Well obviously nobody can beat agodoy’s, ahem, story. Cute! And if I really cared to try and remember I’d no doubt have a litany of of woes ranging from the ridiculous to the tragic to the just plain dumb. One that does jump to mind was when I ‘celebrated’ Christmas eve in Madrid with my best friend, Don, and Terri, the cute girl we traveled with by rented car from Paris.

The huge Plaza Mayora was the place to be that night, filled with colored lights, religious souvenir sellers, piped Xmas music over numerous speakers and 1000s of exuberant revelers, many of whom had already visited the innumerable nightclubs and bars that ring the outer edge of the square. We’d been to at least a dozen of them ourselves, imbibing a beer or a brandy in the underground rooms where drinks are served, then climbing back up the stairs to street level and tossing the glasses over our shoulders, as is the custom, down the stairwell to shatter. Needless to say we were all blasted, but still in our cups and raring to go.

Somewhere amongst the crowds swirling around outside, Don and I lost track of Terri and decided to make asses of ourselves in one of the stalls selling toy Xmas instruments. While Don played a little saxophone, I dueted with him on a gold, plastic trombone. The owner, a swarthy bull of a man, was not amused and demanded we pay as we put the instruments down to leave. We refused and ran out of the shop, the owner chasing after us, waving the trombone and yelling, “20 posedas, 20 posedas!” I remember him grabbing my shirt from behind, my turning around and pushing him away, him punching me, then throwing the toy in my face. The next I knew, he’d disappeared, and I was spitting out a mouthful of blood, plastic bits and as it turned out, half of one of my front teeth. Don, who’d caught up with me, looked and started laughing. “You look like a pirate!” he yelled as we hustled through the crowds.

In the meantime, Terri had somehow gotten herself up on top of the giant bronze horse that dominates the center of the Plaza. She must of been hoisted up there because there’s no way she could have done it on her own. We heard yelling and arrived to find her dancing wildly on top of the statue in just her bra and jeans as hundreds of guys gathered around the base chanting, “Dance, dance dance!” Just then the police arrived, their lights flashing and European sirens blaring. They cleared the crowd, helped Terri down and arrested her for causing a public nuisance. With the alcohol high wearing off, my shattered tooth starting to throb painfully and a really bad hangover coming on, I accompanied Don as we wended our way to the police station where we had to bail Terri out to the tune of a couple hundred dollars. It was starting to get light by the time we got back to our pensione; bruised, battered and chagrined.

The next day I had to decide what to do: Give up my ‘vacation’ and fly back to England to have my tooth professionally replaced with porcelain; get a gold cap in Spain, perhaps with a little diamond or cut out star set in it, or continue traveling with a skeevy half smashed front tooth that hurt like the devil. I chose the 3rd option and after a few days of tossing back Fundadors (Hemingway’s favorite drink) and gasping in pain until the brandy took effect, I traveled by train to Algeciras and then by ferry to Morocco while Don and Terri stayed in Spain. I spent the next month or so traveling through North Africa, visiting Marakesh, Fez, Meknes, the Atlas and Rif mountains, Timbuktu, Tunis, Algeirs and a bunch of other amazing places, looking piratical with hennaed hair, kohl on my eyes and a jagged toothy smile.

@agodoy- When I finally made it back to the UK they created an awesome crown that to this day is probably the best tooth I’ve got! But sometimes I wish I’d gotten that gold crunk cap in Madrid. Piratical for life.