Where were we?
Oh, right, the phone call. We were so curious about the solution the cops might have, we simply called them. Massimo took over the conversation, since he was the most fluent in Spanish. He told them who we were, where we were, and what was the problem.
They told us they’d come as soon as possible. So, we had another beer to pass the time, and soon after that, they showed up. We were positively surprised how fast they came, because let’s not forget the standard speed in Spain is the one of fog. And what was their solution? Sleeping in a hotel. Having no other viable option, we decided to go for it. The fuzz even offered us a ride, but we told them we were no cheaters and that we’re walking. Caveat: the hotel was only a kilometer away. If there were two kilometers, you can bet your sweet tush I’d jump inside the patrol car and let them drive me there. When we reached the hotel, we found out it was packed and that we were fucked. So, we called the po-pos yet again. According to rules, one cannot spend the night under the stars, which prompted the coppers to offer us a different kind of albergo: their station. We slept in various churches, a former prison, and a school – why the hell wouldn’t we log some Z’s at a police station? I told them I had a story about sleeping in cop HQs worth €1500 – if they have them, of course. They weren’t game, but they were still curious, so I told them the story anyway.
Here we are, then. Even the cops are friendly in Spain, and they even gave us some water and coffee.
Even when everything goes to shit, there’s a silver lining.