|locks on the gate: the sunshine edition.|
My friend A. and I strolled through the old city, snapping pictures, eating Döner kebab, and bugging the lady in the tourist office for off-the-beaten-path suggestions. Her inside intel resulted in us making two visits to the Alameda Park, one of Santiago's most renowned green spaces.
The first time, pre-tourist office, we wandered through the old trees, marveling at the palms and enjoying the breeze. An old Galician man saw us taking pictures, and told us that we could take some really nice ones down one particular path. We looked at each other, laughed, and joked that the trees looked just as nice in the direction we were already going.
|indeed, these trees are lovely!|
Um, what? Missed that part.
So back we went. And sure enough, there it was:
|definitely not as nice as our trees|
So sorry, dear old Galician man, we should have listened to you. It's not like you've lived in your city for 75 years, while the two fools in the picture have spent a combined 12 hours there. God. Sometimes I am really appalled by my surety that I know what's up.
We also found my new boyfriend. He's only a little bit skinnier, with barely a squidge more facial hair and marginally less ironic glasses, than the guys I usually date.
Then we took a ride on the tourist train, because we're cool as crap. It was awesome. Don't judge.