My rude awakening began in Santiago de Compostela. St James of the Stellar Camp. Or Camp of the stars. Whatever.
Yea. I was still in denial. Wishful thinking. After all the Weather Channel forecasted moderate temperatures in Northern Spain. Alas, this has not been the case. I was looking at the clothes I packed, and there was no way I would be wearing them. Thinking that the weather was going to be cool, I only took with me one pair of shorts just in case it would get warm. Just in case. And this is the case. Hot. Searing heat. High humidity. Hot hot hot. Hotter than hot. The climate demons were celebrating their triumph over this awfully forsaken tourist. They were mocking me. I know. I heard their scoffing.
We were fortunate that a mall was a stone's throw away from our hotel. The El Corte Ingles. The name of the mall truly describes what they are. When you inquire from the sales clerks in broken Spanish, all of them responded in fluent English. Hey, you think I could apply for a job here?
Juno: Por favor, I need par de pantalones cortos inmediatemente. Like right now.
Isabel: Sir, the mens wear is on ailse B. Just to your left.
Juno: Muchas gracias, señora
Isabel: My pleasure. We aim to serve
Juno: By the way, are those cold wines on sale?