless guy approached me 30 minutes later in the train station, all up in my grill (mmm hmmm), I had no problem raising my voice to say, "Vamos! No me molesta! Vamos!"  He left me, and everyone else in line alone immediately.  Oh, so that brings me to Murphy´s Fourth Law of Backpacking: Never hesitate to yell at a homeless person.

That might sound a bit harsh, and being polite is always a good departure point in any social interaction, but allowing a hobo to sense weakness is akin to peeing one´s self in a boxing ring.

That night, after busing back to Madrid, I met some people in the hostel bar, including many victims of bag snatching and pickpockets.  In fact, one of the guys was celebrating his final night of a multi-month trip in Europe, and while having a drink on the sidewalk in front of our hostel, had his wallet lifted by a group of teenagers pretending to be excited about a futbol match.  Fortunately for him, he didn´t have enough money left to buy a cappucino from the vending machine in our hostel lounge.  Did I mention the guys in the lounge were playing Egyptian Ratscrew?  Kickass!

Anyway, a couple games of cards and I was ready to crash, with my wallet still in my front pocket.