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!