So, I decided to go to this gorgeous Spanish beach town called San Sebastian after my initial attempt to run with the bulls in Pamplona failed after I slept in too late. (Don't worry, Uncle Kenny. I ended up running with them three days later, which will be written about soon...maybe). Anyway, it was a bad idea considering the entire freaking mundo goes to San Sebastian during the eight days of the Festival de San Fermin, which is the excuse the Pamplonans have for getting trashed and running with those torros.

After two hours of walking the streets of San Seb, backpacks strapped front and back, I was giving up hope. "Better start looking for a nice, soft bench," I thought to myself as I hung up the pay phone in defeat, the only youth hostel remaining on the list telling me they were booked for all of July.

And then, I met Ana.

Ana is an old woman, and she lives alone. Except for the revolving door of company she keeps in the form of wayward travelers like myself. Ana's apartment is a "hostel," or a pension, en espanol.

Riiiight.

It's just an old woman's apartment, and she charges between 25 and 30 euros a night during San Fermin. Supply and demand, baby. Supply and demand.

Anyway, it wasn't so bad -- I had my own room the first night, after all. And then, the next morning, she came into my room and handed me a piece of candy!

"How nice," I thought. "Even though it really has no other trappings of being a place for travelers to stay, Ana goes and gets us the proverbial mint on the pillow."

She must have said something else when she handed it to me, because with my struggling Spanish, I assumed it was, "This is for you" or something.

Looking back, I think it was, "Is this yours?"

So I opened it, ready to pop it in my mouth.



Well then. That is definitely NOT a piece of candy. I guess Ana wasn't so nice, after all.