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When I think of modern pirates, I either think of downloading music or the scary Somali ones who occasionally kidnap tourists and South Park characters. I never dreamt that I would meet a vaguely European pirate who--one might wager--has never even heard of torrenting or Limewire; however, the Canary Islands never fail to surprise a person.

I met Captain Victor on the cliffs behind the small beach town Puerto de Mogan on Gran Canaria. My best friend and I were spending our winter vacations in the warmest place that RyanAir could take us, and we found ourselves in the most amazing hostel EVER (Volver Hostel). A few months earlier, some of the hostel staff had moved several couches to the cliffs from which once could watch the sunset. Rumor has it that the hostel once had bonfire parties with drum circles and the like. The staff talked about these “glory days” much like my parents talk about the late 60s.

But those days are similarly long gone.  Pirate King Victor--last name unknown--annexed the couches and party space and then hung a skull and crossbones flag to mark his occupation. He remains there day and night drinking beer and rum (Jack Sparrow would be so proud) and roasting food on the fire as the waves crash against the rocks below.

Captain Victor, however, is a benevolent pirate.  He welcomes all visitors who come to see the sunset with a big smile and a swig of whatever he is drinking. When Jo and I were visiting, Captain Victor proved to speak several different languages such as English, German, Spanish, and others that I cannot remember, let alone speak. The following night, I brought along a Polish guy from our hostel, and Captain Victor unveiled that he also spoke Polish…then he proceeded to show us his plastic pirate gold.

Should you end up in Puerto de Mogan, climb up to the cliffs and see if Captain Victor is still there. I’d like to think that he’s commandeered himself a boat by now and is sailing it into the horizon. But if he is still there but boatless, bring him a beer and maybe a small trinket that he can add to his treasure chest. And be careful that neither you nor he falls from the cliffs.

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Old Glory. The Stars and Stripes. The be-all and end-all of Betsy Ross's oeuvre. Call it what you will, the American flag was not something I was expecting to see flying from practically every floor of every building in the Plaza Moyúa in downtown Bilbao. Nevertheless, there it was! It didn't make sense.

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Consuming alcohol in Spain is practically a requirement. What with the two-hour break for lunch that most Spaniards enjoy daily, who wouldn’t be tempted to have a glass of wine along with the midday meal? Dinner is sometimes considered incomplete without the requisite glass of Rioja or Cava wine. I, for one, drank my fair share of sangria and jerez (Spanish sherry) during a recent visit to Madrid.  

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