When my friend had booked the apartment, we had no idea that Benidorm, Spain was the favorite cheap holiday spot of the British. All we knew was that it was a half day’s journey from where we were living in Salamanca, that it was on the Mediterranean, it had beaches, and it was cheap. And so we went from a town that spoke English only begrudgingly to a town that didn’t seem to speak Spanish at all.
We spent several days lounging on the beaches, staying well away from the frigid waters. On Wednesday, the middle of our week in Benidorm, we realized in the evening that it was the 17th, St. Patrick’s Day. Being 20 years old and in a country where we were not underaged, my friend convinced me to go out drinking with her. One drink, she had promised, and then we would go back to the apartment.
Our first stop was at the pub on the corner of the block. For an exorbitant rate, we were able to purchase Guinness hats, which we managed to hold onto for the rest of the evening. Next, we walked around a bit, scoping out all the specials the neighborhood bars were offering.
As it turned out, the best deal for that time was a buy one get one free special. My friend was a beer drinker, I was not. So, we ended up each ordering two drinks. What made things even more awkward, this special was going on during Family Hour. So, I’m sipping vodka and Fantas while little kids are doing the hokey pokey with their parents a few feet away. We finished those drinks quickly and left.
Now, once we were out, it didn’t make sense to go back to the apartment so early. As we were wandering around, we encountered the costumed gentleman in the photo above. We got our picture taken with the jovial stranger and passed through several bars that were offering free shots to anyone who came in, no purchase required.
By this time, we were both well on our way to very drunk. But the night was still young! We came across an Irish pub that advertised live music, so we went in. The crowd was definitely more subdued from some of the places we’d more recently been. But it was a nice break from the chaos out in the streets.
As we sipped our first round of drinks, we noticed an adorable older couple at the next table. They were wearing little festive hats. My friend wanted a picture with them, so we went to introduce ourselves. They were absolutely charming and invited us to sit with them. They were Scottish and were on holiday. We had a couple of rounds of drinks with them and my friend and the husband danced a clumsy jig while the band played.
Over the course of the forty minutes, or so, that we spent with them, they told us an interesting bit of questionable trivia. St. Patrick was Scottish, they said. Not Irish, though he obviously did his most famous works in Ireland. But as Scots they were proud to call him one of their own.
I would later research it more and nobody’s entirely sure where St. Patrick came from. Some say he was Welsh. And he may have been enslaved in some capacity as a boy. So, don’t always trust the word of adorable Scottish couples in Irish pubs in Spanish towns.
The night didn’t end there, of course, we went on to drink far too much. And things ended better than they should have, but I’m not ready to divulge all of that just yet. It still weighs a little heavy on my conscience. Maybe next year…
KT Byrde Writes 