When I was a student I had the opportunity to spend a year in Spain. I had a fantastic time there but my experience did not have an auspicious start. I turned up in Madrid carrying the largest suitcase my parents could find in the loft with instructions to find one of Madrid's cheapest hotels, in one of Madrid's red lightest of districts. I remember dragging the suitcase along a dark side street, sirens wailing in the distance, desparately trying to find my hotel. I finally found it, blinking in the neon of the cinema across the street and dragged my suitcase up 5 flights of stairs before standing grinning inanely at my hostess as she ran through the rules of the establishment in strong Madrileno Spanish.
I gathered from her hand gestures that I was sharing the room with a stranger and trying to ascertain which bed I was allowed to sleep on I pointed at the one nearest to the window and asked her "Puedo, er, cantar sobre la cama?"
She smiled benignly as if to say "Si, you English idiot" before closing the door and giggling all the way down the corridor.
