España Day 3 - San Sebastien

So the feeling of waking up on a cardboard box and getting up quickly and basically leaving everything behind except the clothes on your back and your wallet is quite bizarre. Yet that is exactly what we did - deserted our "home"for the night and walked through the piles of trash toward the bus station, where we finally retrieved our bags and freshened up the best we could (still no showers). Before our 11am bus to San Sebastien, we ate, bought souvenirs, and took some pictures on a giant statue of some bulls. At 11, we caught the bus (after some crafty Spanish work to figure out that our bus was actually not departing from where we thought originally) and enjoyed a lovely 1-hour ride through the mountains to San Sebastien, a Basque town on the Bay of Biscay (part of the Atlantic Ocean), noted for its nice beaches.
At this point, a couple of us were at rock bottom - very, very tired and just wanting a rest. Eventually we made our way 30 minutes from the bus station to the tourism office and then from there to the "playa" - a nice beach situated next to a port in a small bay surrounded by mountains. For a beach hater, I enjoyed it quite a bit - though I found out that I am quite a bad swimmer - I attempted to swim out to a small dock about 150 meters into the lagoon. I made it - but barely. After a good rest on the floating dock, I swam back very slowly and headed back to the beach to play a good deal of cards with the homies. A nice relaxing afternoon.
But of course at this point we still ahd no idea where we would be staying the night - sleeping in a park was acceptable in Pamplona, as everyone did so, but here, probably not a good idea - or an attractive one at that.
So we grabbed a quick dinner at an awful and terribly expensive tapas place in the main square of old town before heading out to find a bar to watch the World Cup final. We heard rumors that there was a large screen where everyone would be watching, but it turned out to be a lie. So by the time we returned to Old Town, the game had started and all the bars were packed - we watched the first half from outside a small Basque bar and then switched to an Irish pub that was sparsely crowded, but completely one-sided toward the Netherlands. Most of the Basque people I met hated the Spanish team - not surprising I suppose, but come on - can't you put aside your difference for a minute?
So the game went into overtime, but was a bit dull overall, especially considering the anti-Spanish atmosphere of the bar. But afterwards, we headed out into the streets and joined the mix of locals and tourists (mostly tourists) who cheered "Ole, Ole, Ole!," "Viva España," and the like. A good time overall - but it quickly turned into a normal night - bar-hopping - where we found a good deal of American music and American tourists. After a couple failed attempts with some Americans students who were studying there to find a place to stay, we finally ran across some peculiar students studying organic chemistry from the University of Texas. After Jacque pulled off the lie of all lies, stating that she actually knew a guy who one of the Texas guys was friends with who went to Yale (not true), and a couple more hours of following the Texas people in their stupid endeavors (losing people, taking care of a guy throwing up, and putting up with a long discussion of chemistry-related things (haha pyrite)), we convinced them to house us for the night.
And so we walked. And walked. And walked some more - for a good hour, until we finally got to their hotel/dorm and crashed on their floor - concrete and uncomfortable, but certainly better than a cold, dirty park. What a difference.