Travels

The Ibiza pub: chronicle of a night of drinks by Torrejón el Rubio

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With @Jexweber in Dublin who doesn't paint anything in this post but I don't have photos of that night


It was very cold. In mid-January the asphalt seemed to freeze at times and I barely took my hands out of my pocket during the walk. After a little more than 10 minutes we arrived at the town and found a couple - a curious and suspicious mix of old man and young Caribbean girl. We asked them about the march in Torrejón el Rubio and they told us that they were heading towards the Ibiza pub that was a few minutes away.

We do not doubt it and we went to the Ibiza pub ready to mix with the locals and have drinks and share travel and adventure experiences around the world.

The Ibiza pub is one of those square and spacious places where the townspeople gather. The average age is indefinable: teenagers, adults and kids all come together to the pub to have their drinks probably because of the limited supply in town. Some probably get in the car and go to Plasencia although today with the controls of alcohol and others it is expected complicated.

When we entered the Ibiza pub, Spanish music was played in the background, there was a table football in the middle and few tables and chairs to sit on. Most of the atmosphere was in the bar so we headed there.

The first surprise came when we ordered the first cubatas. I gave him a 20 ticket and he prepared me a Brugal and a Johnny Walker both with a tail and I saw that he was giving me back a red ticket and a few coins. I hallucinated. I looked at the change and had only charged me 3.5 euros per cup. I remembered that even in Barcelona before the change to the euro, the Cubans were already worth more than that.

We saw that people went into a room that faced the outside from the same pub and thought it was the smoking area. We headed there and effectively found a kind of outdoor patio where locals drank their drinks and smoked in the cold of the night. I was surprised to see that they had built a great bonfire whose embers helped to pass the cold. A luxury.

We started chatting with people and from here something happened at night. It is as if the hands of the clock stopped and began to move at a frantic pace without any north. We met a group well into their forties with a considerable drunkenness. After the hangover I can't remember everything we experienced and the complete talks we had but I assure you that we had a great time and we had uncontrollable laughter with them. One told us that he had just arrived at the pub and had peed against the wall like donkeys while raising his leg showing his posture. Another began to tell us what the mili had done with Blue Summer Flip Flop.

More glasses fell and the hands of the clock continued to circulate frantically in opposite directions. It seemed as if we were in another dimension, as if a black hole had sucked us out and moved to a parallel world.

We went out to smoke another cigarette and watched as the staff had managed with the bonfire to make some embers and cook a huge piece of pork. Although I began to uncover only to see him, I did not miss the occasion and they offered me the knife to give him some cuts. It was something they call barbá and we don't hesitate to try it. In fact, it was authentic pork fat, although with the cold and the glasses it was wonderful for me.

When we looked at the clock for the first time it was already half past four. For a moment, the responsibility assailed us when we thought that the next day we should get up at eight. We made a mental effort and said goodbye to our new friends in Torrejón el Rubio. Well, the truth is that right now I don't remember if we really said goodbye. Each one went to his ball with his chopping board so imagine the plan.

We went out to the street and the cold took us half a cut at once. We were probably below 0 degrees and we traveled the route to the lodge in record time.

We slept just three hours. The next day we were waiting for a hard but exciting day in the national park of Monfragüe with the Nomaders group.

The best of all was to discover two things in the morning: that he barely had a hangover and that the myth of the garrafón in the villages is purely myth and those 3.5 euros that were worth the cubatas well deserved it. The worst part was that I forgot the camera and I have no photos to illustrate that surreal and memorable night.

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