20,000 european gay people

Okay, so fellow pilgrims had already awarded me the culture shock stupidity award for walking into a family reunion after walking across a country, shaving my head, and shedding a lot of pounds. Was it really necessary to arrive in Madrid after a traumatic and dizzying train ride full of whizzing sunflower fields and decide to be weak and take a cab instead of the metro--only to get trapped in traffic in a taxi with a drunk driver who took us on a drive by of a festival of 20,000 gay people who are in town for the weekend? And then, when I started panicking about being in the car, was it really necessary for him to insist that the three blocks overflowing with half-naked, leather and feathered men were TOO HARD FOR ME TO WALK? And then when I eventually talked him into letting me out, did he have to give me bad directions that led me far far away? While walking past the 50 buses blaring Village People and Shakira as writhing, oiled bodies danced, I finally burst into hysterical laughter. I still haven´t found the damn hotel. And I´m sure not getting into a car. Enough of that. 20,000 people. For the love of God.