The other night, Caroline and I were sitting in our room when we heard the Spanish boys coming downstairs. You never have to wonder whether or not they are home; if you are anywhere near I.K., you will know it. And when I say we "heard them coming downstairs", I don't even mean their footsteps. They are just generally loud humans -- the walk they talk, the way they move.
Anyway, when we heard them barreling down the stairs, I opened the door and asked where they were going at 11:00 at night. They replied, "To Mac-Donal." A translation, for those who need it, is "The McDonald's down the road on Alpenstrasse." A further translation would be "our" McDonald's.
Without so much as a word, Caroline and I instinctively grabbed our jackets and put on our shoes. Had we been planning on eating a late-night snack? Eh, not really. But we are short on time at the moment and we'll take all the opportunities to hang out with our Spanish boys. (And also have you had the McDonald's fries in Austria? OMG.)
We immediately regretted the decision as soon as we arrived at Mac-Donal and were reminded that Sergi and Roman like to (a) eat their food while making animal noises and grunting sounds, (b) place their empty French fry boxes on their ears when they're finished eating, and (c) purposely mispronounce German words at decibels far too loud for public establishments.
But, like I said, our time is short with them, so we stuck around until they were done eating, and being overall fools, and then we walked back with them.