24th February, 2013
Time was supposed to have come to a stand still once I’d left South America, and in a sense it kind of did. The dream was over, and I’d fortified my chances of keeping on in good spirits when I boarded that fateful flight back in Buenos Aires. I had no intentions of smashing on with this blog, and for a fair ol’ stretch of two months, more or less, I ceased to do so. Yet backed surprisingly by a dedicated audience now stretching around the globe, and prospected with renewed hibernational isolation - having little else to do but gnaw down upon kilos of sticky dates late at night in a scungy Moroccan brothel, I settled upon this inevitable moment & rewound the clock. Ready to roll!! So now if you’d excuse me, lets swoop back through that time travelling haze we’re all so unfamiliar with, to recreate the foreword for how this epiphanatical mess of mine initially came about!!
Everyone had pre-warned me of my disregard to the obvious. “Why the heck are you travelling to Europe in the thick of winter?!!” I thought I knew better than everyone after all- a trail blazing, ‘world educated’ hero. “Dudes…I’m checking into Spain!! Beach bound buddy!!” Well fuck me…I sure wasn’t inRio no more!! I knew something was up the moment I crash landed on the tarmac. The skies were grim, the airstrip was soaked. Add that to a ‘first world’reverse serving hangover and I found myself pleading for forgiveness – or was it mercy?? The rail system beneath Madrid airport was the most advanced I had ever seen!! I could sip my agua straight from a sink, and flush my paper down a waste pipe without my chow rushing back up to meet me. And it was freeeeezing!! I’d spaced out. There I was, fresh in the February frosts, decked out in nothing spare a self-tattered beater, some sun-stained short-shorts, and a flashy red pair of Havaianas. Shoot me!! Now what?? I thought this was a land in crisis?? Goes to show two hundred years of Australian ingenuity doesn’t account for much. I found my hostel, flirted with the Portuguese receptionist, and passed out like a day raving coke addict. Europe could wait…and I’d have to go shopping.
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| 'La Familia Cathedral' |
Leggings were my main priority the following day. A strapping black pair of skinnys should fix me up well and true!! I still couldn’t believe I was succumbing to this, but these pins of mine hadn’t been this cold since my last week-long Tassie mountain escapee. Geared up, I was good to go - and consequently got dragged along on some free walking tour of the city by a thigh slapping jolly German. Despite lacking any real optimism, the tour was actually quite insightful & very useful for future orientation. Our kiwiguide appeared pretty drained; but with the help of some sensitive sarcasm, transformed a bunch of old bricks & stone into a labyrinth of interest and productivity. Barcelona was indeed pretty rad, and I began to wholly accept my muddled decision. Further more, when I rambled back into the hostel – there was Grün!! Dwarfed by her monstrous bloat jacket, and glistening with an illustrious un-travel worn flair! It was great to see a familiar face. But then again, I could sense the impeding chaos. It must have been close to five months since we’d worked together back in Cusco- so as one can imagine, we had a lot of catching up to do. And what better a way to do so than over a few too many pints of Spanish cerveza!! Grünhadn’t drunk at all since she’d left South America!!...a thought that troubled my own poor kidney. This was going to get messy!! We munched a big bowl of characterised nachos & debilitated our way through an enormous block of kinder surprise choco; at least before being joined by our German pal from earlier. Now, as it turned out – this karate kid had some sharp moves under his belt…errrr?? Yep!! You know when someone shows a keen interest in a singular activity, and at first it comes across as kinda cool??...until at least you realise that this freak has nothing else to offer what so ever in life, and won’t drop the bottle until it consumes him. This simply becomes blatantly depressing. KarateKid was soon flipping, rolling & punching the air like Lu Kang in no time; it’s little wonder no one else in the hostel seemed in any way inclined to hang out with us. At first I thought Grün wanted in on part of the action (and this misconception I must add, goes and gets us all into some trouble a bit later on) – but for now let’s just settle on the fact that ‘I had friends.’ No matter how strange they might be…we’re all a tad off in some way or another surely…??
So!! What was with all this!! Snow on the hills, surfers in the water?? I had to place the two together. My first ‘dip’ in the Mediterranean became nothing more than a salty hand rinse. But hang on…what was that?? Watch out women, here come the wide-wheeled warriors!! There is nothing more bad ass than a hipster on a low riding pushbike!! Bunny hopping madness. Truth. After the success of the previous days walking tour, we all felt obliged to expand upon our foot stomping horizons. And what does one get when you shake together architectural genius, acid tripping meltdowns and one whopper of a Catalonian hangover?? An injectiual overdose from Mr Gaudi himself!! What a marvel!! I can’t say I’ve ever been utterly gobsmacked by a sole piece of Christian invention before – that was at least until I first layed eyes upon the towering landmark of Barcelonaitself, ‘La Familia Cathedral.’ To the heavens it soars; draped in deep sombred decoration. What was even more impressive, was the fact that it was still supposedly decades away from final completion.
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| Grün & I tequilla slammin!! |
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| Wide-wheeled warriors!! |
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| Penis'ed in the streets of Barcelona |
Until next time...laterz...
The Coastal Caravan, Valencia
27th February, 2013
The Coastal Caravan, Valencia
27th February, 2013
Recalling a raucous on rewind…?? Free train tickets, back flipping break dancers & minty fresh breath under the intimidating watch of an oddly crafted piece by Picasso. The bleak gates to Barcelona’s medieval city complex looked down and laughed as another pointless hangover ate away at my being - caught in a daze, still lingering from a trans-Atlantic crossing. I’m sure I’ll never acquire the photos from this afternoon (the phattest shame of them all from this soon to be downward spiralling friendship), but let’s just say it was an aesthetically disturbing yet amusing display at the same time. We hurried off in due course, bussing through the seemingly never ending ‘fields’ of semi-city & suburb, occasionally hugging the coastline to enjoy the vast vistas of Mediterranean lifestyle. Grün was out to it; mouth a gasp & snorting vicariously. Yummo. I had to giggle. Such a pair of misfits. We had become a tantalizing duo, with only a cling-man to boast. Strange days beckoned.
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| Brand-spankin' new kicks!! |
“Las fallas!!” What the bloody hell was ‘las fires??’ Yeaaaa…I get my Spanish still isn’t quite the best but I can have a pretty decent conversation by now. “So what is with all these dudes in creepy yet colourful medieval getup??” The taxi driver looked bewildered by my own bewilderment. “Las Fallas!!” Ahh, no shit!! The entire city was swarming with mobs. I thought some political meltdown was taking place, and somehow we were caught up in a fix of history. To this day I am still oblivious to the meaning of the Valencian Las Fallas Festival. I feel most Valencians are indeed clueless to its actual origins. In hindsight we probably should have jumped cab & joined the party. Or better yet, wait till I’d been stuffed with Subway sandwich & reunited with KarateKid, to make life a whole lot happier. The labyrinth like streets confused me, and I was ice-bitingly cold. Short-shorts are not a happy European winter option as we have previously discussed.
To be completely honest, much of my memory from the time spent in that city has well & truly become diluted. I can’t recall much from my first night in the hostel. However, what I can remember of course was meeting a fine little Argentinean doctor, who I ended up dragging to the devils doorstep, only to have the gates barred and barricaded over the next two days in a relentless display of blue-balled affection. The woes of a wandering warrior. We also met an Australian girl from god-knows-where-in whoop-whoop land. She ended up wasted on the hostel steps, engulfed in the arms of our kung-fu’ing tag-along, who as it turned out indeed had a girlfriend back home he didn’t want these women to know about. Ohhh hail the lady slayer!! I really don’t think she’ll be coming back for more, and ol’ Grün here now sure won’t be wanting a bar of it. He’d been dealt the Turkish wrath. I blame his clean shaven arm pits.
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| Getting all 'cultured' at the flamenco |
We gave him some leeway. By the morning he’d taken off and left us with some 7th grade social-suicide letter, addressed in a way which was supposedly meant to let us dwell on our wrongdoings and his dismissal, yet in turn only really made us realise how much of a baby faced fool he actually was. Chinks in the square. Stuttgarts finest. Yes. Now, that’s enough of my rant. Despite this little row, Valencia dealt us up some crackin’ good times!! I got to juggle oranges with a giant concrete Pope; we won the hearts of more Latina goddesses; and jived the nights away to the sounds of flamenco wailers & stern faced twirlers.
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| Juggling oranges with the Pope |
We even made it to the beach!! Now this time was fo real!! That water stung, but it had to be done. A radiant sky shone blue & inviting, yet surprisingly those sands were fair near vacant! Fast forward four or five months and most of northern Europe will be sprawled along these artificial stretches. I loved & lapped-up those chilly hours along with sidekick Grün & my Argentinean mistress; my bare feet breathing free once again…bliss. But like for most of my frantic get-about on this continent, time & money was running short. We were once more prodded & propelled forward, in that never ending venture south in search of fun & sun. I had to comply. I needed a job…and aqui en España there was at present little optimism. All I could do was live it while it lasted…combing down the coast in our cooped-up caravan.
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| Beach combing in Valencia |
Where to now hombres?? Let's gooooooo!!! xx
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