Sipping up Spain

Sent: 17 April 2006 02:33:46 PM

I know it's been a while and worry that if someone were to off me over here, no one would ever know - or in fact know not to send the authorities off to Spain! But in Portugal now, loving it 'muchly' and now will take on the task of trying to exploit some of the highest and lowest moments of my life, so here goes... get comfy.

So we arrived at Stanstead airport (uk) to join the snaking Ryan Air queues, got to the front and quoted my secret code (I'm still a big skeptic at these internet transactions, just waiting for some nasty man to ask me to 'prove it') in return for a bit of paper. It caught my eye that this bit of paper daringly lacked a seat number. This had happened before, I recalled, when I had gone to Prague. And yes, similarly, when it was time to board, the air hostess lifted the fun fair rope as we all dashed in to find a seat and pulled the bar down awaiting our fun ride.

So we landed in Barcelona. Well, actually we landed an hour outside of Barcelona-see that's the sneaky ploy, to make you spend that money you saved being thrifty on other modes of transport to arrive in anywhere sporting a traffic light, tarred road - town-like really.

So we met the night time breeze as we stepped out the mini-me station, looking about, both sure what for as we had no idea where to head to next. There we found Marissa, or rather were found by her. She was an Australian, from Australia apparently, though she'd been traveling through Mexico the last 8 months. In a mixture of disgust and delight I recognised her as a traveller-extraodinaire. Sure the back pack was a giveaway but apart from that she had the old, tattered clothes and - gasp - the dreadlocks. Those would not be easy to obtain.

As she toked on her own-rolled cigarette (see pg 57 in Traveler Guru) she spoke a bit about how she hadn't worked, just traveled and now was going to do Spain then go home. I wanted to prod her, maybe sniff her hair but was too frightened I'd catch something, and sure I saw some movement in there that was not her own. So from a safe distance I asked where she'd be spending the night, waiting for the romantic under a bridge version. 'Oh, I've booked a night at hostel Kabul - very lively backpackers in the city'. Bitch. 'Oh yeah, we were planning on staying there too, you know if, there's space, otherwise we'll look for a bridge' I lied, laughing forcibly. I think she noticed. I continued, 'Cool. So how'd you travel so long without working?' 'I worked like a mother f#cker before I left' Sniff. blink blink 'Oh, cool.'

So we hopped on a bus and then went about looking for the square the hostel was a part of. We pushed Marissa forward to ask for directions but she said she spoke Spanish, not Catalan. 'Oh yeah, of course' a replied, thinking what the f#ck - aren't we in Spain. But even so, she managed to Catalan us in the right direction and we set off on a dirty metro.

We searched a five-sided 'square' and saw Kabul, well heard it first really. For the second time that night I was both delighted and disgusted as we entered a room filled with smoke and drinks and music and laughter. Now nearing midnight we were anxiously waiting in a queue to find out if there were any open beds. The last two beds in a dorm were ours for the taking. I gave Kylie a knowing smile saying 'Oh yeah, 6 or 8 people, don't worry, it's pretty normal.' 'Sorry, what's that? 18 - 18 PEOPLE IN OUR DORM?? Oh yeah, cool, whatever.' So we left Marissa and didn't see her again.

So we lugged our bags up the stairs to the fifth floor, the elevator pinging down the hall. Awesome. The man behind the counter explained how our bathroom was a floor down. Fantastic. We went towards the dorm door and opened it. In the darkness we could see that none of the little leprechaun bunk beds had the midgets in them, found ours and sighed. We took out our jarmies, locked our bags in the lockers squashed between the beds, and tottled down stairs.

First priority was food, which we found rather shoddy in a dried roll with a slice of salami. I looked at the man and again at the vibrant fresh picture on the menu and back to my fossilized dome. I sighed, we ate, and went back to the lively room for a bit of fun before bed. We played some pool and chatted to a few people - meeting one Russian, 2 Ozzies, an American (eegh), a German and someone who's English was so bad we still don't know his origin.

It was near 3am when we climbed into bed and the fact that half our dorm beds were still empty worried me - and rightly so. The rest of the night our room was a station, of continuous comings and goings so that we might have only got a 15 minute nap - well might have if I didn't feel like I was sleeping in a bucket- Kylie saying how here feet stuck over the edge-she's half my size!

Anyway the next day we grumpily set off deciding we had to get out of the main city, and we did, finding ourselves on a 1 o'clock train to Zaragoza, to stay for a night en route to Pamplona. Zaragoza was a bit of a non entity, so just fill in whatever you like here - blah blah blah - the next day we arrived in Pamplona.

Pamplona was, for some reason, a city that warmed to us both immediately - and became the first city to remind us why exactly we were traveling. The charismatic little streets spilling off the dazzling squares took us on friendly walks, and we eventually found a little place we decided to stay. With my charades improving I had the confidence to shop around a little to find a place that was, although the bathroom was down the hall, was magic. The 2nd floor room looked out onto a side street of the Main Square and cascades of noises and thrilling rumbles wafted into the room, diffusing into our souls. Little handfuls of marching bands wafted past our teeny balcony as we both squashed out to see them pass by - apparently celebrating another victory for the Olympic hand ball team or something. Yes, perhaps we'll stay here for a few days.