Last bit of Spain

02 June 2006

So last off was a vague description of the bull fight in Madrid, yes they do kill the bulls-they apparently don't in Portugal but not sure how that works, must be a big paddock where all the worn out bulls go... Surely they'd learn if they were used again - wait a minute, I've seen that guy in the frilly pink tights before... yup, not liking this - though I suppose they wouldn't really do much else anyway.

So after a few mixed feelings in the group of the national sport we'd just experienced, we went off and had a good meaty hamburger and a toast to the bulls. Found other things to toast too, and before we knew it we were dancing in some funny underground R and B club, sampling more of the local beverages and making merry. By now our little group had become quite a fun huddle of mismatched travelers, and our last night together we had a great time.

The next morning everyone set out in different ways to follow beaten tracks - John and Alex went off to hunt down the sneaky car park and perhaps set off for Lisbon-though both have remarkable tendencies to get side-tracked, Sean went off to Seville to see a bit more of Spain and Kylie and I, feeling thoroughly trodden on, made our weary way to the bus station to haul arse back to Barcelona for our last two nights in Spain.

We were a pathetic huddle once again at a station, as we waited for a bus a few hours away. We felt rather grim, exhausted, happy from the past few days but quite beaten actually. With the immune system dozing a nasty cold snuck in and well it was probably a good idea we were on the long trail home, well to England, closest home for now.

The bus pulled up and after wearily swatting away a rather peculiar Nigerian who had decided it was love at first sight, boy was he wrong, we climbed on the bus and sat through another day's travel.

Barcelona we once again headed for Kabul-the packed hostel we'd vowed never to return to. It's a funny thing that, we now understood why people do go back there, to share stories, to give advice, to scoff at the virgin travelers with clean clothes, to laugh over the crap times, remember the awesome times, but also as a sense of closure- feeling how things might have changed for us, how we looked at things there before and after we'd seen more. Besides, we'd sleep like logs how we felt and it was the only one we knew where to crawl to when the bus came in at midnight.

So we checked in and played a game or two of pool before working our way to bed. The night was rather random and dreams mingled with people wheeling bicycles in and out of the dorm as they left for the 'trick bike championships' - whoopeee.

The next day we went over to the Picasso museum. It was great to see because I've always felt a bit lost when looking at Picasso's work, in how people might view his shattered images as 'art', but it was great to see the entire collection, his simple line drawings packed with emotion, and his beautiful paintings before what I can only imagine was a drunk and drugged phase, as I still can't appreciate the cut up crap. His earlier work, however, was gorgeous - but like he said 'When I was a child, I could draw like a man. It was only when I grew older, that I learned to draw like a child'.

We walked about and collected a few things here and there, found out the hostel fee included a big tasty dinner (thanks for mentioning it the other nights guys) as well as a free Flamenco show. Here there were spotlights, two singers, a drummer and both a male and female performer. The guy was fantastic - a black guy, but he danced with such conviction, his feet a blur.

The next day all that was left was to pack our bags for the last time in Spain, and make our way over to Girona Airport, out in the sticks. We shuffled along the terminal, smiling lazily as we pondered our travels through Spain and Portugal. Kylie was a good travel partner, as we were that little push of strength for each other when it was needed. We laughed a lot, gritted our teeth through a few tough times but no tears, and squabbles were few, so I couldn't have asked for a better lot. XXXPart of me was relieved to walk into Stanstead airport, returning to familiarity, though part still wandered about the streets of Spain, looking for anything we'd missed, people we didn't meet and adventures that were hiding out there. I think in everything a bit of you is left to dwell, and in return you get some awesome memories to dabble in every now and then. But life goes on, and so must ours, as we head to our promised places on the apple farm!