"Just get a fucking fanny pack. Trust me, I saw the movie 'Taken'. You'll get pick-pocketed, kidnapped, and sold on the European sex trade and spend the rest of your life living in agony. Is that what you want?!"

Thanks, dad. 

Rick's a worrier. And the impetus for one of the most hideous purchases of my adult life. Behold... The Fanny Pack. Now, I'm no fashionista by any means. But I do know that wearing a fanny pack around the fashion-forward streets of Madrid, Spain will only exaggerate my sweet touristic charm.

"This one is sleek and skinny. You can wear it with almost anything!" said the overenthusiastic luggage
salesman several days prior to my departure. I replied with a sarcastic "Awesome." and begrudgingly bought the fanny pack along with a thick over-the-shoulder bag that has about a million zippers and is pickpocket-,water-, and atomic bomb-proof. I'm one monogrammed beret away from the Griswold family in 'National Lampoon's European Vacation'.

Within minutes of departing the plane, I was struck by the city's relentless beauty. Everyone--men, women, old people, dogs, etc.--and everything is overwhelmingly gorgeous. So much so that your eyes sting if you look at your surroundings for an extended period of time. Vibrant tradition and culture coat the city walls and the night air is crimson with vigor. If New York is dubbed "the city that never sleeps", then Madrid is its cracked-out insomniac older brother. Its cobblestone streets buzz until 6:00am, when everyone swarms los cafés and greets the sun with chocolate con churros--fried bread dipped in melted chocolate, a Spanish favorite. I'm convinced the people of Madrid are superhumans. They are incredibly astute, lively, and healthy people who live vivaciously with minimal sleep. They Rollerblade for crying out loud. And manage to do it all without a sporting a fanny pack. 


Hola! My name is Alex DiBucci and I'm painfully American.