There are certain things in life that you can rely on. Mainly death and taxes. The tube in London is definitely not one of them. Having the luxury of a flight out of Heathrow (you can catch the tube all the way, no long overpriced bus rides to faraway airports) I scoffed at the system when the day I needed the tube the most the Northern Line is down. Now we all know how much I hate being late, getting to the airport would now require some effort. So I jump on a bus to Golders Green before boarding another bus that took 20 minutes to get across the Jubilee Line. At West Hamstead I finally got on the tube, headed to city before making the dreadful walk across Green Park station before changing onto the Piccadilly line to Heathrow. I got there with a little time to spare (common, you didn’t think I of all people would allow for such hold up’s as the tube??) and amused myself as one Asian, post-SARS traveller read a book in the departure lounge with a gas mask on. I boarded by BA flight forgetting all too much about how real airlines allocate you seats, feed you food and care about your general well-being. After numerous discount airline flights around Europe it’s nice to know you can get a beer on the plane for the price of a smile.
After two and half hours in a half full plane, mixing it with the mid-week business crew I arrived in Madrid and easily found my way to my hostel. As I entered the hostel, the bar was opened and the rest is history… Well a vague, murky history at that. See coming from Australia where pots/10 oz’s are your choice of weapon, one must adapt to change when arriving in England you are laughed at if you order anything less than a pint. Spaniards, not content with a mere pint favour the 1 litre beer as the standard cup size. If it wasn’t a litre of beer I was hacking into it was sangria. A local wine based cocktail that screamed ‘Hurt me in the morning’. Not surprisingly I spent my first few days either merry as Santa or frightfully hung over. There is something very socially wrong with waking up in the morning and having three or four people at my hostel greet you by your first name and not even recognising their face.
I did quite like Madrid. The architecture, weather change, food and museums were above my expectations. I particularly enjoyed the Reina Sofia National Museum. Which housed many pieces of modern art including some amazing works by Picasso and Dali. After a few days and address book full of friends I took a night bus to Barcelona.
Barcelona reminded me a lot of Buenos Aires. The buildings, the attitude, the look and the party atmosphere. Where Buenos Aires has class, Barcelona has the beach. I spent the first few days acquainting myself with the city. Of a particularly worthy note was La Sargrada Familia. The crown in the jewel of the buildings in and around Spain bought to life by legendary architect Antonio Gaudi. The religious structure has been in the building process for over 100 years and doesn’t look like being finished anytime soon. It’s a shame Gaudi died before this one was finished but its current over-lookers are keeping with the themes he started with.
Park Guell that sits above the city was a nice place to chill in the sun. Gaudi lived in the park during his day and the magnificent structures and fairytale buildings make you wonder what inspired this genius..
Every travel adventure seems to bring me in contact with one, two or twenty odd people that you don’t meet in day-to-day life. These are the locals who want to know your name, where you are from and a little bit about yourself. Strangely enough these people always speak enough English to make conversation. The one common ground all these people have is their ability to relate to you as ‘their friend’. It’s these people I will always remember and nine times out of ten they need your help for some reason. The one time I sat down to lunch by myself on the waterfront in Barcelona someone that I instantly recognised as one of these people approached me. The man introduced himself as ‘Ben’ and started the conversation by pointing out that the Japanese tourists in front of me we looking at the fish in the water from a consumers perspective and quickly pointed out that the fish in the water weren’t worth them eating. After finding out a little about me he was quick to point out that I came from a lucky country where I was free to roam the world at ease, largely without visas and that my country had a healthy economy and was not subjected to war, poverty and political unrest..After 20 minutes of similar conversation I began to think that Ben was just a genuinely nice guy and then plot began to unravel. Ben was quickly able to prove his name by showing me a copy of his passport, which also confirmed his country of origin – Yugoslavia was not one of these lucky countries. He showed me on a map all the countries he had to pass to get home on bus from Barcelona. Ben told me he had just returned from western union where he had been to try to accept a money transfer from his uncle in Germany. Then the tear-jerker moment was thrown in and he explained that a week or so ago his passport was stolen and after having it re-issued to him back in Madrid they had failed to include a visa (which he needed for Spain) and as such the western union would not give him the money without a valid visa. When his passport was stolen so was the little amount of cash he had to get home. So now my buddy Ben couldn’t afford to get home. It wasn’t an open-shut case of him asking for money, which I would have refused instantly, it was harder than that. He wanted to use my name and details to receive a sum of money from his uncle in Germany. My mind flooded with what-if’s scenarios and on the whole my untrusting self try to see how I would lose out on this scenario. He toyed with the idea for 5-10 minutes and after getting no immediate response from me he told me that he would ensure that my help would be rewarded. He said all I had to do was give him my name and he would ring his uncle to wire the money to me, I would accept the money and he would reward me with 100 euros (about $160 aus). I smiled to myself as I knew that if Steve was there he would have agreed without flinching and the thought did cross my mind that all I was doing was accepting money, I did look for the easy road out and explained that I was leaving that night and couldn’t do it but he ensured me that the transaction would only take 20 minutes. Not satisfied with this I told him that I didn’t have my passport with me (a lie) and that I would need to go get it. Things then became apparently shady when he said that he couldn’t wait for me, as he had to get the church to collect his daily food as he was eating for free since having his money, wallet and passport stolen. I then began to ponder as to how his passport was stolen and after some investigation I found out that after he had slept on the street one night his bag was stolen his head. My instant thought was that ‘if someone doesn’t want to fork out for a hostel’ why would they be offering me 100 euros simply to accept some money. I had to leave this guy but I didn’t know how to get out of it. So told him I would have to go back my hostel but he didn’t want to part with me to get his free food so I gave him what food I had left and told him I’d meet him back in15 minutes only to disappear into the sunset and arrive back at my hostel with five minutes to happy hour..
The night train to Granada was a learning experience. There was a group of 8 Spaniards, older men and women who found it their duty to talk loudly at the top of the voices for the duration of the 10-hour overnight train. I sat next to another old Spaniard who after I pointed out early in the trip, with what little Spanish I knew that I could not speak Spanish he still poked me, prodded me and carried on conversing with me, blank stares and all..
Granada is a cool place and definitely my favourite place in Spain. A lot more Spanish than the big cities, warmer weather, Arabic influences and bars that reminded me of Fitzroy. When arriving at my hostel a young Australian asked me how long I intended on staying. I replied ‘only one night’ for which she quipped ‘I bet you will be here for longer’. Four days later I caught her flaring me a ‘I told you so’. The Arabic mountainside buildings and gardens of el Alhambra were amazing and I quite enjoyed wandering around and relaxing. The beers were cheap and nights spent perusing all the quaintest and most offbeat bars for the ultimate tapas became a nightly ritual. I teamed up with some more Americans and Canadians and we took a bus to nearby town where we took a hike up a mountain with breath taking views of the valley and nearby snow capped mountains of Spain’s own Sierra Nevada. On my final night in Spain we headed towards a local tapas bar before being caught up in a street parade of Spain’s finest bohemians. Heading through the streets the parade was lead by masked warriors setting off fireworks as the contingent was kept alive by two stilts men (one who looked remarkable like Sanchez, complete with Sanchezeristics and the fact he was Spanish further fuelled my suspicions that the little man got out of Melbourne) and various musicians, dancers and street performers. The parade drew to a square where audiences were kept entertained by the various street performers for hours.
The next day I took an early bus to the nearby Seville, which was in the midst of their annual festival. Thousands descended upon the town, complete with flamenco gear and fancy dressed horses and carriages in traditional Spanish dress. I couldn’t stay the night due to accommodation being fully booked around town but spent the day wishing I had the balls to walk into one of the dozens and dozens of private tents to get my own taste of traditional Spain.
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