Its funny how you crave your language. I automatically identify with anyone in Madrid that speaks English. It doesn't matter if you speak good English, broken English, or heavily accented English as long as you speak English, I don't discriminate. This common tongue sparks an immediate kinship of some sort. This is especially true when riding the metro (subway) through the city. I am a foreigner amongst a mass of Spanish speakers, and when the rare English speaker comes along, like a floating log in the wayward sea of Spanish, I latch on, listening ever so sly to the conversation, hinging on every detail. This may be a sick obsession, but woe is me...