A recent Saturday I had couldn't have
contained more in the way of opposites. The first half of the night
was a hipster-themed birthday party. My pueblo friends were confused
about what exactly to wear. So who's the expert they called upon? The
Canadian, whose city was once voted as one of the worst-dressed
cities in the world. Not just for our love of yoga pants, but also
for this:
All week I fielded questions: are
rubber boots hipster? (Yes.) Coloured hair? (Yes, as chunks of punky
colour, not all-over.) Glasses? (Oh hell yes. The thicker the
better.)
After celebrating into the wee hours of
the morning, I high-tailed it home and quickly changed into more
casual clothes for the Feria de los Moteros (Motorcycle
Riders' Party). It's kind of like a yearly gathering in Villacarrillo
of spanish Hell's Angels. What are these guys like? Very friendly, it
turned out. When I was walking towards the feria, I turned the corner
onto a dark street that was completely isolated except for a group of
about twenty biker guys. They all stopped talking and stared as I
trotted by in my heels and short shorts. I kept my guard up and my
serious face on, extremely nervous, until one by one they started
muttering, “La chica Canadiense!” (The Canadian girl!)
Apparently my friends had told them about the Asian Canadian living
in the village. I waved hello, and they smiled back. I stopped and
chatted with one of them, whose brother was living in Quebec. I bid
them adieu and they said they'd see me later at the concert.
The guys were very friendly, buying us
drinks and asking about my experience so far in Villacarrillo. We
partied and laughed until the sun came up. What a memorable way to
round out my weekend!
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