san sebastian’s weird little welcome mat

woke up in a hostel that smelled like old socks and spray paint. the air was icy, 4 degrees or whatever, and i immediately regretted bringing shorts. i’d heard, i heard-from someone who sounded like they’d had too much cider-about how this place was a ‘hidden gem.’ well, it’s not hidden if you can see it from a bus stop, right? but still, here i am, bundled up like a lost puppy, trying to log into my laptop at 3am. i just checked and it’s… about 4.2, all bundled up and it’s wild, you know? we’re talking pintos in layers, uh-huh.

so i’m out here, wandering around la concha. the beach’s empty, which is either a blessing or a curse depending on who you ask. i saw a guy skateboarding down the stairs, like it was some airport runway or something. wild. i don’t know if he was trying to be cool or if he just forgot how to walk. either way, it’s a vibe. la concha is that thing where the water’s always cold and the sun’s always glaring, but somehow it feels like everyone’s there to perform. not sure if that’s a good thing or not.

i stopped at a café called café de l luoghi. the owner’s name’s racquel or something, i think. she served me a coffee so strong it tasted like rage. i heard, i heard from a tourist earlier that day-someone swearing at a dog-about how the tap water here is ‘disgusting.’ i’m not sure if that’s true or if they just didn’t like the guy who spat on the sidewalk yesterday. either way, i’m sticking to bottled. or ramen. i bought a pack of instant ramen from a street vendor. it’s 50 cents, it’s hot, and it’s probably going to save my soul. or at least my stomach.

the neighbors? yeah, they’re loud. not in a fun way. like, some old man down the street was banging a drum at 2am, and i swear the bass could’ve shaken the bones out of my skull. i mentioned it to a local at the hostel, and they just laughed and said, ‘that’s raúl. he’s got a ghost in his drum. deal with it.’ i don’t know if that’s true, but it’s the kind of story you tell to keep the night alive. meanwhile, i’m out here, half-naked in a hoodie, trying not to freeze my fingers off while taking photos of the sunset. the light’s insane here, but the camera hates me. i think it’s my fault. i didn’t chuck enough brownies at it.

i heard, i heard from a drunk at the bar last night-someone tried to steal my hostel key. or maybe that’s just a myth. maybe that’s how they explain why the front door keeps creaking open by itself. either way, the irony? i’m now the guy who’s telling everyone, ‘don’t trust anything here. not the keys, not the coffee, not the guy selling ‘organic’ herbs on the corner.’ and i’m half-right. the herbs smell like week-old tacos.

so much for hidden gems. this place is messy, like a fridge you left open for three days. but maybe that’s the point. i’m a digital nomad, which means i’m supposed to be free-spirited, but i’m also trying to pay rent. so i’m staying in a place that costs less than a single taco, which is… efficient? i don’t know. efficiency’s overrated. i’m more about vibes. and the vibe here? it’s like if a ghost and a punk rocker had a baby. and that baby was named ‘la concha’ and it hates coherence.

if you get bored, bips or barlines-whichever’s cooler-are just a hop away. i went to barlines because someone told me there’s good ‘tapas’ there. i don’t know what tapas is, but it was expensive and came with a parrot that kept staring at me. weird. i threw it a fry. it didn’t care.

someone told me that the view from thetop of la concha is the best in europe. i went up. it’s not. it’s okay. but then i saw this old lady with a telescope looking at the moon. she was actually doing science. i asked her what she was doing, and she said, ‘i’m just here to remember what it’s like to wonder.’ which is better than any review. i think.

i heard that the museum here is run by a guy who collects clocks. not like fancy clocks. like broken clocks. i didn’t go in, but i swear the sidewalk outside smells like brass. i’m not sure if that’s the clocks or the seagulls. probably both.

so yeah. san sebastian. cheap, cold, loud, and somehow always interesting. if you like your travel a little messy, a little broken, and a lot of stories you can’t share without sounding like a lunatic-this is your spot. oh, and bring a raincoat. or a blanket. or both. i don’t know. it’s random. this is random.

p.s. if you’re wondering about the weather? i just checked. it’s still 4.2. hope you like that kind of thing.

You might also be interested in:

• https://votoris.com/post/aguascalientes-taxes-what-a-freelance-photographer-needs-to-know-and-how-to-survive-them
• https://votoris.com/post/saigon-sweat-and-sauce
• https://votoris.com/post/len-is-a-shoefilled-highaltitude-fever-dream-and-im-sweating
• https://votoris.com/post/paraty-brazil-humidity-history-and-a-whole-lot-of-cobblestones
• https://votoris.com/post/beirut-baby-a-drummers-dizzying-dive-2