Apr 2009

Valencia Gallery

Poncho Smuggling through Spain

Poncho Smuggling through Portugal

The title of this blog post will make at least a little more sense by the end of this entry, I promise.

I managed to escape Barcelona with all my money, ID and vital organs, and took the five hour train south to Valencia. The two cities couldn't be more different! Whereas Barca has the big, bustling city feel, Valencia has the relaxed, bohemian vibe that just makes it really easy to feel at home away from home. I spent the first half-day wandering the arts/science district, which is a series of buildings and parkland that makes you feel like you took one left-hand-turn too early and ended up on The Moon in twenty years time. I spent the rest of my stay in Valencia being rather lazy, really - taking the tourist bus everywhere instead of walking, eating Payella (kind of like a seafood risotto, but not so wet), and meeting randoms in the hostel, as per usual.

It seems meeting randoms is what makes a trip really memorable. In the case of Valencia:

• Having a one-hour conversation with a Brazillian guy where neither of us had a common language, which meant the conversation was really a one hour long game of charades, with each of us trying to get our point across with expansive, over-the top acting and hand gestures. Nevertheless, we exchanged some music CDs, and he showed me how to play his Quica. Turns out he works for Brazillian TV and was in town to work on a docco.

• I tried to inflict Vegemite upon every foreigner who appeared half-willing, and relished the look of utter disgust that inevitably followed. In return, I was made to eat snails that had been warmed up in the microwave. Fair enough.

• Attempting to find food and drink at 3pm with a fellow hosteller, only to be reminded that the Spanish go on siesta from about 2pm 'til 5pm. We were rescued by a friendly French guy who was just packing up his stall in the market. We helped him pack up, and he guided us to a handily open supermarket down a side-alley. Saved!

However, the most important instance of chance profoundly affecting my travels was to occur whilst I was washing the dishes in the hostel. I happened to get talking to Aly, an american girl who was also travelling by herself. We hung out for a while, and happened to run into two Canadian guys, Ryley and Keegan, while having a quiet beer in the hostel. We headed out for an informal game of football in the park, and whilst passing the ball around it became apparent that we all harboured intentions to go driving around Spain in order to see all of it's nooks and crannies, but we each lacked the funds indivually. No prizes for what happened next - by late that afternoon we'd all decided to book a car and set off the next day on a completely unplanned adventure, to last the rest of the week. Why not, eh?

The four of us set off to pick up the car, only to find the van we'd booked wasn't available. Bummer. Nevermind, they upgraded us to an Audi, and then to an even larger Peugot. Hardly bumming around in a van, eh? Stylish. We piled in and set off with only two vague guidelines for travel:

1) "Head vaguely south and clockwise, and if we could make it to Portugal, that would be awesome!"

2) No stopping at any town in bold on the map. We might look like tourists, but we could at least get away from the other tourists and pretend we weren't.

The first day was to set the tone for the rest of the week - sleeping on a sunny beach, taking random detours down small roads, going on walks around majestic cliffs and rocky coastlines, and camping on a beach with nothing but a campfire and each other for company. Well, except for the crazy spanish guys we partied with on our first night. Language barriers be damned!

Of course, this whole road trip being random from the outset, I was totally underprepared. The Canadians in our party had sleeping bags, tents, and camping equipment. Typical. Aly, the American, at least had a sleeping bag and a pillow. I had none of these things, of course. Nor had I thought to buy anything. So for the entire week I slept either in the back of the car or on the beach by the fire, wearing nearly every item of clothing that I had, using the remainder of my clothing for a mattress, my coat as a pillow, and a sleeping sheet for a sleeping bag. It was less than ten degrees most nights. How's that for giving a good account for Aussies everywhere?

Not that it was hard to justify roughing it, when every night I was sleeping on the sand under the stars, and waking to the most beautiful sunsets I've ever seen. Totally worth the big toe I lost to frostbite. It was also worth the rudimentary meals that we nevertheless thoroughly enjoyed - breakfast was (only!) coffee, lunch was bread and cheese (and salami if we were lucky) and dinner was a can of beans warmed over the campfire and shared between four. Gourmet, eh? Despite the basic nature of the food, there's something so deeply rewarding about cooking food over a fire you worked and sweated to get started, and also incredibly bonding to be sharing what little food we had between us and making do.

That's not to say that I didn't enjoy the seafood brunch we had on our first stop in Portugal. Mmm...squid. Yup, we made it all the way down the west coast of Spain, and after short-cutting through Granada and the mountains of central Spain, we arrived on day four to the south coast of Portugal. Two countries for the price of one! Well, not really. More like two countries for a little more than double the price, what with the petrol and...er...parking tickets, but I digress!

It's hard to adequately get across the point that this past week has undoubtedly been the best week of my life. It's amazing to think that idle conversation while washing dishes can be the critical point that turns what would have been another week lounging in Valencia into an unbelievable, unpredictable, life-changing adventure with people who are now firm friends.

Aly, Keegan and Ryley - thanks for being part of the most amazing week of my life, and for leaving me with a hybrid American/Canadian accent that is proving very difficult to shake indeed.

And if you hadn't guessed (and I'd be impressed if you did!) - "Poncho Smuggler" was the name of our ride. C'mon, it was obvious.

Next stop, Turkey! Time to learn another language, methinks.

Tarragona Gallery

Gerona Gallery

Barcelona Gallery

Sitges Gallery

Late night flights are never exciting, but arriving at 10pm in a city renowned for thieving and pick-pocketing certainly adds a bit of extra spice. I set off from Dublin full of verve and bravado, but alighted from the plane in Barcelona more mouse than man, and opted for the relative safety of a taxi over the unknown of The Metro. Cojones slightly smaller, I arrived at the hotel safely and met up with good friend and erstwhile housemate Alan to take advantage of a few days free accommodation in a five star hotel. Sweet! Thanks mate

The first day in Barca was spent tentatively exploring the Metro (the underground) and wandering around the beautiful beachfront. Contrary to my experiences in the UK, here there were people everywhere enjoying the (relatively) sunny day - surfing, swimming, drinking and enjoying tapas by the Mediterranean. Tapas, you say? What a great idea - 5 Euro each and three dishes to share for lunch? Brilliant.

Alan was off to wow the Telecommunications Engineering Conference on day two, so I set off on an excursion to Tarragona, a picturesque town a few hours south, a former bustling spanish port when the Romans were about the place doing their worldwide expansion thing. As a result, you get some surprising juxtapositions, such as a coliseum with an ocean view and a grand, typically Roman cathedral surrounded by spanish townhouses and the sweet scent of orange trees everywhere. A real concoction of cultures, and the richer for it.

It was also a day of taking a few blind risks - why not? Firstly it was deciding to get a regional train in the first place, as being my second day in Spain I had no grasp of the language whatsoever. Still, phrasebook thrust firmly in front of me and helped along by some kind american tourists (journalists from The New York Times!) I managed to just barely get the right train at the right time. Phew! Even better was ordering lunch - I set off down some little side streets and chose a bar/cafe at random. Being in a small town and my liguistic skills no better than earlier that morning, the waitress and I had a great bonding session as I attempted to order a three course lunch. It didn't really help that I used the Portugese section of my phrasebook accidentally (which I only realised later).

Anyways, I had such great fun wandering around the winding streets of Tarragona that I thought I'd try the same again in Gerona. It seems I have a knack for engendering help from strangers. Perhaps because I'm so tall, dark, windswept and interesting. Anyway, a spanish lady reassured me I was on the right platform, and then we got talking for the rest of the two hour trip about Spain, traveling, and her time in the UK. As a result, I've got myself a standing invite to come and stay at a pub she owns on The Isle of Wight in England. It pays to be friendly, eh? Gerona turned out to be just as charming as Tarragona, despite that fact that it was absolutely pouring all day, and I lacked an umbrella - but there's just something about the bright but gnarly alleyways and streets that's enhanced by the sheen and reflections of the rain, and it made trudging around in wet socks for five hours totally worth it.

Dinner that night was a solitary affair, what with Alan off hob-nobbing at his conference banquet, but I didn't mind! I dutifully left my credit card at home and set off around a randomly chosen neighborhood in Barca, looking for some appetising tapas. I found some, but disappointingly I didn't get mugged or knifed. The waiter even complimented me on my spanish - perhaps he was partially deaf to start with.

Amidst all this sightseeing, some basic essentials needed seeing to, like doing some washing so I could avoid reusing my socks for the third time. After a bit of googling, I set off for the nearest laundromat (three metro stations away!). Upon arrival, I explained what I needed to the lady on the front desk, and she started counting up the items. Fair enough - the price? 12 Euro. Sure, a little steep, but my feet could do with a little lovin'. No problem, hand over the cash. What? Not enough? I peer a little closer at the screen - 125 EURO FOR A LOAD OF CLOTHES? I shrugged and handed over my credit card. You gotta go what you gotta do.

No, not really. I grabbed my stuff and got outta there as fast as I could. That's $250 Australian! More than my clothes are worth, mate. I resigned myself to washing by hand. Ah, the luxuries of travelling.

Determined to make amends for a lost day, I set out early the next day for Barcelona's sports mecca, the home ground of Spanish superclub, FC Barcelona (duh). Sure, the tour was kinda tacky and overpriced, but it was worth it just to experience the sheer size and scale of the stadium, which is the third largest in the world. I think Brazil holds the record at 150K, but I'd be worried about theirs falling down (it was built in the 50's and some parts have already collapsed!). There was a total absence of football stars wandering around, so I set off for my next destination, the jewel of Barcelona's tourist attractions, La Sagrada Familia.

This neo-gothic cathedral is the masterpiece of Spain's most celebrated architect, Antoni Gaudi. He somehow manages to convey religious passion and reverece through a monument that looks, from the outside, like someone vomited on top of a small mud hill. Pay the 15 Euro and peer a little closer, however, and you can see that what looked like undigested corn and carrot is in fact myriad fine details representing a breathtaking nativity scene adorning the cathedral facade. Both inside and out you can observe how Gaudi has masterfully integrated the natural lines and tesselating shapes found in nature into a fascinating, organic structure, and it's unlike anything I've ever seen. More of Gaudi's works are found throughout the city, but personally I found them a bit gaudy.

Haha! See what I did there?

• ducks bottle thrown from the audience*

Mick joined up with Alan mid-week, and although we did a bit of sightseeing together, we pretty much did our own thing. Partly because their stride is twice as long and fast as mine, so any joint sightseeing would have resulted in us walking around looking like some sort of atypical family, with me skipping and running along behind to keep up! While they toured the city I made yet another regional sojourn to Sitges, a beautiful seaside town thirty minutes south of Barca. It was postcard Spain - alfesco bars and cafes on The Mediterranean, churches standing tall as waves gently lap the cliffs on which they stand, meandering walking paths by the coast, and people sunbaking naked. Oh yes - I probably shouldn't have walked down to that secluded beach. *shudder*

The three of us did meet up for dinner most nights, however I have to admit I don't have the best record of choosing culinary neighbourhoods - I think my status is one from three. The first time we ended up at the spanish equivalent of Mcdonalds, the second time one of our extended party had their wallet pick-pocketed, although the third time we hit gold. Perhaps I should do a bit more research before we head out.

Nah.