Adios Espanya

It was time to leave Spain, I have had a great time in this gorgeous country but the time is right. I have taken my Spanish as far as I can, I was not going to improve much more without improving my vocabulary and it was time to experience a different country and a different culture. Ireland was beckoning and that was my next stop. I think I could have just stopped in Spain and spent the rest of my life there I enjoyed it so much but that would have been self defeating. I was travelling, learning and experiencing, I had to continue to do so. I will come back when my bank balance has recovered and my Spanish vocabulary is bigger. I hope I can catch up with the same people I met on this trip. I will greet them as old friends if I do.

The flight was late afternoon on Ryan Air from Seville to Dublin. I have heard a few stories about flying with Ryan Air, mainly horror about people not being allowed on the plane due to being overweight on their luggage, and the check-in queues closing 40 minutes before the flight regardless of whether there were people in the queue or not. I must say however that when I checked in online I was left in no doubt what was required; I had to check all the boxes saying that I was aware of the various terms and conditions about times and baggage limits, people can't say that they were not warned, well they could but they would be lying.

I had to catch the bus to the airport and find my way to the departure lounge. Once again I was early so I took advantage of the unstaffed check-in counter to weigh my backpack, on the conveyor 14.5 kilograms, half a kilo below the limit. When I left Australia I brought 2 towels, both old and crappy and probably due to for disposal anyway. My intention was to throw them out at the last hostel in Spain to lighten my baggage slightly as I knew I was close to the limit. I had also purchased a hoody for my daughter in Salamanca so I was pushing it even more. I'm not sure what the baggage would have weighed if I did not throw the towels out but I was having a personal gloat when I weighed in under the limit. My hand luggage easily fitted in the test box so there was no reason why I would have any issues.

Some people must just tick boxes without taking notice of what they are checking. One couple were refused board so they were very busy transferring check in luggage items into their already full hand luggage to get rid of a few kilos. The female changed here shoes to a pair of long boots. They had their luggage re-weighed and it was still 2.5 kilograms above the limit so of they went again to put on some more clothes and transfer other items to their hand luggage, I'm not sure if they succeeded or not, I did not notice them in the boarding queue but I wasn't really taking much notice. Quite a few people were having a whine about the restrictions on Ryan Air, I was so tempted to tell them to shut up or go to another airline but I bit my tongue, my trip cost just over 30 Euros, the next cheapest was 125 Euros. The terms and conditions are spelled out very clearly and reiterated when you do the online check in, if you follow those conditions then there is no problem, if you don't then you do have problems, if you don't like it pay 100 Euros extra and catch another airline, I have spoken.

I boarded the flight without hassle and grabbed a bottle of duty free Jameson for my Irish hosts. Once again on the boarding queue there where people whining about Ryan Air, shut up idiots. The flight was made interesting by a gorgeous 3 year old girl sitting next to me who was intent on having an adult conversation, happy to oblige. The pilot was Irish, I've always imagined Irish people as comedians or folk singers, never really pictured them as pilots before, it's funny how I have impressions about races or cultures and what they do for a living, Germans are engineers, French are avant garde circus performers, waiters or chefs, Japanese are electronic engineers, Canadians are mounted police and Poms are unemployed. Anyhow he got the plane off the ground and resisted the temptation to loop the loop or do a victory roll so he wasn't that much of a comedian.

The plane landed 30 minutes early due to strong tail winds. We got the famous Ryan Air fanfare and announcement that we were on another “on time” flight. Unfortunately for me it was not really an advantage to get there early as it meant another wait at an airport; I had a friend picking me up at the designated time so I was not getting anywhere any faster. On top of that my backpack was straight out on the carousel as soon as I got there so no waiting there either. There was time therefore for a coffee and a bit of food.

Jim and Maria were there about 20 minutes after I landed so the wait wasn't that long, compared with the waits I have had before boarding an aircraft. It was good to have someone meet me on arrival for a change. Jim and Maria were touring Australia on a work visa a few years ago and Jim worked with me at Grocon for about 3 months. I didn't expect him to take time off work to show me around but he did so which I am very grateful for. They live in a small town called Portadown which is south of Belfast in Northern Ireland, the drive took about 2 hours.

What started as a visit Maria's parents for a meet and greet finished at about 4.30 am with a lot of music and the unfortunate demise of the 'A' string on Jim's guitar when I was playing Wish You Were Here. No ones voice survived the night our vocal cords going the same way as the 'A' string it, was a lot of fun and the time seemed irrelevant. It didn't stop me getting up at 8.30 however, waking up early in the morning regardless of the time of night I go to bed is my blessing and curse.

Seville day 2

Parque Maria Luisa was first on the agenda for the day, another large garden with water features, some Aussie mountain ash trees and again very symetrical. The cafe in the park also makes great coffee. On the 20 something sunny day I could easily have relaxed on the grass for quite a few hours but that would have been too easy. My ear worm in the garden was “Empty Garden” by Elton John; it is on “The Fox” album which I think is underrated. Incidentally I have a personally autographed (by Elton Hercules John not me) copy of it on vinyl. Some more rambling aimlessly but purposely around the old city was next which required a wander around the back of the park and through some of the newer sections of the city. On the way someone asked me for directions to Calle Felipe II in Spanish and I knew where it was and how to get there and I answered them in Spanish, how good am I.

In the old city I found a fellow Alberto Pantoja Martin who is a “Contructor De Artesania de Guirarra, Bandurrias y Laudes,” he makes guitars, Mandolins and Lutes (http://www.guitarraspantoja.es/tradicion.htm). He allowed me into his studio to take some photographs and he showed me some of his more elaborate craft work. It takes him about 6 weeks to make a guitar and they cost about 3000 euros each so they are not cheap, but if you do the maths he isn't getting rich out of it either.

I finally got to the river after zig zagging my way around the old city and found an international food area, it is strange seeing an Australian stall at an international festival but I suppose that is what it is over here. There was a glaring factual error on the stall however; apart from advertising Canguro which is clearly Australian, they offered “Solomillo de avestruz” (sirloin of Ostrich), this was compunded by having in brackets immediately under the menu item “El Correcaminos (The Roadrunner). It was illustrated by having a picture of an ostrich with a burger for a torso and behind the counter they had a large white egg as a prop. The list of faults is as follows:

1. The Ostrich is an African bird, larger than the emu, but not native to Australia. Its presence in Australia is restricted to zoos although I don't rule out the possibility that it may also be a farm animal. It's hobbies are eating and running away from lions.
2. The roadrunner is a small ground dwelling bird that lives in dry regions of southern USA, without any research I cannot say whether or not its habitat stretches to Central or South America but I don't rule out the possibility. It is not present in Australia as a native or introduced species and although I never seen one in a zoo, I don't rule out that possibility. Its hobbies are eating sidewinder snakes and annoying Wiley D. Coyote. The sidewinder snake is also an interesting creature so feel free to do quick google search and read up them.
3. The ostrich and the roadrunner are two entirely different species that inhabit different continents (none of which are Australia).
4. An emu egg is blue and smaller than the specimen they were using as a prop. It is more likely they had an ostrich egg on display.

I settled on some magnificent dolmades from the Greek stall and a Greek beer which I had never tried before.

Next stop was a Scottish pub to scratch an itch by drinking some tenants lager. Unfortunately the Scottish pub did not have any and appeared not to have any Scottish beers at all, oh well, perhaps they would have some in Ireland. It was getting late now and time to get some dinner and plan for the evening. Dinner was simple, the salad I had purchased the previous day, plans for the evening were another matter. I had a tip off about La Carboneria, a flamenco bar in the old city. It was not on any of the advertising brochures as a flamenco venue so I asked the staff in the Hostel. I was told that the place could be described as different, good enough for me. I was also told to try a drink called a Rebujito, no worries.

I got to La Carboneria at 9.30 and watched the magnificent flamenco with a large crowd, mainly locals by the looks of them and a few tourists. The jug of Rebujito was very nice, but it was a bit of a shock when someone helped himself to it, he thought is was on the house and there for anyone to use but I explained that wasn't that bothered, I really did not want to drink it all myself anyway but he felt a bit guilty so he bought another. His name was Juan and his partner's name was Virginia, both locals and both in the finance profession. We were joined by another Juan (get it) Javier, Antonio and Maria Rosa. When the Flamenco finished they took me to another bar nearby where we stayed until about 4.00 am when the bar closed. Another late night, another chance meeting with some friendly locals and another early morning.

Seville

I was still tired, grumpy and cynical when I got to Seville although it was nice to be able to walk through the town without being molested by locals willing to relieve me of the burden of having money in my wallet. At first glance the city was absolutely beautiful; typically Spanish streets and shops, magnificent old buildings and the weather could not be faulted. My mood quickly improved to just sarcastic. I found a bargain opening deal of 10 Euros per night on a new hostel called The Spot. This place was only about a kilometre from the Bus Station so it was an easy walk. Like Vertigo in Marseilles, Purple Nest in Valencia and White Nest in Granada, this place was a gem; clean, well laid out, great facilities, great location and friendly helpful staff. Time for a quick check in then off to explore.

First stop was the cathedral which was another hugely impressive and old building. Next to the cathedral is the Alcazar; originally built by the Nth African inhabitants over 500 years ago it is a magnificent spectacle of buildings and gardens. Typically like most of the old buildings from that time symmetry is obvious. I don't normally pay to get into museums, Salamanca aside, because half the time it is not what I want to do on this trip, on this occasion though I made an exception mainly due to the size of the place. It did seem like it would never stop, every time I went through a door or gate it opened up into something vast. I also noticed a couple of good old Victorian Mountain Ash trees in one of the gardens, Eucalyptus regnans; How it got there I don't know but it was about 40 metres tall so it had been there a long time. It was a highlight of the trip and my mood had improved remarkably by this time.

I spent the next 4 hours wandering aimlessly but with purpose down narrow streets and along the river, the supermarket provided me with sufficient fresh fruit and veg for dinner and after a night walk (the views along the river at night are sensational), it was bed at a relatively early midnight. I was the only one in the dorm that night and the bed was very comfortable.

Culture Shock

The ferry to Tangier (tanger to the locals with a soft “g”), left at 1700 instead of the scheduled 1600. This was quite inconvenient as I had accommodation booked in Casablanca which was more that 300 kilometres away from Tangier. Casablanca was purely to cross something else off the things to do before I die list. If the movie was called something else or it did not have Humphrey Bogart then I don't even think it would be on the horizon, the main things I knew about the place was that is was in Morocco and it was the title for one of the all time great movies.

On the Ferry was a guy from the Island of Guernsey (an exotic Pom??), we drank a lot on the way, he was one of those fellows who was a constant traveller and volunteer in 3^rd world countries. He also had a touch of the larrikin and managed to spend time in lock ups in quite a few of those destinations. It is very easy for rich people to write big cheques and get public praise when they hand them over in front of the media, but people who give up their time, and any chance they may have of enriching themselves in the process, to help others are far more generous.

The bus from the destination port at Tangier was free but that was the last cheap thing in this country. Waiting at Tangier was a very helpful person named Hassan. He showed me where the bus station was which of course had no buses to Casablanca until 11.30 that night, a problem for me but not for Hassan, he then took me for a ride (in more ways than one) to another bus station a short drive away in a taxi that cost me 2 Dirhams. At the station was a bus about to leave for Casablanca, that cost me 100 Dirhams and Hassan's assistance cost me 100 Dirhams. I suppose it was an initiation into how things are done here but it did get me on the bus and I would not have managed that on my own. They clearly have no idea of the elements that make up a legally binding contract however, either that or they choose to ignore them.

The bus trip was long and boring and on arrival I was greeted with more “Hassan's” all offering me help which I declined on this occasion. A fellow traveller who seemed to know where he was going was Spanish so I had a brief chat to him and he pointed me to the taxi rank outside. The taxis were old and decrepit looking, had no seatbelts and not very inviting, as I walked out of the bus station about 5 drivers descended upon me all trying to get my fare. I showed one of them the address on my Iphone and they all gathered around and had a chat in Arabic, one of them knew where it was so off we went. The taxi was not running when I got in and immediately after I shut the door I was surrounded by the other drivers, the driver then got in and received a push start from his very obliging colleagues. I later found that all the taxis were like this, they either parked in such a spot that they could roll start without any assistance, received assistance from other drivers or kept the engine running; clearly a car battery was an optional extra and an unnecessary expense.

I kept a careful eye on the meter and when we arrived it was on 22 Dirhams. The driver imemdiately lept out of the cab and without saying anything grabbed my bag and carried it inside. I gave him 25 Dirhams for his trouble and thought that was the end of the matter. Unfortunately he did not think it was enough and wanted 30, for some reason he complained to the guy at reception at the hotel. Apparently the cost of the ride combined with the carrying of the backpack for 20 metres inside the door added up to 30 Dirhams, again the concept of a legally binding contract had escaped the driver. As I had already been fleeced once (it was two people but as it was a team effort on their part it counts as one instance), I stood my ground and explained to the driver that the meter said 22 and I gave him 25 in my best Spanish which I was hoping his French would allow him to understand. I won that argument, probably only because I was the one with the power as I had what he wanted, with Hassan, he had what I wanted so I used the power shift to my advantage. I don't mind tipping, in fact I am a generous tipper but I object to the tip being demanded regardless of the country or culture, I was prepared to give the driver 30 Dirhams at first, but his request for 30 when the meter said 22 made me change my mind immediately. There was some time for a quick catch up with emails and facebook prior to bed, but the time was deceptive as there is a 2 hour difference between Morocco and Spain, so it actual time and my body clock did not agree with each other.

Sleep was a strange affair, the bed was slopped slightly so one side was lower that the other, if it had have been a slight slope end to end then I could have coped with that without a problem, but being slightly lower on one side meant constant waking up to relocate myself to the middle of the bed, actually it was to the other end, the closer to the high side I was the longer it took to start hanging off the low side thus longer periods between re-adjustments. In any event, by the time it got to 7.00 am I had enough of the bed and went downstairs for the breakfast that was part of the package. After a quick shower it was off to the big wide world of Casablanca. I did try to ensure that I scrubbed off the words “Stupid Tourist” that were firmly tattooed on my forehead but I was to discover later I only removed the word stupid, unfortunately I was always going to have the word “tourist” displayed boldly for all to see.

I was supplied a map by the hotel which as a black and white photocopy with very few of the names of the roads provided. The map would have proved more useful if it was to scale but as I found out, not only was the scale out, it varied on different parts of the map. This would have not been so bad if the the road names were on the map, but it made life more interesting.

After about 500 metres of walking I was approached by a fellow who saw the tourist tattoo, 'Hello my friend,; here we go again, I took a different approach this time and tried Spanish, “hola” to my horror he started speaking Spanish, fortunately it was out of a Spanish phrase book so it was easy to understand and the psychology of these guys was becoming apparent. I kept on walking but he followed and kept talking, when you are a professional fleecer of tourists you need thick skin and persistence. Unfortunately I had to stop at a busy intersection so I had to stop. My shadow continued to talk and it got to the point where I just wanted him to go away and was prepared to pay for that to happen. I had a brief conversation with him and he wrote down my name in Arabic, which I must admit I was very impressed with. He then drew me a map of all the good surf breaks and started to tell me all the good things about Casablanca. At my wits end I said to him that I would give him 10 Dirhams to leave me alone, we agreed and we both kept our word, that is a legally binding contract.

The Medina had a bit of a market area for fruit and veg and a number of people with permanent stalls as well as very makeshift stalls selling cigarettes, sweets, chocolates and tissues, clothing, counterfeit designers label bags and shoes. One guy was very insistent that I by a top off him for 5 Dirhams which admittedly was actually very nice, locally made and very cheap; but I was backpacking and determined not to add to my load, there was also a small issue of baggage limits on Ryan Air which I knew I was under at the time of packing at home and determined not to jeopardise.

The tourist office was nowhere near the location indicated on the map, in fact I never did find where it was despite finding a few landmarks that were supposed to be in the vicinity. I also gave up hope of finding the central market after constantly revising my position compared with the map and the supposed location of the market. I was surprised when I stumbled on the market by accident. Having found the market it should only have been a matter of crossing the road and walking east for 50 metres to find the tourist office, I now think that the tourist office is like centrifugal force, it is fictitious as it does not exist at rest (the best reference for the full explanation of fictitious forces is Stephen Hawkins' “A Brief History of Time”).

At the my vegetarian animal rights tree hugging left wing hippie attitude was to receive a very big shock. The site of meat in a butcher or fish in a fish market does not concern me, but when I see a whole cows head hanging by its nose from a butcher hook then I start to get a bit queasy. Shortly thereafter I saw o live chickens sitting very diligently on a scale while the stall holder placed weights on the counter side to determine their weight, that done he grabbed them very roughly by the wings and took them to the chopping block to be dispatched. I had to avert my eyes and walk very quickly although as I was to find, sights like this were everywhere in this market and just part of local life. I rationalised to myself that the hypocrisy of meat eating was certainly not present here. In Australia people will continue to eat meat providing someone else does the dirty work of killing the animal and transforms it into a product that has no resemblance to the animal it was once attached to. At least here the relationship between the living creature and the end product is on show and the people are willing to do, or at least witness, the dirty work being performed. I wonder how many more people would join me in my lifestyle choice if they had to purchase their meat products in this way. Did I mention that pontification is one of my strengths?

I noticed three young kids, about 10 years old at most, behind me. Something about these kids made me suspicious so I moved to one side and let them get in front. Shortly after I noticed them behind me again and very close so I did the same again. I came to a crowded area where I had to slow down and ease my way through, I felt some pressure on my backside so I looked around and sure enough there were the three kids one with his forearms pressed into my rear with out any good cause other that to check my pockets which is a common location for people to keep their wallets. I religiously keep all my money and cards in a money belt so there was no way they were going to get anything. I may be jumping to conclusions but the combination of them acting suspiciously in the first place, continually ensuring that they were behind me and waiting for a crowded situation before pressing up against me makes me think that I was on safe ground. I gave the kids a smile and shook my head, tapped my back pockets and said “nada,” to which they ran off laughing, little shits.

Whilst Milan and Marseilles had dogs everywhere, Casablanca had cats; in the market, Medina, around the streets, walking in cafes they had the freedom of the city without challenge. In the market and median they served a purpose, the contents of the recently dispatched chickens and the unwanted parts of the fish were always quickly removed by these very effective street cleaners. It would have been very easy for them to thrive in these conditions, an abundance of food and plenty of urban decay to provide sufficient nooks and crannies for sleeping and bringing up the children.

The Mosque at Casablanca is a breathtaking structure that consumes an enormous amount of beach front land. The building, courtyard and adjoining garden are magnificent examples of the North African architecture and the insistence on symmetry. Civic pride, which was lacking in the other areas of the town, was in abundance here. The beach would have been a great place for a surf, there was a very clean right hander and I'm sure I would have found a tour guide who would have found me a surfboard to hire, a wetsuit and looked after my possessions while I had a bit of fun; my previous experience with the not so voluntary tour guide system in Morocco however was enough to remove all temptation. It was time to leave Casablanca, my itch had been scratched and I had a cultural experience that I would never forget.

A quick push start and the taxi was taking me to the railway station. I paid an inflated price for the journey but at the time I was beyond caring. There was a 1 hour wait for the train so I left the station to go to the cafeteria next door. Immediately I walked out of the railway station I was approached by a fellow who must of though I was Spanish because he greeted me with “hola amigo.” On this occasion I chose to ignore him completely The cafeteria served a nice coffee and the waiter kindly provided me with power for my laptop. There was a wireless connection available so I happily read the Australian and English news sites and drank coffee with a croissant and a bottle of water. There was an unusual system at the cafe, the waiter appeared to pay for the order then take it to the table. I watched this for a little while and every time a waiter collected an item from the counter to take to a table he handed money over. I concluded that the waiter was paid by the customer and the difference between the cost of the item and the amount paid was the property of the waiter. I was however handed a register docket with my order so either the register docket had the waiter's margin built in, or the system was just an easy way for the waiter to separate his tips from the actual cost by keeping everything the customer gave him. I am still not sure if the waiter got a salary from the cafeteria or survived solely on the customer payments, and whether there was a built in waiters margin on the docket or gratuities only. My bill was 30 Dirhams, I handed the waiter 50 and indicated in my best sign language that no change was required. He seemed very grateful, he might have muttered the Arabic equivalent of “tight arse” as I left however.

The train to Tangier was like the bus, long and boring. Some of the stops were bizarre, there appeared to be no platform on a couple of occasions and on others the platforms were nothing but a raised area of crushed rock. Still people got on and off the trains at these locations. There were people everywhere on the sides of the tracks, shepherds, kids playing football, families, farmers, at times it seemed like watching trains go by was a bit of a national past time. I was constantly tossing up in my mind if I should go to Spain and abandon my overnight stay in Tangiers but in the end I thought I would be a bit of a quitter if I didn't follow my original plans just because Casablanca disappointed me.

Once again at Tangiers railway station I was greeted by many friends who were all tripping over themselves to help me, outside old decrepit taxis were queued up and the drivers were approaching everyone to get their fare. I ignored everyone and everything and walked directly from the station to the old port from where I had directions to the Riad where I was booked. Unfortunately I had to walk past the stop where the ferry buses arrive so again, me with “stupid tourist” tattooed in bold letters across my forehead and the dead give-away backpack on my back, got approached by more unofficial tour guides, one of whom recognised me from the previous day. He was another persistent fellow who was very talented, he could organise a ferry trip for me for 40 Euros, even though they were 35 Euros in the proper outlets, he could find me a taxi or a bus to wherever I was going, take me to my accommodation, it was astounding the array of talent available to me. After about 10 minutes of ignoring him he finally got the hint and left me alone, I then purchased my ferry ticket for the following day at the bargain discount rate of 35 Euros with no gratuities required.

The gentleman who sold me the ticket also pointed me in the direction of the Riad (at no cost), so I headed in the direction he pointed. I knew that if I found Hotel Central then my accommodation was very close. That said a very persistent fellow seeing me reading my email that contained the directions and looking around for street signs very kindly offered to assist. I continued to walk and totally ignored him but he had thicker skin than the others so I told him that he can stop following me, he was not under any circumstances going to get money off me and he was wasting his time. He continued to follow me of course and When I reached the Riad he kindly opened the door introduced me to the owner and left. I asked the owner if he knew that person and he did not, clearly another part of their strategy, know the names of the people at reception in the hotels and Riads. I was tired, grumpy sweaty and just wanted a shower and a cold beer. It was hard to get beer in Morocco but the main street facing the beach is very European/Mediterranean so there were bars there.

Refreshed and changed I was looking forward to a drink and a wander around the market that was operating into the evening. Unfortunately when I opened the door and walked into the street my shadow and new best friend was waiting; he yelled out “Hello my friend” so I turned around went back inside and had an early night.

The following morning after breakfast I stepped out dreading the the thought of bumping into Mr Persistence, fortunately he was not there so I proceeded to wander around the Medina. It was cleaner, friendlier and less chaotic than Casablanca but still had a very similar feel culturally. Still I did not feel that it was a location that would make me want to stay longer than 1 day which I had no intention of doing anyway.

I was making my way to the Kasbah and walked past a tour group who were having the history explained to them. There was a fellow trying to sell souvenirs but as soon as I walked past and he realised that I was not part of the tour group he started to follow me. Again persistence was his strong point but I continued to walk without acknowledging his presence and eventually he went away. Unfortunately for me his place was taken by a young apprentice who took up the chase. This guy was no more than 15 years old but showed all the skill and persistence of his older counterparts. After a short time I asked him if he would go away if I gave him the change in my pockets, he agreed, there was a couple of English 1 pound coins and 2 Euros so it was a reasonable sum, about 40 Dirhams when converted; apparently they use the coins to buy Dirhams off tourists as they depart Morocco. He kept his word and left in the other direction leaving me to go to the Kasbah in peace. The Kasbah is an amazing place, the artefacts in the museum dated back to the Roman days so BC. I couldn't imagine how much looting went on prior to them getting their act together and how many artefacts are sitting in private collections but I imagine that it happened more than once. There are no prizes for guessing what the earworm was walking around the Kasbah.

Kasbah aside, the beach front was very European so by the time I had been to the medina and the Kasbah there was not a lot left for me to do. I had not eaten since breakfast and did not really want to eat food from the small outlets unless it was fruit that I could peel. The restaurants along the beach front were certainly more reputable looking but I decided to eat later on the ferry, I had a big breakfast so I could wait.

Eventually it was time to leave so I grabbed my backpack and went to the bus stop. As usual I was accosted by someone who yelled out “Hola Amigo” to which I ignored completely and walked purposefully to the bus stop. One of the restaurants was selling beer, I had 45 minutes to kill so Indulged in Morocan beer which tasted like beer. The bus stop was only 100 metres away and the bus came about 15 minutes after I got there. Immediately the bus was descended upon by people who unloaded and offered their assistance to every passenger who had stupid tourist written on their forehead. One attempted to put my backpack on the bus but I was very insistent that I do it myself, I then kept a close eye on the side of the bus to ensure that my pack stayed there. Prior to the bus leaving a fellow approached me and asked me for a tip for the people who helped me load, I refused and told him that I loaded it myself. He then asked me who was going to ensure my luggage was still on the bus at the port, point taken I gave him my last 10 Dirham coin and to my relief my bag was there at the other end.

I was glad to get onto the ferry but I was also still curious about going to Marrakesh, next time. I don't blame these people for trying to make a living and clearly persistence pays off. But when you don't want their help it is certainly annoying. The food on the ferry was quite appalling so I was still looking for lunch, it was actually getting close to dinner time but the ferry only took 1 hour so had to wait a little longer. I spent the night in a boarding house in Algeciras, I was booked on a bus for Sevilla the following day. Sleep was very easy that night.

A bit more Gibraltar

Breakfast was included in the Hotel charge and it was not bad at all, I managed to concoct a bircher muesli with the yoghurt and muesli and fruit they had, and although the coffee was not the best, it did have caffeine in it which is the main thing. It also occurred to me that my Spanish was 100 times better than when I had left Australia when I was able to understand the person at the hotel reception. Unfortunately my vocabulary is still nowhere near big enough to hold a good conversation but it is growing.

The business centre of Gibraltar is like an English tourist town, the pubs are all typically English, the menus are typically English, most of the tourists are English but from what I could gather, most of the workforce was Spanish, everyone I spoke to anyway. The history of the Area is violent and the old cemetery has many graves for people who died as a result of injuries received at the battle of Trafalgar. Across the water you can see the coast of Africa, the straight between the two continents is quite narrow and strategically you can see why the British want to keep it and why the Spanish want it. Historically however the Spanish probably have a better case.

The cable car to the top of the rock was a short experience and gave a taste of the views from the top. I had a ticket to go into the attractions around the rock so I meandered my way around the narrow roads and stopped at the cave with its stalactites and stalagmites (to remember which one is which just think that a stalactite has to cling tight to the ceiling) and opens up into a large cavern that has been fitted out as a concert hall, the things to do before I die list has just grown by 1.

The real star attraction however are the apes; you cannot have an open bag or a plastic bag with you as they are very good at stealing food; when they see an open bag or a plastic bag is is a signal to them that a free feed is in the offering. The young were very playful little fellows and of course the grooming of each other (de-lousing) was very common.

The military history of the rock is on display with impressive tunnels and old fortresses. By the time I had walked back down from the top and viewed the sites I was glad that it had lived up to my expectations. It was however just a day trip, and that was probably all I needed, It was time to get even further out of my comfort zone and go to Morocco.

A bit of Granada, A bit of Gibraltar

The Alhambra was built by the Muslim rulers when they occupied the south of Spain. It is a grand old palace with magnificent gardens with water features to match. The symmetry of the structures was was not apparent at first, it appeared to ramble and meander but it became apparent that the structures were very much based on squares, rectangles and right angle triangles. The tour guide, Arik, pointed this out the previous day but to actually notice it you had to look at the parts of the buildings and gardens in isolation. An aerial shot might be a good way to get the idea, when I get home I will try the old google earth to see how it looks from above.

It was a two hour trip around the Alhambra and that was walking fast with a small number of tourists on the site; on the way out the queues to buy tickets were very long and I would hate to try to get around quickly when the place was full. It is an amazing place however and a highlight of the trip. I also gained the benefit of having an English passport, the art exhibition inside was free for EU citizens, even poms.

At the conclusion of the trip around the Alhambra it was time to leave Granada and cross something off the things to do before I die list, Gibraltar.

Hello Gibraltar.

I had a hotel booked in a place called La Linea De La Conception. It was the last town on Spanish soil just before the frontier to Gibraltar. The coach took a few hours to get to the town but on arrival it drove right past the hotel and into the bus station, this was the easiest time I had ever had in finding my accommodation so far. The hotel had the most impressive sounding address so far:

El hotel Asur Campo de Gibraltar
Avenida Principe De Asturias
La Linea de la Conception

On the bus was Nicole from Lake Tahoe in California, the other place where the range is called Sierra Nevada. She was off to Marrakesh in Morocco to find some skiing. I did change my mind about going to Morocco due to the issues in North Africa at the moment, but a chat with her and I changed it again, I was going after Gibraltar.

Although the light was dimming I could not resist dropping into one of the old dart's southern colonies. A bus took me around the island and the very friendly bus driver, who has an aunt living in Warragul in Gippsland Victoria, dropped me off at a pub on the way back. The bus ticked was a return and had written on it from frontier to frontier, which is highly logical and goes very well with the old dad joke:

“I'd like a return ticket please”
“Where to”
“Back here”

All the pubs there make a point of advertising that they are an English pub and they sell English fish and chips, I'm not sure that is something to boast about but with the predominantly English tourist population it is probably very effective advertising. A couple of pints of London Pride and a bowl of “English” chips with salt and vinegar filled the very gaping hole. It was a good sleep that night, I must have walked in excess of 20 kilometres that day and I had to lance another blister on my poor right foot that was suffering terribly.

Sierra Nevada

An early start to day 2 despite the late night at La Buleria saw me having a quick wander around the Alhambra without going inside, that was for tomorrow. Then it was off to the Estacion di Autobus for a trip to the Sierra Nevada mountains. The road was narrow and winding, the bus big and wide but the scenery was spectacular. I got off at a pueblo named Pampaneira. There were two other villages further up but it was only 5 km between the 3 so it was a great uphill hike along another goat track.

Pampaneira is a very attractive pueblo with the typical Muslim architecture and narrow lanes. Apparently when these places were built there was a rule that the roads had to be able to allow for two way traffic, but back then traffic was donkeys. The next pueblo was Bubion which was similar to Pampaneira except with more spectacular views, and last was Capileira with had the same advantages over Bubion that Bubion had over Pampaneira. Between Bubion and Capileira I met some American tourists who were walking down rather than up, they were quite impressed that I did the reverse and had nearly made it to the top in only 50 minutes, I told them that Aussies walk up hill, ski uphill and mountain climb downhill head first without a rope; I'm not sure they believed me. Of course the great advantage to going downhill is that if you get tired you can just lie down and roll the rest of the way.

From Capileiri it was only another 2 km to the river that cut through the valley so me being me I gave that a go also, another goat track and if anyone is interested the rocks were sedimentary. On the way there were some stone huts that apparently served no purpose, they would of course make good accommodation for a lone traveller who could not help himself and continued to walk aimlessly without thought of how to get home.

Later at Capilieri I had about 2 hours for the bus so it was time to relax, the Pizzeria made me a sensational vegetarian pizza with cheese, tomato, capers, mushroom and artichoke. Unlike my experience in Australia, the artichokes were not preserved by pickling in vinegar so they did not put that vinegar taste on the pizza. The accompanying beer (of course) went down superbly with the pizza. The bus stop was only 100 metres away and conveniently next to a fresh water fountain that was fed from a mountain spring, it was a cheap way to refill my water bottle.

On these little and big trips I tend to get infected by ear worms that are appropriate at the time. On this occasion, and on the way up, it was the long and winding road, I suppose I was just lucky that I could not think of any song that described a bus rolling down the side of a mountain killing all the passengers because the driver was on a mobile phone. I really don't like people using their mobile phone when they are driving, it's worse when you have passengers, it's worse again when you have a bus load of passengers, and of course it is worse again when you are navigating the long and winding (and narrow) road.

The hostel had organised a flamenco guitarist to play in the common area that night with food and drink provided, of course high on the tappas menu was jamon (hamon but clear your throat when you say the H). As the only thing there that I could have was cheese I got a discount on the cost of the eveining, I so have to get one of these flamenco guitars (not to mention about 10 years solid practice). After the night was over myself an another Aussie chap whose name I forgot and did not write down (that's why I write everything down, my short term memory tends to be found wanting at times), went back to La Buleria. This time it was packed with locals and the number of performers that descended on the place was double the previous evening, they were playing inside in the bar and outside on the terrace. The locals sang along and danced leaving myself and my fellow Aussie to watch and feel a little inadequate. 3.00 am and the locals were still going strong but the foreigners were not. It was time to go, the next day was a busy one.

Down to Granada

The bus to Granada was long and boring, it kept on stopping in small towns to let people on and off and it was a waste of a day really. If I had have done my homework I would have found an overnight bus so I could have slept and saved on one nights accommodation. I could also have left the evening prior and so had one extra day on my holiday in effect. Oh well, you learn by your mistakes which is why I'm so smart.

The normal email that gives directions to the hostel from the bus station did not arrive so I was flying blind with nothing more that a brochure that showed the location of the Hostel and the surrounding 200 metres with no street names. I was in luck however as within that small locality there was the biggest landmark in Granada called the Alhambra. There was a fellow in a bar near the bus station who pointed me in the right direction, it was about a 4 km walk and I was glad I had a single room that night so I could take my time to sort myself out without disturbing others, the problem with arriving late.

The following morning it was a free guided tour with an Aussie tour guide named Arik, he was normally a professional guitar player and was in Granada to learn how to play Flamenco. He had also done a rehearsal session with Florence and the Machine which was impressive. Also on the tour was Eva, also an Aussie and Amy from New Zealand aye. Eva was couch surfing where you look up people online who are willing to let you sleep on their couch for the night. The website has ratings for each one and photos of the owner/tenant. I assume those without ratings have either not had a customer or none of their customers had survived and were in shallow graves in nearby scrub. I often wonder why murderers always put their victims in shallow graves and not deep ones, perhaps they are lazy by nature.

The tour explained the Muslim history of the area and its eventual conversion to Catholicism and took us around some of the sites that typified the area. At the conclusion it was beer time then back to my solo touring. I agreed to meet Eva and Amy at 830 that evening to see if we can catch some Flamenco. The flamenco tourist scene in Granada is very expensive. We picked up another hitch hiker on the way, Caitlin from Canada, but that made up for the fact that Eva had to cancel due to accommodation issues. I heard from her later so I was happy that she was not in a shallow grave in nearby scrub.

At midnight we descended on a place called La Buleria following a tip from Arik. It could more correctly be called ascended as it was up a fairly steep hill but however. This place is not known by tourists but when the locals but when the Flamenco Performers finish putting on a show at the commercial venues they go to the Buleria and have their own jam sessions. So It was a private and free flamenco show for us. The owner of La Buleria is a very accomplished Flamenco Guitarist but his son is a magician.

The area where La Buleria is situated is on the side of a hill. The houses and bars are in actual fact caves with a facade build onto the front to give the appearance of a house. Inside though there is no mistake, you are in a cave house. 

Valencia Day 2

The following day it was business as usual, the rain did not go away so I got a bit wet walking around but if I wasted the day then I would not get it back and I was off to Granada the following day. The central market was typical of the markets in the other cities, very vibrant and busy, I managed a quick top up for the evening dinner and returned to the Hostel to put it in the fridge and do some washing.

The centre of the arts and science is the hottest modern architecture I have seen, if I was using an old film camera then I would have gone through half a dozen rolls of film, the lineal park must be more that 2 kilometres long and there are a number of those magnificent stone arched Roman bridges crossing it, I have a suspicion that they will still be there long after the more modern buildings we have today crumble into the ground. In the old city I found an artisan at work making a cello. I just caught site of him through the glass door so I knocked and asked if I could take a photo of his studio, very kindly he agreed, he made double bass', violins, cellos and violas. His hand carved head to be fitted to the cello under construction was a very nice piece of sculpture. The whole piece was being constructed in maple, it was the highlight of the day and could not be found in any lonley planet guide.

It was supposed to be a quiet evening in and it was I suppose, it just went on for a lot longer than I had planned. Noemi who was working in Reception joined us followed by Dr David Hutchison a professor of Geology from New York State. If anyone had thought that they had seen the worlds most beautiful woman then they should go the the hostel and take a look at Noemi, I think they would have to re-assess. She could speak English, Spanish and Hungarian. David and I had a great chat about science, he knew more than me of course so I did learn a few things, I also learned that there are two subclasses of igneous rocks. We went through a few of the photos I had of the rock formations in San Sebastian (yes I took photos of rocks because I thought they looked interesting) and he explained the way they were formed and folded.

Later I spoke to Janine and Ryan from Sacremento California. Janine is a union organiser and almost seemed apologetic about it, possibly because of reactions that she has had from others in the past. I think she has much to be proud of, companies pay expensive lawyers to look after their interests so why shouldn't workers have someone to represent them. Those who disagree with unions should give back their 8 hour day and weekends and go get a job in a mine where the only safety equipment is a canary. So my quiet evening stayed quiet until about 1.30 when it was time to hit the sack again.

The next morning was breakfast, pack up and off to the bus stop for the 9 hour trip to Granada. It was now the 24^th of March and my flight from Seville to Dublin was fast approaching. It was time to get my backside down south, hopefully there would be less Aussies and would become exotic again but I seriously doubt it.

Look out Valencia

The bus to Valencia was a great chance to catch up on some sleep. There were still some great scenery and some of the landscape was very similar in appearance to western Victoria, the ground was very rocky and the farm fencing was primarily dry stone walling. If you remember your high school geography you will know that there are 3 types of rock: igneous, sedimentary and metamorphic; the plains of western Victoria are volcanic so the scoria rocks there would have been caused by the cooling of lava and so are igneous, the rocks here appeared to be granite and therefore are also igneous but lack the honeycomb type patterns cased by the gasses present in the scoria when it cooled.   The professor of Geology I was to meet in Valencia would have come in handy on that trip.

The instructions on how to get to the Hostel in the email were very easy to follow so checking in and getting rid of my luggage was relatively easy. A quick trip to the tourist office I was then armed with a map so I had a nice walk around the ciudad antigua got some groceries and went back to the Hostel for dinner and to see what I could do for the evening. The Hostel bar was run by an Aussie named Ashley and his very lovely colleague Daphne. Daphne spoke Spanish, frnch and English, Ashley could speak Aussie and some Spanish, his specialty was swearing. I was beginning to see why I was losing my exotic appeal, those bloody Aussies were everywhere. Maybe I should keep to the small towns in which the Aussies don't frequent. The Hostel was very well run, very clean with great facilities and was up with Vertigo in Marseilles as the best so far. I managed to get the shopping done in Spanish Without hesitating so I am clearly improving, the next day in the market was a similar experience.

I found a bar in the ciudad antigua called the Jimmy Glass Bar and they had an act from New York City called the Pete Robbins Quartet. It was a bit of an issue finding it at first as reading a map without glasses in dull street lighting but as I got closer it just became a matter of following my ears. Pete Robbins was not big in stature but he belted out the sounds from his sax like there was no tomorrow. The guitarist, Nickel Plum, was standing in front of Pete in the queue when they were handing out height, his fingers were like lightning on the fretboard, he was playing a very nice hollow body Gibson. The bass player Simón Jermyn, played a 6 string bass which I don't see very often, the fretboard on those things is ultra wide and boy could he play it. The drummer Kevin Brown forced me to actually believe that a drummer can be a musician, he could have done a solo percussion show without a doubt. They all had a chance to demonstrate their talent individually through the various songs and it was another great night of jazz, more upbeat than the Madrid set the previous evening which is not a criticism of either, just a note of difference. They even managed to fit in their own version of Sweet Child of Mine.

Unfortunately when the gig was over it was wet and windy outside and I managed to get myself a bit mixed up in my directions so I stayed out longer than I needed to.

Madrid, short and sweet

The bus to Madrid was again shortened by some blogging and a lot of sleep. There were of course the magnificent views of the landscape and wind farms. Not sure what the fuss is about in Australia about them being a blight on the landscape, I find them a very interesting and reassuring site seeing these things generating electricity without any unwanted by-products and only a small ground footprint. I'm sure the furry, feathery and scaley animals around these things would prefer that than the continued damage caused by our dirty brown coal generators, so would our children. More pontification from the pontificator.

Madrid was only a whistle stop on my way to Valencia. I would have liked to stay longer but I had higher priorities (literally as I plan to visit Televez which is the highest altitude pueblo in Spain). The hostel in Madrid was relatively quiet when I got there. A couple of young Aussies were there, funny I haven't seen many so far, Brendan and Julia had not long finished university and were doing some travel before getting back to the grind of looking for work. The resilience of people in a crisis is a good way of judging character, Julia had her backpack taken from a hire care not long before I arrived and they were hard at work arranging replacement passports, getting clothing and organising themselves to continue their trip. Some people would have dropped their bundle and maybe even jumped on the next plane home but Julia and Brendan put it down to experience, did what they could to remedy the situation and got on with things.

Madrid is a bit of a party town for tourists although that would be unfair on the city as a whole; it has a very vibrant and mature culture but the backpacker scene is definitely slanted to the young party animal. Mathew from County Kerrie in Ireland was one of those party animals, he was at the front of the queue when they were handing out carefree attitudes, his hobbies are drinking alcoholic substances and arm wrestling. James from Iowa in the good old USA is a lieutenant in the army. He had served in Afghanistan as a private. He liked to party also but had a couple of truckloads more self discipline than Mathew, which is not a criticism of Mathew, there was a lot to like about both of them. I showed James the speech from Lieutenant Colonel Tim Colins to his troops prior to the invasion of iraq, it can be found at : http://journal.dajobe.org/journal/2003/03/collins/

It should be compulsory in every officer training course.

Then there was Isabella from New York, she was going to get a tatoo, when she described to me where she was going to get it (I'm talking anatomically not locality here) I suggested that it should be a titoo. I then received a lesson in female anatomy as to where the chest stopped and the breast started, it was a verbal lesson only. She changed her mind later and decided not to get it.

A large group, 15 at least, of young English backpackers descended on the hostel at about 6.00 pm. The whole nature of the place changed in an instant, they were clearly there to hit the night spots and got themselves well primed (as did Mathew) prior to going out.

I spoke to a fellow named Jaoa from Portugal, he spoke Spanish and Brazilian (Joke Joao if you ever read this, we all know the Brazilians speak Portuguese as do the Portuguese which is logical when you think about it). He was a muso and was in the process of organising a Celtic music festival spanning multiple countries, how cool. He pointed me to a place not far from the Hostel where there would be some Jazz, that started at 9.30 pm. In the interim a group of us went to a tapas bar. The problem with going to places mentioned in those lonely planet travel guides is that they are full of people who read lonely planet travel guides so the place was jammed full of bloody tourists. There was one funny moment though when a German tried to have a conversation with me in Aussie, they don't do the accent very well but he knew all the good lines like “gidday mate” and “shit yeah.”

The Jazz bar had a sensational jazz act playing, the pianist had talent oozing out of his pores and the American guest trombonist was a magician. The rest of the band weren't there for the ride either. I had to take a back step in the exotic stakes at the bar, although as I found out being an Aussie in the more populated areas is hardly new for the locals, they are everywhere, Jodie however is a very nice looking and happy go lucky medical student from Alaska. I was going to ask if she had a 3 bedroom brick veneer igloo at home but I didn't want to appear as dumb as I looked so I resisted. Also sitting with us were cousins Guiomar and Nuria. Guiomar is a Doctor working in an emergency ward and Nuria is an architect. Nuria was at a bit of a crossroads career wise and was in the process of upskilling herself so she could use her architectural knowledge for more public good. They both spoke perfect English and Spanish of course. We were then joined by David another local but he was working in Scandinavia, he is also a blogger so take a look, go to blogspot and search for David Gambarte. Another Dutchman joined us whose name I did not get, he had the ability to talk a lot but he did have a very interesting past so it was all very worth listening to. The Pianist was Guiomar's piano teacher, I wonder if she could play as good as him.

After the band finished we stayed around chatted for quite some time, eventually Guiomar left as she had to be in a fit state to work the next morning, and I suppose with a job like hers it pays to be in control.

Unfortunately it was not a great sleep that night, the poms arrived in very noisey dribs and drabs and Isabella got up early to travel elsewhere. It did not matter that much however as I was due on the bus at 10.00 am. I'm not sure that I gave Madrid as much credit in my mind as I should have, I met some great people and I'm sure if I stay away from the party tourists I could make my next visit longer.

Salamanca day 2

First full day in Salamanca and I had to make the most of that card. I was up early and headed into Plaza Mayor for breakfast and coffee. Inside the square there was a brass band warming up and they were shortly joined by more. Within about 30 minutes there were about 10 bands lined and one at a time they marched out of the square through the streets playing their instruments and dressed in their very elaborate and colourful uniforms. There was quite a large crowd and quite a bit of competition for prime photo locations. It was like the running of the bulls except there were bands instead of bulls. People would stand directly in their path and snap away and remove themselves at the last possible second. The whole spectacle was unexpected which probably added to the pleasure.

What I did fail to do the previous evening though was record the hours of opening for the various places, my well planned route became a number of cross town journeys and even then I only managed to use the card on three of the locations as the rest were either free or ones in which I had no hope of making because their hours of opening were too short and clashed with higher priority locations. I had managed to squeeze about the half the value of the card before the bloody siesta caught me out again, and of course being a Sunday the places did not reopen, oh well an expensive souvenir.

At 2.30 it was time to find a bar to watch the Liverpool game, unfortunately I could only find the Spanish games being shown in the bars and by now the blisters on my poor old right foot were getting a bit painful so I trudged back wondering what the result of the game would be. I stopped at the bar around the corner from the hostel for a coffee and saw they were showing the game I wanted, unfortunately I had spent so much time looking in other places it only had 30 minutes left, but that was enough to satisfy me for a while, in two weeks I get to see them live.

Earlier when I walked around I noticed that there were floodlights. In the paths around the more grand buildings. A walk around at night confirmed that and the various cathedrals and plazas were lit up which made for a some great photo opportunities. After that is was back to the dorm to upload photos and get some sleep for my trip to Madrid the following day.

A young lady from Madrid was the only one left that evening, Stephanie is originally from the island of Sardinia and speaks Italian, Spanish and a little English, she was doing work experience in Madrid and was in Salamanca for a weekend away. She spent the day touring a town near the Portuguese border. When she saw the photos of the brass bands marching through town she exclaimed hoy! In Spanish hoy means today, it is pronounced exactly the same as an Aussie would say oi. Oi is used to get someones attention, oi you! In Spanish you would use oiga, which literally means hear me. Even though my Spanish is improving every day I still can only think in English which means I then have to go through a translation process in my head then speak the words. When I hear someone speak I have to identify the words familiar to me, translate them in my head and piece together something meaningful, I very rarely understand the entire sentence but I get the gist of what they say. Which is of course a long way of saying that I thought Stephanie said oi which was a strange response until the wheels in my head did a few laps and I realised she said hoy in a surprised voice because she did not realise that was happening that morning in the Plaza. We also had a good laugh about sir snore-a-lot and were quite happy that he was on a plane to Germany, over there they call it yodelling.

There was time for one more unexpected event in Salamanca. At about 2 am I again heard snoring and immediately blamed Stephanie, in with the ear plugs and it was then a broken sleep frequently disturbed by the snoring of Stephanie, or so I thought. Sometime in the night, and it was after midnight as that is when I went to sleep, a new guest managed to sneak into the room and claim the bed in the corner near Stephanie's, it was that chap who was impersonating a drove of pigs. In any event I left for the bus stop prior to either of them waking up so I left Stephanie in the room with the drove of pigs and went to the bus stop to go to Madrid.

Salamanca

It was an early bus from Vallodalid the next morning but I was happy to be out, staying in a hotel is not very social so I didn't meet anyone and the town did not really offer a great deal. A few hours later I was in Salamanca, I immediately loved the town when I saw a street sign that said turn right for Portugal.

I did not have any breakfast prior to leaving Vallodalid so I ordered a vegetable sandwich at the cafe in the bus station. I was not exactly sure what to expect from a vegetable sandwich and technically I could not fault the lettuce and asparagus but tomato is a fruit and egg is neither a fruit or a vegetable. I suppose if the resultant life form that would have been produced had the egg been fertilised been severely brain damaged then it could be classed as a vegetable. There were two problems with that though, the first is that it would have been pure speculation and required the passing of a lot of variables between fertilisation and birth, the second is that the word vegetable would be describing the quality of life of the hen or rooster after birth, not a noun labelling of the muscle tissue as meat; so I rejected any thought of the egg being classed as a vegetable. Rejecting the tomato is technical but it is a fruit as are pumpkin and melons and anything else where you eat the seed and or the seed container.

They use the white variety of asparagus in Spain as opposed to the green variety that is predominant in Australia. Now to a mind like mine the white asparagus resembles an organ that is commonly found on male people, uncommonly found on females and commonly found on people claiming to be females. The name white asparagus is not really accurate, it is more of a flesh tone. The fact that about 2 cm of this phallic vegetable was sticking out of the bread made the first bite very awkward indeed.

It was about a 2 kilometre walk to the Hostel which was a bit laboured with the backpack weighing me down, but the sites of the town made the walk an absolute delight; the old town is almost entirely constructed of the bone coloured stone and magnificently preserved, there was enough urban decay to keep me happy as well and they even made use of some of this decay as a feature. If Adelaide is the city of churches then this place is the city of Adelaides, they were everywhere and each one of them filled with very elaborate stone carvings on the walls, over and around the doorways.

The Hostel was perfectly place on the south west corner of the old town, I was however too early for check in so I dumped my bag with reception and set out camera in hand. First stop was the local bar for some coffee and toast. I know my Spanish is not that good but it's not that good but bloke behind the bar I found very difficult to understand; ordering a coffee and toast was easy enough but the local accent was different to what I was accustomed to and so I had great difficulty with the rest. Things improved somewhat when he asked where I was from and I told him Australia. All of a sudden I was exotic which changed the conversation completely and he started to use simpler words and speak clearer. I had not been exotic for a couple of days now and was starting to have withdrawal symptoms and suffering from relevance deprivation syndrome.

There are not many English speaking Spanish people in Salamanca compared with the other towns I have been to. That coupled with the local difference in the way they spoke made life more difficult but was a very cleverly disguised blessing. In the two days I was there my ability to listen and respond improved more than in the previous week.

After a quick coffee and bite at the local bar I zig-zagged my way to the Plaza Mayor (may – your). Plaza Mayor is a big open space surrounded on all 4 sides by an identical structure containing restaurants. The outdoor tables were blazed in sun and there were people everywhere. It was at one of these restaurants where I decided that my difficulty with the language was a local accent, the waiter was just as difficult to understand as the barman but I did get my glass of beer because ordering a beer in Spanish is one thing I can do, I am also extremely practiced in ordering red and white wine.

I must of taken 50 photos in the couple of hours I had and but at about 2.00 pm the siesta caught me out and it was time to check into the hostel and do my laundry. The wireless internet at the Hostel was very poor and could only really be received when standing in reception. I had done a considerable amount of writing on the bus from Vallodalid and more whilst waiting for the washing to be complete but posting it onto my blog was not really practical.

I now know why washing machines a fully automatic; in the hostel situations it is wise to stay with your washing so that when it is complete you can remove it immediately and free up the machine for someone else. I would have hate to have been around in the days when it was manual, it takes a long time, especially when you are using a dryer also.

There is a central market next to the Plaza Mayor from which I got some very nice and extremely strong locally made cheese, it was similar to a parmegiano in texture. I do have a real objection though to these fresh food markets, not just in Spain because we do it in Australia also; The site of obviously still half alive (dead) crabs and lobsters is appalling. We do not have half dead cows or sheep in butchers, if we did people would object at the appalling suffering of the animals, I don't know who decided that the suffering of an animal from the sea is less valid than the suffering of a land creature but I would love to find that person and lie them down on a bed of ice in a market stall for few hours. Every now and again I feel the need to digress slightly so I can pontificate. The cheese and the half empty (wine bottles can never half full unless they are in the process of being filled, a half empty bottle of wine is always a site that can only bring pessimistic thoughts) also helped to fill in time whilst sitting the lavanderia using the lavandera to wash my clothes.

The visual of the town of Salamanca increased my curiosity somewhat about its history so I purchased a Salamanca Card which gave me entry into all museums and places of public interest that required an entry fee. I never used it straight away of course as there was a certain matter of a rugby game being shown on the big screen in the Irish bar near Plaza Mayor. I was amazed at how many local Spanish people like rugby, in Zaragoza there were only about 7-8 people in the bar to watch the game, in Salamanca there were 50-60.

With the game done and dusted, and half of the second game, it was back to the hostel to organise my day for tomorrow. The hostel had 20 bed mixed dorms but people tended to keep within their groups. I went through the guidebook and planned a route through the city to get to the various museums and make the most out of that card for which I paid 16 euros. I had another sir snore-a-lot but not quite the drove in the Zaragoza dorm so the earplugs I saved from the plane trip to Abu Dhabi did the job.

Valladolid day 2

I knew as soon as I was in Europe that I seemed to dress differently to the locals. The people in Milan, Marseilles and every place so far in Spain all dressed better than me, they all had button up shirts, trousers or jeans and jackets, leather jackets are very popular. I wear baggy cargo pants and T shirts almost regardless of the weather. On my first morning in Vallodolid it was 3 degrees Celsius but the sun was up, no clouds and the forecast was 17 degrees, T shit weather. So baggy cargoes, bright yellow T shirt, white cross trainers and out I went. I not only got the usual strange looks from the relatively well dressed and rugged up locals but the attention of the police. Another awkward conversation with my Spanglish and his Spanish I worked out he wanted to know if I was a local. I told him I was a tourist from Australia and that seemed to satisfy him, visual discrimination I call it.

The tourist office was very helpful and before long I was on a bus to the pueblo (village) of Penafiel, the “n” is supposed to have a tilde across the top giving it a “nya” sound, pen-ya-fee-el. At the top of the hill overlooking the pueblo is the magnificent castle built by (for) Don Juan Manuel, he later became a waiter at a small hotel in Torquay England when he was short of cash. No one in this town spoke English so it was a bit of a challenging day, for some reason buying two bananas for breakfast was a bit of a no no as the woman in the shop tried to stop me from breaking two off a bunch:

“Dos solo por favor”
“Dos kilos”
“No dos, para desayuno”

She then muttered something unintelligible and gave me two, never argue with a fruiterer wielding a knife.

The main industry of this town involves repeating a biblical miracle, they change water into wine by pouring it onto grape vines, growing the grapes, harvesting the grapes, crushing them to extract the juice, fermenting it in barrels then putting in a bottle; it's a bloody miracle.

The sensational old castle at the top of the hill is now a wine museum. I was in heaven, the ruins of an old castle surrounded by vino, all I needed was a surf beach out the front and I think I would have stayed there forever.

The siesta caught me out again, I was going to walk around the local wine centres in the town but at 2.00 they all closed, in the end I decided not to wait the 2 hours for them to open again so it was on the bus back to Vallodalid and a lazy afternoon doing not much.

Vallodalid

San Sebastian was the best location so far in Spain, the weather was not kind but I got to walk in the steps of Napoleon and the Duke of Wellington, see some of the most magnificent scenery and meet some great people.

The bus to Vallodolid took over 5 hours, 6 if you include the stops and unfortunately by the time evening came around I had seen everything worth seeing.

I took the opportunity of seeing the doctor at the local community clinic whilst I was there as I had been suffering with a sore throat and ear. I rehearsed my lines impeccably:

“Tengo dolor en mi garganta y oreja”

But of course when it came time to use them in anger I fluffed them somewhat and had to play mimes to get the ear included. I also stuffed up a bit (lot) in the conversation, I didn't realise it at first but the very attractive young female doctor did; in Spanish “but” is pero and “dog” is perro, the difference is the roll of the double R. So I spent the entire stuttered conversation saying dog instead of but. It all comes from overcompensating, not being used to rolling the R I tend to practice it a lot and it becomes almost a habit to do. Note to self.....

A brief drink and tapas and early night was required, for some reason the bus trip tired me out.

San Sebastian day 2

The following day I walked in the opposite direction up a hill and along some country lanes. If you replace the eucalypts in the dandenongs with birch and oak then it would be quite similar. I'm not a horticulturalist or agriculturalist or any sort of culturalist for that matter, I do know beetroot when I see it however and that was beetroot growing through the cracks in the sidewalk. There was a little isolated spot that people used to offload their crap instead of disposing of it properly, people do shit in their own backyard here also.

After a very long and tiring walk it was good to get back for some lunch. There was a small matter of booking a bus ticket and getting some food on the way. It is actually very relieving to talk to someone with no English skills whatsoever because it puts the onus on me to speak Spanish. Finding the bus stop was easy and after a brief conversation with a local and the application of the very useful “habla mas lento pro favor” I found the ticket office just around the corner. A brief stop at the most magnificent delicatessen for some rice, mushrooms and bread and a cheap bottle of red it was back to the hostel. On the way back there was a hardware shop with a cork screw that fits onto a drill, when I get home I'm going to get one of them, I could fit it to my air drill and keep my compressor in the kitchen.

A new pair of poms had arrived in my absence; Kiera from Devon and Mim from Nottingham. It was disappointing that kiera wasn't chewing on a piece of straw and wearing an old straw hat, I though everyone in Devon did that. They were wwoofing which stands for World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms. According to http://www.wwoof.org/

“In return for volunteer help, WWOOF hosts offer food, accommodation and opportunities to learn about organic lifestyles”

Cheap farm labour by the sounds of it, in the USA they call them Mexicans.

Kiera had an issue with her rear bike brake so after lunch I went out to take a look, my conclusion was it needed a new cable so Kiera had to take it to the bike shop. I then set out on another walk in the opposite direction from the morning stroll. I did notice what looked like a light house on top of a hill on the peninsula to the west of the old town. The walk was very steep past the rich houses along a road that did not really cater for pedestrians. At the top was a fairground of sorts, the cloud was very low and the park was not operating. They still charged me 1 euro 80 to get in, why I'm not sure, I suppose if it keeps the gate keeper in employment then I don't mind paying.

Walking around a deserted amusement park in low lying cloud is a very eerie thing to do. I half expected a clown to come out chasing me with a chainsaw whilst laughing uncontrollably, the fact that it was a bit of a disappointment when one didn't made me question my sanity somewhat. There were some ruins at the bottom of the cliff that looked like they had a track leading down to them. I walked along the road in the general direction of the ruins and found there was another entry gate at the other end of the park. After another difficult conversation with the other gatekeeper who assured me that San Sebastian was down that road I felt safe to take that course of action. If she was wrong of course I would have had to pay another 1.80 to backtrack.

About 1 km down the road I found the track to the ruins, it was a goat track at best and made me wish I had proper hiking boots if only for the grip. It took only 10 minutes of walking to the site, it would have been only 5 if the goat track had some grip; it appeared to be a landing harbour for row boats but I could not find anything on google, and if google doesn't know then who does? Walking back up the goat track was just as treacherous but in the end I managed both directions without mishap.

Kiera got her bike fixed and it was the brake cable, I love being right. Some cheese and cheap red wine and back to the pub to watch Real Madrid v Lyon. I had a 7.40 bus trip to Vallodolid the next morning so it was a very easy night.

San Sebastian

The bus to San Sebastian was about 4 hours but it went very quickly thanks to copious amounts of sleep. The hostel was different to the others, more like a shared apartment. Christina, Gordon and Sarah were the hosts, Gordon and Sara were American.

An immediate tour of the town was in order, old buildings, urban decay and a surf beach, what more do I need, sun! At the top of a hill overlooking the entrance to the harbour there is a fort built by Napolean; well not by Napolean personally, I'm sure he, like Augustos, had access to cheap labour. I'm not sure how the Duke of Welly managed to kick the French out it was certainly a robust and imposing structure with a number of canons. The battle that saw Napolean defeated at San Sebastian destroyed the old town and it was rebuilt in the early 1800s.

The local Basque language is totally different from the Spanish languuage. They use the letter x a lot and they form their letters differently, if I had to guess I would say it had Greek origins but no one could tell me and factual information about the origin of the language. They have a strange drink here called Kolimotxo (kol-ee-mo-cho) which is red wine and coke, not sure what they see in it personally it made a perfectly good drop of red taste like a perfectly bad drop of red mixed with coke.

It was off the bar that evening with a young German chap and Gordon and Sarah from the Hostel to watch football. We were later joined by a French/Canadian couple from the hostel and a pair of Russians ladies. This was very exciting to me because when I got asked a question with a “yes” answer I got to say jawohl, oui, da, si to cover all basis. I can't claim to have invented the line, infact it came from an episode of Get Smart, but I think I could claim to be the first one to have used it legitimately.

Zaragoza day 2

The collective noun for pigs is drove; one of the people sharing my dorm sounded like a drove of pigs the way he snored. I was in and out of sleep until 4.00 am when I gave up and slept on a couch downstairs. I found the other two room mates having breakfast later in the morning complaining about the drove of pigs in the room. the weather was also quite bad so it was time to get out the running gear and jog around the town.

Parque Tio Jorge was very impressive and shortly after I was running along a path that followed the Grand Imperial Canal. Whilst the Canal was impressive I think if I were a Ceaser I would have built it wider than the river, not because it was necessary but because I could. I'm sure Augustos had access to cheap labour, but he did choose practicality over vanity on this occasion. Not much to see running west, an old shot tower that I concluded was used during the inquisition, if you drop the head of a non believer from the top it would be perfectly catholic by the time it reached the bottom. Running in the other direction there were some more Roman sites but after two and a half hours of running my legs were telling me it was time to go back.

Another cold shower then off to the Estacion di autobus to book a fare to San Sebastian. I found that the busses were about one third of the fare of the trains which was worth the extra hour or so in travel time. The train from Barcelona to Zaragoza was 55 euros whilst the bus to San Sebastian was only 22 euros. That sorted and Zaragoza done it was time for a lazy evening, i found out that the drove of pigs was still staying in the hostel so the staff kindly gave me a single room at no extra cost; sleep was somewhat easier that night.

I am finding however a less social clientèle in the hostels as the trip goes on.

A wet Lazy day in Barcelona and a trip to Zaragoza

Sunday was a lazy day mainly due to rain. I managed to get myself a local SIM fro my mobile phone thanks to the very helpful Dani from the Vodaphone shop. Although he spoke good english we managed to get the job done in spanish, es muy importante hablo Espanyol, pero habla mas lento por favor. I booked accomodation in Zaragoza and a train then walked around the main town, some washing back at the hostel and an evening in the bar with Ronald. Anna came by and had a drink with us but had exams the following Monday so was not in a position to indulge, diet coke only. It did seem like a bit of a waste spending the day not doing much it was good to slow down for one day (if not the evening).

Bye Bye Barca

Barcelona Sants Estacion has security like an airport. No one was allowed on the platforms until just before boarding and baggage was put through an x-ray device. There were a lot of Americans on the trip and a few locals and one hombre exotico. The train reached a very impressive 300 kilometres per hour and I got to Zaragoza very quickly. Some directions to the hostel from the very helpful lady at the officina di tourismo, a short bus ride and a short walk later I found the hostel. This is getting easier.

Zaragoza is an amazing place, as long as i can walk down down narrow streets with blistered feet and take pictures of old things then I am happy. The Roman ruins are gave me some excellent photo opportunities and some of the more recent buildings weren't far behind. Once again God had the prime real estate, I wonder how his property portfolio went during the GFC. The more recently built bridge of the river was a rather plain structure whereas the one that was built quite some time earlier by the Romans was an absolutely magnificent structure structure of stone with imposing arches.

I ended up in an Irish pub again to watch the rugby, England v Scotland. The poor barman was Scottish and had to put up with a bar full of poms whilst expecting to be on the receiving end of a flogging. As it turned out the match was quite close but that didn't stop the patrons from giving the barman a hard time. After a brief chat with Merick and his lovely girlfriend Vincenta I went back to the Hostel. Merick was a pom living in Zaragoza; he worked as an English teacher and and was a singer in a band, even poms can be interesting.

The basement to the hostal was a large open room with an arched roof. They had a Jazz evening going.I got some Spanish lessons from Ella and Blanka, a couple from Zaragoza who were both intensive care doctors at the local Hospital. The band was fronted by Natalia Calderon who had a great voice and looked good in the process. I recommend everyone check out her music at myspace, natliacalderonjazz, very worthwhile.

Barcelona Day 1

I met my room mate the next morning, he arrived when i was asleep but was very considerate. His name was Dag, pronounced daaarg, if he ever visits Australia he will be most grateful that dag is also used as a term of endearment. Dag was from Sweden and was heading to Lisbon with his bike for 2 weeks riding. He never quite made it day one however as there was only one train on which he was allowed to take his bike and that had left. He was succesful day 2 however, I hope he had better weather at his destination location than Barcelona was having.Australian farts smell differently that Spanish farts, I know this because everyone on the bus was giving me strange looks and visually accusing me of being the offender who released the distasteful odour in the bus. They were correct of course but I'm not sure how they decided it was the bloke in the red T shirt. I suppose if you are going to fart in a crowded bus then you have to face the consequences. In my defence however it was an accident and society was to blame.

Parque Gaudi was the first stop via autobus numero sessenta y cuatro. I have been teaching myself Spanish for a while now but this was the first chance to test it on native Spanish speakers. My most useful phrase taught to me by the very helpful, and as I was later to find out the most social, Ronald was habla mas lento por favor or speak more slowly please. Ronald was a native of the Netherlands and spoke dutch, English, Spanish and French. The bus stop was only 5 minutes walk from the hostel as was the excellent metro system, so far the 3 cities I have been in are spoiled for public transport, Melbourne could learn a lot from these cities although the population densities no doubt change the economics.

The evil bus driver took me about 2 kilometres past my stop which was entirely my fault of course, but blame shifting is a good way make yourself feel better when you stuff up. I back tracked on foot to Parque Gaudi, the 2 kilometres was not an issue but it was unfortunately uphill also. I hope none of those blisters on my feet burst, I could imagine walking would be quite painful if that happened. The parque was bursting with tourists; it was an amazing spectacle of architecture and the mosaics were absolutely captivating. One added advantage of the location was the commanding views over the city of Barcelona. The tiered gardens were also quite magnificent. The place was alive with flamenco guitarists and people selling crappy souvenirs probably made in China.

One interesting fact that came out of the trip to Parque Gaudi was that the higher up you go the fewer American and Japenese tourists there are. When I got to the top tier of the park to take some scenery photos there was a complete absence of them.

The remainder of my day was mainly walking downhill through some very social plazas, and through the beautiful old town district. Lunch was at a cafe called Bember where they spoke very little english. One of the things I had to ask people was to please talk to me in Spanish so I could continue the learning process. This wasn't a problem in Bember in fact the reverse was true, trying to get tapas vegetariano proved to be a lengthy affair but I got there in the end. The waiter, Nestor, came over later to find out where I was from, he did speak some english and proved a very useful teacher. Some blanched almonds, vegetable soup, mushrooms and two glasses of vino blanco later it was time to go. The staff kindly posed for a photo as I left.

The main market in Barcelona was the highlight of the day, the mushroom stall had some very strange varieties that we would not see in Australia (and some we would). I'm sure with enough time and patience you could poke a stick at all of them but you would need lots of both. The stall holders had a definite sense of artistry in the way they arrange their fruit and vegetables, it seemed a shame to buy them and upset the . Next door was "Hogan's" an aussie bar in Barcelona. They had Fosters Lager on tap but apart from that and the plastic crocodile on the wall it was not really very aussie. The two bar staff were also not from Australia, Ursula was from Slovenia and Lisa from Sweden; the Irish bar in Marseille at least had more than one Irish beer on tap. I bought an Argentinian beer solely because I have never had it before and left a short time later. Not that there was anything wrong with the place in general but I was there to look at Barcelona not the inside of an Aussie bar with a Jewish owner staffed by a Slovenian and a Swede serving Argentinian beer to poms.

The old part of the City of Barcelona is made up of beautiful old buildings shading narrow lanes. The general cleanliness of the place was a start contrast to Marseille and Milan. Milan wasn't that dirty, just full of dog poo; Marseille had slightly less dog poo (and one slightly flattened dog poo) but there was a fair amount of rubbish in the streets. Barcelona had no dog poo or rubbish, the former of which was probably assisted by relatively small number of dogs compared with the other two cities.


New Room mate Ronald and I went to a bar near the hostel for some relaxing drinks and food in the evening.  Ronald spoke Spanish, Dutch and French and is a wallpaper hangeruperer, he does not like the title interior decorator because they have a reputation that he was not willing to have associated with himself.  For some reason the poem from Robert Lowell called "Skunk Hour" sprung to mind because of the line

"And now our fairy decorator brightens his shop for fall." 

So Ronald hangs wallpaper, not the cheap stuff you get in a local hardware but a high quality vinyl product with a very intricate textured mosaic pattern.  He was in Barcelona hanging paper in a fertility clinic, his description of the interior of the clinic made it sound a very interesting place.  Ronald also plays curling, so his denials about his sexuality are on shakey ground but he still gets the benefit of the doubt supported by evidence of his wandering eyes when nice young ladies walk through the bar.

We were Joined by Romina, a tennis coach originally from Essex in England but living locally and Anna who was an engineering student in Barcelona.  I'm not sure what the English know about tennis, apart from being the inventors of the game, but Spain has been far more succesful in recent (and not so recent) times.  I'm not sure if Romina is the reason for their success but if I were her I would be making that claim.  Romina could speak Spanish and English of course, Anna could speak Spanish, French and, despite her claims that she was not that good at it, quite good English.  We got back to the hostal at about 1.30 am but we had to be quiet as Dag was sound asleep.  It was a big day and the blisters on my feet were getting bigger.