The desert, the mountains and desert-like mountains

After a short stint in BA and a free flight compliments of travel insurance I was off to Lima, the second largest desert city in the world. (still haven't discovered the largest) As you would expect of a desert city, it isn't the most attractive or interesting place in the world - but it had a Govinda's and a obscenely cheap Chinese restaurant so Dave and I were kept content for the 2 days spent there. For anyone traveling to Lima, the centre is nice...for a day. Monasterio de San Francisco provided some Catacombs - consequently causing me to ponder the amount of skulls I´ve seen this trip ( a weird thought I know, but combining the Parisian Catacombs, Pol Pot´s Killing Fields and these Catacombs it adds up.)

A visit to a pre-Inca ruin smack-bang in the centre of an expensive neighbourhood was a bit surreal. Our guide was running his first tour in English and was visibly nervous. Consequently Dave and I expanded our Spanish vocabulary and helped the young Peruvian guy with his English. While on the topic of rain, I posed the question "When did it last rain in Lima?"

"The 1970´s"

"Wait...what?"

"The 1970´s"

A bus ride and day later we arrived in possibly the shittiest town in the world (well in my travels anyway). Nasca. I can say with a fair bit of conviction that I will never return to Nasca again in my life. And that fact does not disappoint me at all. My sole purpose for paying a visit to this Desert Hell was to witness the phenomenon of the Nasca Lines (which was admittedly phenomenal) Of course, in typical Nasca fashion, the vast majority of light planes used to view the Nasca lines were being inspected (owing to accidents resulting in deaths - so we couldn´t complain too much) which consequently drove the price up. Instead of $50US I paid $150 US. I gave myself a justification - this is the only reason I came to Nasca, I never want to come here again, so I will pay it and get out of this godforsaken place. Despite the exorbitant prices, Dave and I both enjoyed the flight - seeing formations in the sand such as a whale, a hummingbird, tree, condor...the list goes on. Scientists are still unaware as to the origin of these lines but I came to understand that the most widely held belief was that the Nasca people had something to do with it.

After a short stint in Nasca we headed south to canyon country to the second largest city in Peru - Arequipa. Also a desert town, it seemed to have more allure and appeal than its larger cousin Lima. Our hostel was basically a mansion transformed into a hostel complete with 65 inch movie screen, PS3, Ping-pong table, Pool table and more. Dave and I both decided after a day of playstation and movies that it was time to get more active.

"Let´s go rafting"

"Yeah. Why not?"

To be honest, for $20 I wasn´t expecting too much. Turns out your money goes a lot further in Peru. After a hilarious and slighty strange photo with a local Peruvian family (Dave and I were dressed up with wetsuits, lifejackets and helmets) we headed off down the Chili river (it was pretty cold.) The rafting soon got interesting as we began to take on a more than usual amount of water. Turns out the raft had a hole. After a quick pit stop it we were back in the white water and spent the next 90 minutes dodging rocks and getting soaked.

The following day I paid a visit to the deepest canyon in the world, Cajon del Colca. This meant awaking from my precious slumber at 2:30am. By 5:30am we had reached the highest point of my travels: 4910m above sea level. Apparently shorts (and thongs on Dave´s part) aren´t the most suitable atire this early in the morning and at that altitude. Here is a shot of what 4910m above sea level in the Andes looks like, somewhat like the moon...

The cajon was understandably phenomenal. Dave soon discovered how effective high altitude training as he ran the best part of 2km to pose for a photo that would convey the scale of the canyon, only for it not to turn out. He ended up running all the way back as our bus was about to leave and looked as though he was about to faint.

Here's a few photos from Cajon del Colca, although they don't really convey the size, they do give an idea of the landscape and also show how funny I look in an adventure hat.

Statistics Update No. 2

Books read: 15

Weird delicacies consumed: turtle, goanna, escargot, haggis, alpaca

Modes of transport utilised: commercial plane, car, train, bike, on foot, tuk-tuk, bus, tube, kayak, motorbike, slowboat, car ferry, hanglider, 4 seater plane, raft, subway.

Days spent in hospital: 4

Organs removed: 1

Days since I left home: 212

Days remaining: 16

Number of countries visited (including transit): 17

Hours spent on buses: way too many

Number of different beers recorded as being consumed before my list was stolen: 56

Number of travel insurance claims made: 2

Photos taken: 1754

Highest Altitude Reached: 4910m

Argentina - minus a bag and an appendix

I sat on the bus to Buenos Aires with a sense of optimism at the time ahead of us in Argentina. Brazil had been amazing (although expensive) so why shouldn't Argentina be the same? Right? Wrong.

It all began at the bus terminal in BA. We'd managed to purchase our bus tickets to El Bolson, and after putting it off I finally decided to answer the calls of my rumbling stomach. The three of us sat at a cafe, my big bag was on one side of my chair and the little one (with everything important) on the other. All of a sudden some guy approached us with what appeared to be an offer of 2 pesos (50 cents). I was somewhat confused but sure enough about 30 seconds later as I reached to grab my iPod from my bag, it was not there. Great. I was partly to blame as any backpacker should know to have the strap wrapped around their leg although after a 24 hour bus I was a bit lax.

After a run around the bus station the bag was all but gone. Contents included:
iPod
BOSE headphones
Phone
Australian passport (luckily still had UK)
My journal
Camera
Credit cards, travel documents etc

Luckily for me I had backed up my photos only a day or two earlier so photos were not a problem. For me, the only loss was the irreplaceable - my journal and my famous beer list for my whole journey (It was in the high 50s)

The policia didn't speak a word of English so I reverted to my limited Spanish and soon after the phrasebook. Eventually an English speaking policeman was called and I made a very specific appointment for "sometime between 10am and 1pm on Monday." Turns out I would see BA ahead of schedule.

After finding a hostel, we jumped in a taxi, me with one less bag to worry about. For me, the next few days were spent rebuying lost items, sending countless emails to mum and the travel insurance company, a pub crawl to forget about the losses, hanging out with Tessa and Niklas and hanging out in the middle of a massive march following the death of Argentina's ex-president.

After recollecting myself we decided to scrap the idea of a two week spanish course, instead opting for a hike in northern Patagonia. 27 hours on a bus and we arrived at El Bolson, a small town of about 30,000 (vast majority hippies). After spending the first day a market buying various pieces of arts and craft we packed our bags with the necessities and headed off for a 3 day walk along Rio Azul, a crystal clear glacial river that winds it's way between some breathtaking mountains. This is what I'd been waiting for and it definitely didn't disappoint.

Heading off "into the wild" (pardon the cliche)

We were "accompanied" by a two girls - one Argentine and one Australian. They were too slow...so we bailed on them.

After crossing some primitive suspension bridges that stated "maxima una persona" and were definitely defying almost every basic rule of engineering, we began our ascent. This was followed by a descent and then, yep, another ascent. Following a river isn't as simple as it sounds. As I rounded a corner I demanded an orange break - purely to spend as much time as we could savoring a truly beautiful view of Rio Azul snaking it's way through the valley and snowcapped mountains providing the backdrop.

Three hours into the hike we stumbled upon La Playita, a small refugio that fronted onto a pristine glacial river. With the promise of "freshly roasted bread" the three of us split our avocados and spread it on some of the tastiest bread I have ever eaten. We spent lunchtime chatting to the inhabitant of La Playita - a 27 year old guy who left his life and responsibilities to live out in the middle of nowhere. Into the Wild anyone? He provided a sound argument for his reason to live out there - he had me convinced, though winter didn't sound like the best of fun.

After more delicious bread and avocado, it was time to head on to El Ratamal, our refugio for the night. On the way we found Cajon de Azul - a huge canyon we had to cross. The bridge was four logs laid across a 2m gap in the canyon. Safety first in Argentina.

To say that El Ratamal has the best view of anywhere I've ever stayed wherever been is an understatement. Wherever I looked I was greeted by moutains - some bare, some snowcapped - a river weaved it's way behind the Refugio, a forest encompassed the foreground. We sipped on our mate and reflected(very popular Argentine drink similar to tea)
"This is living eh?"
"Yeah buddy!"

The following photo gives an idea of the kind of purity and jaw dropping scenery we experienced on the hike.

Dinner consisted of an entree of salted tostadas followed by a main of rice and beans one way. So, bread with rice and beans. In the morning we added orange zest to try and actually get the tiniest shred of flavour - no success.

What was to take place that morning I will not attempt to describe as I do not have adequate superlatives. Actually, I don't think any word would convey the sense of freedom, privilege and pure happiness I experienced as I looked out on what lay before me. Sean, Dave and I spent at least a few hours sitting at our vantage point conversing about various topics such as the East vs West rap war, trendiness, sean's likeness Uncle Ho and many other unrelated things.

We returned to El Ratamal, Sean and I consuming a delicious organic pizza for lunch. The three of us tramped back to La Playita for our second night in the Patagonian wilderness.

The guy at La Playita (his name evades me) spent the afternoon proudly showing us his new veggie garden and local waterfall. Then I decided it would be a good idea to swim across Rio Azul, the river that originates from a glacier. Apparently it was between 2 and 4 degrees. Refreshing to say the least. I didn't give it much thought because as I rejoiced in reaching the other side Dave voiced the harsh truth.
"You know you have to get back now?"
"Shit shit shit"

For me that night changed the general vibe of the hike from one of euphoria to something more in the region of extreme pain. I awoke in the early hours of day 3 with what I thought to be stomach cramps - presumably bad food somewhere along the line, it was South America after all. I spent the morning clutching at my abdomen and vomiting. At 9 I broke it to the boys that I would have to get back to civilisation - the pain was escalating fast. Thankfully Dave carried my pack as I was left to stumble along the track, stopping every few 100m to curl up into the fetal position and attempt to restore my energy (to no avail) and occasionally empty the few remaining contents of my stomach. For me it was a psychological battle just to get over that next hill or across the bridge. I was getting delirious. I began to freak out a bit when I discovered I couldn't read the writing on my water bottle. I'll take the opportunity to thank Seany and Dave for having the patience through the whole debacle.

I can also thank Dave for taking this photo, and trying to see the hilarity in it all. Dave said "Trust me, you'll thank me for taking this photo one day" to which I responded "errrghhhhhhhh"

After arriving back to "base" we called for a taxi. I tried to convince myself it wasn't as bad as I though and maybe it was just a 24 hour bug. After a horrific night I decided that definitely wasn't the case.

I was off to the hospital at 9am and the doctor quickly confirmed my growing suspicion - appendicitis. By 12 I was less one body part and recovering in a hospital bed. The doctor came in and explained in broken English that it was taken out due to the fact my appendix was "gangrenous" and that it was lucky I came in when I did otherwise "bad things would have happened"

I quickly became the celebrity patient as I was the "australiano" who spoke nada in espanol. Nurses came in to ask 21 questions and it always seemed to end up as a game of charades.
What do you do?
Are you married?
What are your hobbies?
Where are your amigos?

The list went on... Eventually when I could stand again I took a walk to the bathroom and my first thought and looking in the mirror was "Man, I look like a recovering drug addict." The boys came in to visit bringing various things including Dave's Game Boy, avocado and bread and my beloved iPod. I managed to hack hospital wifi and spent copious unproductive hours on facebook.

I got "discharged" yesterday, a process which consisted of removing my drip and giving me my prescription. It took me half an hour to realise I could go. A nurse came in and exclaimed "You leave now?!"
"Oh. Now? Right now?"
"Si"

Since then activity has been minimal apart from some aggressive debating last night and a few SLR camera lessons from my Finnish friend Niklas. For now I'm in limbo as to what travel plans will be for the remaining month but one thing's for sure: I'm not going home early! Ciao from El Bolson. Thanks for everyone for the appendicitis sympathy.

Brasil: 20 days in 2000 words

Dave and I flew into Rio de Janeiro on October 1st, minus one thing - bags. For the second time this trip, British Airways failed me and left me with no clothes. As one would guess, jeans and shoes are probably not the best attire for spring time in South America. Luckily, the Brits gave us £35 to compensate. We were met at the airport by my new favourite Brasilian - Paulo. Luckily for us, Dave hosted an exchange student many years ago and they were happy to return the favour with three Australian backpackers. I was particularly impressed by Patricia's (Paulo's wife) ability to make black beans and rice taste so damn delicious!

Sean arrived two days later and luckily while we were at the airport we were able to retrieve our lost bags - I was partly to blame as the number I left British airways belonged to a sim card that was in fact inside the bag that was missing. There was a joyous reunion at the fact that Dave and I were seeing Sean for the first time in 6 months, though he hardly recognised me as I had ridded myself of the mop on my head a day earlier.

While in Rio, I visited Cristo de Redentor (although we couldn't see further than about 20 metres and missed the amazing panoramic views I have seen in so many photos) , went on a very informative favela tour and fulfilled the tourist-Rio stereotype by hangliding of a mountain of which the name eludes me. The most embarrassing moment of our Rio experience was during an attempt at getting to a local football game. I laughed in the face of a 2-line metro, but after half an hour of going back and forth Dave and I went home defeated and solemn. The rest of the time in Rio was spent talking with Paulo about travelling, volleyball and football. Among my favourite quotes from Paulo were about Bolivia: "Why would you go there unless you want cocaine?" and also about his favourite place to travel in South America:
"My favourite country to travel in South America is Chile"
"Have you been to Chile"
"Never!"

Favela in Rio

After a week in lively Rio, we headed north into the mountains to an old colonial town called Ouro Preto on an overnight bus. A town of about 70,000, you can stand anywhere and I assure you will see at least 3 or 4 churches. We were told of the excessive tourism in Ouro Preto, but upon arrival and in the days that followed, I counted no more than 10 tourists. One afternoon while reading and people watching on a bridge, we were photographed by a man who later told us he works freelance for National Geographic - that got everyone excited!

Another funny experience was as the three of us sat marvelling at the interior of a beautiful church in Ouro Preto, we were surrounded by a group of Brasilian school kids who were learning about the history of the church (from what I can guess, my Portuguese is limited to around 15 words). Upon leaving, we were surrounded and asked 101 questions in very broken english. Later, a girl approached Sean exclaiming "Bejing!!", but he quickly redeemed himself as she asked for a kiss on the cheek to which Sean happily obliged.

   

Sunset over Ouro Preto

During our stay in Ouro Preto, it was decided it was time to get more "intrepid". We had two options - Amazon or Pantanal? After some logistical reasoning, it was decided that the Pantanal was a better option and the Amazon would be left to the Bolivian sector of our South American adventure. After 2 buses and 36 hours that I would rather forget, we arrived in Cuiaba in Mato Grosso. All we wanted was a good night's sleep. "There are no beds - we have hammocks"
Don't get me wrong I LOVE hammocks, but sleeping in them is a whole different story. I gave in after 20 minutes and slept on tiles while the boys managed a very disjointed sleep pattern. The cherry on top of a good night was the 5:00am rooster crow. I will repeat a quote from Sean that sums up his opinion of the night: "At times like these I wonder how Dave is vegan...because right now I want to kill every rooster in the yard."

After a day's delay due to some uncooperative Frenchies, we were off into the Pantanal. We weren't off to the best start as our guide (whose name I can't spell or properly remember, so I will refer to as JC because he looked like Jackie Chan) took 45 minutes to get some "documentation". No longer than 30 minutes into our drive south into the Pantanal, JC stopped to grab some food. "Who wants to drive?"
"What? Wait...what?"
"I do" came the reply split seconds later
We were back onto the main road minutes later, with JC in the passenger seat and Dave in the driver's seat. One rule: don't go over 100. Sean and I shot glances at each other that communicated what words could not.

We arrived at Jaguar Eco Lodge at around 7pm - after our safari of sorts. When I say safari, I assume people think of a big jeep, maybe painted in stripes or something and driven by some guy dressed in khaki attire. Well, JC drove a shiny new VW Golf and wore a collared shirt, long pants and dress shoes -but my god did he know his stuff, and his ability to spot an animal, no matter how big or small, night or day, while travelling at 60km, was phenomenal. On that first "safari", we saw Capibara (a dog sized rodent), countless Caiman (estimates for the entire Pantanal are between 10 and 35 million), Macaws, Deer and many other species of bird.

After dinner, the night safari with the bigger group was cancelled. JC wasn't deterred! Off we go in the Golf with our tiny torches. All of a sudden we stop in the middle of the dirt road far away from anywhere. "Get out slowly, keep quiet and don't go too close to the bush."
"Ok"
"Now turn off your torches"
May I remind everyone this is jaguar country, and yes, jaguars hunt at night. Seconds later JC lets off his signature cackle, scaring the absolute shit out of everyone. After that episode, we visited what is probably the creepiest place I have ever been. It was an abandoned research station that was literally left as a relic of time. Beds were made, drinks still sat on the table, all the research collected was left in the lab. It gave me the creeps and my imagination ran free with a culmination of all those scary movies filmed in obscure places with abandoned buildings. To put me even more on edge, JC carried a machete all the time - "just in case"

We awoke for an early morning wildlife walk at 5am - spotting my first toucan. After a hearty breakfast, we went for a 2 hour trek in the forest. I was on machete duty and before long we spotted a caiman. Instinctively, the three of us walked the other way. Instinctively, JC did the opposite. "Come on guys, try and touch its tail. At least poke it with a stick" The result of a poke produced a blood-curdling growl that made Dave and I run the fastest 20 metres of our lives. No more poking alligators for me. JC neglects to tell us till after the encounter that it was probably a mother that was protecting eggs. For the rest of the trek, we spotted birds and attempted a howling contest with the howling monkeys - to no avail.

The afternoon brought with it a trip on the river in a little boat with JC and a boat driver who doubled as the gardener for the eco lodge. Eventually we were ordered off the boat for a "piss-stop". I swum with piranhas in the river, though if you want to get technical I went shin deep and lay down for about 10 seconds. All of a sudden JC pricks his ears, everyone goes quiet and in 5 seconds we are jumping on the boat, JC getting his jeans wet. Then I hear a growl. Not an alligator growl, a jaguar growl. Unfortunately (or fortunately?) we didn't get to see it. The joke in the Pantanal is if you are lucky enough to see a Jaguar up close it is already too late.

The next day was a change of scene as we headed to a different part of the Pantanal. More forest, less wetlands. Unfortunately we had to farewell JC, our favourite companion as he had business to attend to back in Cuiaba. Alex took over and was just as knowledgable as JC, if not more so when it came to plants. Alex took Sean and I piranha fishing and I once and for all confirmed I am never swimming in any place where there is even a hint of piranha. Within a second of dropping the bait from our primitive bamboo poles, it was literally gone. Every time, without fail. Being the avid fisherman I am, I snagged the biggest of the lot. Alex insisted on a photo. I held the line about 30cm from the end, keeping my fingers as far away from the piranha's mouth as possible. Alex insisted closer. Closer, closer, closer. Ok, that's enough.  Here's a photo of the little bugger.

While at the pousada, we met Jonas and Katja, some Swiss people that further stimulated Dave's love of Switzerland, swiss people and his desire to live there. I must admit all the Swiss people I've met have been great people. We awoke with the promise of horse riding, and everyone was pretty excited. To date, my experience with a horse had been sitting on one when I was about 10 and being led by a rope around a small enclosure. As with so many other experiences during the trip, horse riding was for me a completely new thing. As he brought the horses out, Dave called "shotty not" to a horse that looked less than the majestic creature he spoke of riding. To his intitial dismay, it was in fact his horse.
"What's its name?"
"Bingo"
"NO WAY!!!"
For days on end before hand, Dave went on about how he would call his horse, no matter the name, Bingo. For him, it was as if the stars had aligned. We spent 2 hours on horse back exploring the local landscape that bore remarkable resemblance to Australia. In fact, it was really the essence of what the typical Australian landscape is. The three of us had mock races, as we couldn't manage to, nor wanted to, get any faster than trotting. After the energy draining horse ride (yeah, right) Sean prepared for his favourite pastime, sleep...

Before too long it we were back in Cuiaba and our 4 days in the Pantanal were over. The next morning it was time for another bus, 26 hours, to a city on the Brasilian-Argentinian border known as Foz do Iguaçu. The one and only reason for a visit to this city was the truly breathtaking Iguaçu Falls, which are only 5km from the city. I write this from the hostel where I have spent much time reading, catching up on lost playstation time, lazing in hammocks, swimming and attempting morning runs. We visited the falls two days ago in a magical 6 hours of nature at its best and most powerful. I have learnt plenty about the history of Finland, the Finnish language and its people as we have spent plenty of time conversing with two Finnish people around our age named Tessa and Niklas. We also hung out with our new Dutch friend Anita (who has inspired me to learn Spanish as she speaks 7 languages. Or 8?) and taught a group of German guys the well known game that is Spoons.

Tomorrow the trio is off to El Bolson via Buenos Aires. El Bolson is in the lakes district in Argentina, just before the start of Patagonia. Dave picked El Bolson as it is a "hippy town" with an arts, craft and healthy food market 4 days a week - so pretty much his heaven in a nutshell. But for now, I am going to enjoy this wonderful hostel by lazing in a hammock to read a book. Not sure when the next entry will be, but hopefully this will keep my mum off my back for at least a few weeks, or days... Bom dia! Adeus till next time.

One month in the Mother Country

My last blog was, from memory, a few days after I arrived in London. What I found amusing about the rest of my time in London was the fact that I hung out with a few people who happen to live in quite close proximity to me back home, but I hadn't seen for ages. Funny that it happened in London of all places. (maybe not because there is a joke that there are more Australians in London than in Canberra.)

Anyway, I continued to enjoy all that this amazing city has to offer. I tried to figure out why it was so alluring for me. I mean the weather is mostly miserable and don't get me started on the exchange rate... Chris and Susanne continued to tolerate my presence in the house, which I am thankful for.

I decided to check out the famous Notting Hill Carniva whilel in London. The basis of the carnival is to celebrate the heritage of many of the West African and Carribean people who came to the UK in the slave trade. Jamaican, Ghanese, Trinidadian, the list goes on... The setup was a whole series of massive blaring soundsystems (with some phenomenal dancing in front of them) and truck floats with a myriad of different musical talents being showed off, spread all across the suburb of Notting Hill. It was a sensory treat! I also caught up with Eddie, who at the mention of my trip to Scotland replied "Can I come too?"

A few days later I decided to head west to catch up with the Norrie-Stanton's - a family Dave and I met and unintentionally stalked throughout the whole of Laos. They lived in a tiny village called Lower Wraxall (Pop. 500) about 15 mins drive from Bath. I spent the days out there kayaking the Avon with Richard, going snap happy in Bath, visiting Avebury stone circle and being called "smelly"by 7 year old Marnie. Out here was typical English countryside - beautiful. Funnily enough, the first parallel I drew was to Postman Pat. Still not exactly sure why. While in Lower Wraxall I was further convinced to make the trip to Scotland. A day later the bus was booked to Edinburgh.

The Norrie's House - the former Lower Wraxall Lolly Shop

Eddie and I braved the tube strike to get to Victoria station much too early for our 9 hour bus to Edinburgh. Edinburgh greeted us with blue sky - "are we really in Scotland?" I quickly made a mental note to add Edinburgh to my favourite European cities (which is by no means a short list). Eddie and I spent the following morning exploring Edinburgh castle and the afternoon climbing Arthur's Seat, a decent sized hill that gives a splendid view of the city.

Some Edinburgh shots:

We left earlier than we wanted to (but knew we would be back at the end of our Scottish adventure) for Inverness to meet Nina. We decided we would walk to the famous Loch Ness naively ignoring the fact that it was 13 miles from Inverness and 23 miles long... Walking soon changed to hitch hiking and eventually we were picked up by an Indian guy who ran a takeaway store in a little town on Loch Ness - we later bough a local delicacy there, Deep Fried Mars Bar. Our day at Loch Ness was mostly spent sitting in the ruins of the magnificent Urquhart Castle, which is perched on the edge of the Loch.

On Sunday Nina headed back to Dundee as she only had the weekend off, while Eddie and I began our hitch hiking endeavours. Our first trip was 60 miles through the western highlands in order to get to Ullapool - the town that the ferry departs to the Outer Hebrides from. Our sign had the addition of the promise of chocolate - though we ate most of it. The first guy was a guy with red hair named Minge. This is an example of Eddie's conversation with Minge:

What's your name?
Eddie. What's yours?
Minge...
Sorry, what?
Minge...
Ok....

Minge also thought we were weird for not believing and ghosts. As a result he drove us to the middle of nowhere and started telling us about some river ghost. After being intially a bit wary, we realised he had good intentions and happily dropped us back in his town of Garve to continue our trip. The next woman was a Shellfish catcher who had the worst laugh I've ever heard and kept calling Eddie a nervous passenger - probably because he was cringing at her laugh.

Eventually we got to Ullapool after another lift with a guy who's Rotweiler tried to attack every car that passed from the back of the station wagon - he especially liked trucks. We were told Ullapool hosted a music festival every year - which we found hard to believe when we arrived. Nothing happens in Ullapool.

After a 3 hour ferry ride to Stornaway on the Isle of Lewis we were greeted by what the Outer Hebrides are famous for, wind. Cold, cold wind. We found a hostel pretty quickly and planned our next day's adventure. Sitting on the local bus as it wound its way across the island made me realise where we were. The middle of nowhere. Not only that, outside the little towns, I did not see a tree the whole time we were on the Outer Hebrides. We visited the Callanish Standing Stones and a Blackhouse village - where we walked out to the cliffs and honestly felt as if we were on the edge of the world. The wind was unbelievable, and of course, cold. This photo is an attempt to convey the "edge of the world" like feeling Eddie and I had. 

The following day we caught a bus to the Isle of Harris, south of Lewis. We found a hostel, called the guy who told me the code and to let myself in. It was completely deserted.

"Doesn't this remind you of that movie 'Hostel'"
"Yeah it does..."
"hmmmmm"

While on Harris we visited the picturesque beaches on the West Coast. I took my boardies and towel with full intention of braving the cold, even if just for a story. I quickly changed my mind. It really was just too windy and too damn cold. With the onset of rain we hitched back to town with an old couple. The following day we caught the ferry to Uig on the Isle of Skye and jumped on a bus to Portree - the biggest town on the Isle of Skye with a population of about 6000. While on the Isle of Skye we visited Dunvegan Castle, did a few walks and took in the breathtaking scenery.

Through Facebook we discovered Haz and Con would be heading up to Edinburgh (and I later discovered Cale was already there). Eddie and I decided to attempt to hitch the 400 miles back to Edinburgh - East coast to west. After about 90 minutes we got a lift all the way to Inverness with a nice old guy. Then we waited 3 hours in the FREEZING cold in Inverness for a lift. We must have copped about 40 thumbs up and at least 10 rude fingers. Some guy thought he was being extra generous taking us about 1 mile to a less convenient place - we were thankful nonetheless. Just as we were about to give up, Umar, an 18 year old who started mechanical engineering at 16, picked us up and told us he was heading to Glasgow. YES PLEASE! Apparently Umar "hadn't done enough in his life"so he decided to take a break from uni to work as a rep for a company earning a meagre 1500 quid a week. I spent the trip trying to decrypt the heavy Scottish accent. I estimate my understanding to be between 20-30% of what he said. I got by, albeit with a few awkward moments.

From Glasgow we caught a 40 minute bus to Edinburgh and spent the next few days hanging with the other boys in a great city. Copious amounts of Jenga was played and we got to 30 levels- I have photo evidence. Eventually it was time for Eddie and I to bring our two week stint in Scotland to a close as the other boys were just starting theirs. I headed back to London and Eddie to visit family in Sligo, Ireland.

The last few days have been a mini family reunion on the Pidcock side as Julia, Chris and I are all in London. I spent all day yesterday in Portobello markets with Julz attempting to give advice on items of clothing. Georgia, if you are reading this, you would have been in heaven in all the vintage shops. I even found a few items I would have liked if I wasn't on a budget and didn't have to carry for another three months.

As I write this I am beginning my mental preparation for the next continent in my trip- South America. My excitement is quickly growing as I leave Heathrow airport in 5 days. As much as I know I will miss London, I know that I will be back here again before I know it. Bring on RIO!

Nederlands, Ceska Republika, Deutschland and England

It must be about a month since I last put fingers to the keyboard to recount my travels. And I'm happy to admit that it has been such an eventful month (as with every month of travelling) that my memory is crammed full of a diverse range of experiences, of which I will attempt to regurgitate at least a few.

I'm now in my place of birth, that being London (it took 19 years to come to terms with, but after considering all the perks associated with a UK passport I am finally at peace). I indulged in being immersed in the English language as I sat on the tube on my way from Heathrow. Announcements were in English, signs were in English, conversations were in English! For the first time in 3 months I wasn't saying danke, gracias, merci or cam on. Not to say that many peoplethe countries I have been to don't speak flawless English, but to be in a country where it is the first language was a truly weird feeling.

We departed from Antwerp on the train, heading for the less-well-known city of Rotterdam in the Netherlands, the sister city of the well-known capital. I did this mainly on advice from many Dutch travellers who I met. All told me that Amsterdam is NOT the whole of the Netherlands.

Loui, Hugo and I were all happy we took the advice as I discovered through hindsight that Rotterdam was a great alternative to Amsterdam, mainly due to the lack of massive hordes of tourists. Rotterdam was full of new architecture, mainly due to the fact that it was bombed flat in WWII. The streets were filled with public art pieces, including a massive santa with a not-so-discreet butt-plug that must have been at least 2-3m long.

Our hostel in Rotterdam also happened to have a kitchen. The first kitchen for what must have been a month. So it was off to the supermarket to plan what to cook. Funnily enough, our excitement was short lived and from memory I think all our meals were at least semi pre-made due to exhaustion or possibly just laziness. The next day Loui finally decided it was time to take the plunge and buy an acoustic guitar for his travels. Apparently he tricked the guy at the shop into selling him a € 70 guitar for € 40 which he was openly pleased about. Consequently, the rest of the afternoon was spent by a little canal, listening to mellow tunes played on the guitar with the occasional sing-a-long.

After a few chilled days in Rotterdam, it was on the the famous capital. I booked a different hostel to the boys as I needed an extra night due to transport reasons. Loui and Hugo's hostel turned out to be a Christian hostel. The irony that stemmed from this was the fact that it was smack bang in the middle of the Red Light District and a short 10 metre walk would present to you a transexual dancing in a doorway. It was proven from the outset...Amsterdam was a confronting and contradictory place.

"I amsterdam"

After a few fun days in Amsterdam it was time to head to Prague to once again reunite with the boys (with the addition of Loui who wasn't present in Lisbon. After the nomadic lifestyle, it was nice to take a step back and settle in for a while, and what a city to do it in. Our first full day began with a hang out in the park where we were approached by police who asked for our ID. Only Margz and I could produce any but we were curious as to what we had done wrong. Apparently the park we were in was not meant for sitting on the grass?

The apartment itself was somewhat of a shoebox. Two people in each bed with one on the couch and a shower that didn't drain. On the other hand we did have a kitchen and a supermarket, pub and fruit shop were all within about 10 seconds walk. While in Prague we slowly ticked all the touristy spots off the list including of course Prague castle.

Prague from Prague Castle

"The shoebox"

One night while Haz and Loui went to a Jazz band, Margz, Connor, Dave and I headed to the "Cross Club"to some bands play, one was Kiwi and the other Maltese. The Cross Club was possibly the coolest designed club I have seen. Apparently it was made using only recycled materials. Unfortunately I didn't take my camera but the boys went again and hopefully took some photos. Other highlights from our time in Prague included Nic's pancake experiments, sing-a-longs, some laziness and cheap beer.

Prague by night

I decided to leave the free accomodation in Prague to visit what is now one of my favourite cities; the German capital of Berlin. If you love modern history, it is close to paradise. I spent the few days in Berlin indulging in the city's rich history, particularly from the rise of Hitler to the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989. Much to Hugo's dismay who didn't get time to visit Berlin, it is also the most graffitied city I have ever been to. (but not that crappy graffiti like in Australia, this is legitimate graffiti) My first day consisted mostly of a free walking tour which lasted 4 hours and had so much history it was hard to believe the guy could remember it all. I asked him how many years he had been doing the tours for and he responded by saying
"Ahhhh...I did my first tour last week"
"Oh"

Other highlights for Berlin included a visit to Sauschenhausen Concentration Camp which was eye opening and in my opinion should be compulsory to all as both a learning experience and a deterrent to opting for violence. I also enjoyed the East Side Gallery - a 500m stretch of the old Berlin wall which still stands and is covered in murals promoting peace and unity - the Holocaust Memorial and the Museum of Terror.

A few Berlin snaps:

As part of my RTW flight, I had a flight from Paris to London which was going to cost money to cancel. Time for another 14 hour bus trip. I arrived in Paris, found a McDonalds to seek refuge and waited till it was time to go to the airport. Then, of course, the plane was delayed.

I met my cousin Chris at Liverpool st in London's East and headed out to Hackney. Chris has bought a house that's about 10 minutes walk to where the 2012 Olympic Games will be held...can I come back and stay in 2012?

I've been in London a week now, as I slowly tick the tourist must-dos off the list. Janelle was kind enough to take me and Hugo down to Stonehenge (apparently payback for carrying Hugo's bag, and I also got my first steak in 2 months!). Stonehenge was an unusual experience as a main road cuts through about 200m away from the site. The audio tour instructed me to "listen to the sounds as you walk around this mystical site" - all I could hear were trucks.

I can't list all the things I have done here as it would get boring but a visit to the famous flower market in Columbia Road the other day was hilarious as people heckled in British accents about the quality of plant they were buying. A visit to the house where I was born didn't bring back memories, probably because I was two weeks old, but was interesting all the same. One thing I have noticed about the British: they seem to have basically gone around the whole world, taken the coolest artefacts from around the world, brought them back and stuck them in their museums. For example, I stumbled upon the Rosetta Stone in the British Museum this morning and when I visited the Victoria and Albert Museum I discovered it had over 4 million artefacts from Africa, Asia, Europe, the Americas and the Pacific.

I think my subconscious has already made a decision that I'll come back to London to live. As the guidebooks say, London really is like a country in itself although I do look forward to experiencing more of the UK. My plan is to head to Bath and also up to Edinburgh and possibly the Outer Hebrides. It's a tough life, I'll tell you now!

Belgium times

As we headed out to discover what Brussels had in the way of nightlife, we stumbled upon a massive fair. Ferris wheels, fairy floss and bumper cars - weird. We spent a few hours just wondering around the fair. Then Hugo purchased what must have been the most bland tasting piece of naan I have ever eaten.

The next morning, after the best breakfast I have had in Europe - a massive buffet - I walked out to the reception desk (we stayed in a hotel, as with 3 of us it actually worked out cheaper than a hostel) to ask the lady the best way to get into the centre.
"You do know it's Belgium's national holiday today, don't you?"
"Ahhhh. No, I wasn't aware"
"Well it is. There will be fireworks and big celebrations tonight"

I knew that national holidays mean one thing is certain - there will be free stuff! I considered what Belgium was known for - Beer and Chocolate. Beer was a long shot but I thought we might be able to score some free Belgian chocolate. After checking out a Lamborghini police car and watching a dog maul a guy with a massive padded suit on we headed on further into the celebrations, grabbing some free yoghurt on the way. We threw darts at the map of a world for bracelets and participated in the activity where-you-swing-a-hammer-down-which-propels-the-thing-up-to-hit-the-bell (no idea what its called). We then found what we were looking for - free chocolate. After watching the guy - with extreme finesse - make the chocolate for about 10 minutes, I devoured it in a few seconds. In my opinion Belgium certainly challenges the Swiss for the best chocolate. We also scored a free strawberry smoothie and had an espresso coffee for 1 euro. It was a good day for the budget.

Belgian Waffles on National Holiday...yum (too bad they were 6 euro)

Beer in Brussels

The "trio" - Dylan, Hendrix and Lennon

The remainder of the day was spent wandering the many streets of the Belgian capital scoring more free stuff, consuming a few beers and a Belgian sausage or two. I also managed to add to my unusual food component of my journey with some Escargot. Our trio quickly decided that we had to go out for Belgiums national holiday. We went to the supermarket, trying to find the most economical way to drink. There was a discount box of spirits - bad choice. We ended up with a strawberry liqueur that was the sweetest alcoholic drink I have ever had. For the rest of the night, decisions on what to do were made by the flip of a coin. In the end, we were up until sunrise. Just as the sun was coming up a group of about 8 Belgian guys approached us. The first word they said was "wallet" and the second word was "phone". I didn't have mine and Loui and Hugo had about 10 euro collectively so we weren't the best catch. Then they tried to tell us they were the police. After some French conversation that I didn't understand between the group of guys and some local girls , we tried to walked (Hugo hobbled) away as one of the guys smashed a bottle and tried to chase after Hugo. Maybe Hugo's walking stick looked intimidating but after some talking we managed to extricate ourselves from the situation unharmed and still with our 10 euros.

Next stop on our Belgian itinerary was Bruges. I was adamant that I was going there after seeing the movie "In Bruges." The boys didn't seem as keen but in the end it was decided we would spend one night there on the way to Antwerp for Tomorrowland - the music festival we were going to. In the end, after a day and a half of doing the touristy route in Bruges it was probably lucky that we didn't stay longer. It didn't seem like much happened there. I headed out in the rain, deciding that I may as well put the raincoat I'm carrying everywhere to good use. Luckily for Hugo, I climbed the main tower in Bruges and discovered that it would be almost impossible to do the same. The top of the tower provided a great panoramic view over the whole of the old medieval town. If you are reading this Dave, I'm sorry but panorama function was not used.

Brugge/Bruges

After a brief visit to Bruges, it was on to Antwerpen for Tomorrowland. Upon arriving in Antwerpen, the first thing I noticed was the amount of Amish people. They are everywhere here! Hugo and I crashed early in preparation for two days of non-stop dancing (as much as having a walking stick and a bad knee allows Hugo to dance). At breakfast, I ate as many eggs as I possibly could. After some warm up drinks, we said goodbye to Loui and headed off to the town of Boom - appropriate name for a town that hosts a music festival.

The last two days have been two of the best festival days I have been to. Unfortunately, it was my first festival without the famous "Verbier" purple headband - anyone who has been to a festival with me knows what I mean. After recovering from that fact, Hugo and I marvelled at the amazing set up. The site features DJ sets on a lake, a massive arena type hill for an open air main stage and many weird and wonderful little decorations. I even got to toboggan down an ice hill on a donut! Weird. The main stage is a massive rainbow with a sun whose eyes are constantly panning across the crowd. It gets a little creepy sometimes...

Many of the sets were accompanied by fireworks. John Dahlback's set had about 8 gymnasts dressed as monkeys doing backflips on trampolines and off the stage. For David Guetta there were paragliders with strobe lights and throughout the day helicopters flew over creating what seemed like rain with millions of flower petals. It was a truly great festival and well thought out. We had a great time. Hugo managed to survive the festival unharmed until the last 5 minutes. We managed to get in front of the doors to get onto the bus home.
"How good is this. We got to the front of the queue"
Two seconds later, as I rushed to grab a seat for Huey I turned around to see him sprawled out across the floor of the bus. Some guy behind had pushed him. Unlucky. Turns out he didn't hurt it too bad, but it wasn't the best end to the festival.

Tomorrowland 2010

I'm lying on my bed in our hostel in Antwerp. Loui and I are about to get bikes and explore the town and along the river. Loui is now a tour guide for Antwerp as he has been exploring graffiti forests and figuring out cheap places to eat while Hugo and I were at the festival. Here is a photo of our Belgian friend. I call him Fried Freddie

Honestly, before I left home I didn't expect to go to Belgium at all, except maybe in passing. My Belgium experience has been a thoroughly enjoyable and unexpected one. We head into the Netherlands tomorrow for a few days before crossing Germany to Prague for a few weeks of free accom with all the boys!

Hope you have enjoyed the stories from Belgium.

Paris

Wow. What can I say that hasn't already been said about Paris? I guess I'll start by saying that my expectations were set extremely high and I did not expect to fulfil them. After some googling a few days prior, I discovered it was the most visited city in the world for the last 20 years. That is one big achievement. Either way, I was expected to be disappointed as I had this predisposition that Paris would not be as good as everyone says. How very wrong I was...

We arrived at 9am on the train from Barcelona after a good sleep on reclining seats. We navigated the metro with ease and arrived at our hostel about an hour later. Where do we go first? Louvre? Eiffel Tower? Notre Dame? We were overwhlemed by the sheer number of attractions on the tourist tract. It was decided that we would spend a few hours in the Louvre followed by a visit to the Eiffel Tower.

One of the most enjoyable experiences we had in Paris was the observing the looks Hugo received from Parisians. As if he didn't stand out enough with a singlet, thongs and a hippie headband, he also had the addition of a cane. Some faces were pure shock, others bordering on disgust. The metro wreaked havoc on Hugo's knee as he constantly hopped up and down stairs as we always seemed to have to swap lines.

Upon arriving at the Louvre, Huey and I stumbled upon ticket machines by chance. This meant that we skipped an hour of waiting in the queue. The rumours of constant waiting in Paris, was something we were yet to experience. Off to a good start. We spent hours roaming the Louvre. I was astounded at the sheer size of the place. Ridiculous! We visited the Mona Lisa and of course were fairly underwhelmed. Hugo and I then spent a few hours trudging around the rest of the museum, which is in all honesty a lot more interesting than old Mona. Still, I guess she's someone you have to see...

After the Louvre, we headed over to the Eiffel Tower, grabbed some baguettes and a Tropicana smoothie (my new favourite thing) and had lunch with arguably one of the better views you could have while lying in a park. After refuelling, it was time to do the Eiffel Tower climb. It took me ten seconds to decide; do I wait in a line for twice as long and pay twice as much to get the elevator up? Of course not. I said goodbye to a disappointed Huey who stayed at the bottom. I don't think his knee would have enjoyed over a thousand steps. The ascent was surprisingly swift, and before I knew it I was overlooking the one of the most visited cities in the world. The first thing I noticed was that Paris is definitely the flattest city I have been to. Unfortunately, the wait for the elevator to the top was going to be 90 minutes and with Hugo sitting at the bottom, I had to pass on the opportunity. But how much more can you see really? Probably don't answer that anyone...All in all it was a great (stereotypical, yes, but still great) first day in Paris.

Lunch by the Eiffel Tower

The next day brought with it a visit to the Conciergerie (prison where at one stage Marie Antoinette was kept), Notre Dame, Sorbonne University and my personal favourite - the Pantheon. Huey and I spent at least an hour marvelling at the interior of the Pantheon, in regards to the scale of the building but also the incredible detail for all the inlay and carving. We returned to our hostel to discover our 10 bed dorm had become a 14 bed dorm, severely cutting down everyone's personal space. I think it took me at least 5 minutes to try and get my pack out from under my bed.

While in Paris, we made futile attempts to meet up with Loui and Scarra. At one stage Nic,Loui, Scarra, Huey and I were all in Paris but no one knew where each other was. Loui and Scarra were lucky enough to score free accommodation with some Parisians while we paid our 18 euros a night (still pretty cheap for Paris). We eventually caught up with the boys on our last night in Paris. By the third day I had the metro sorted. I think I had a mental picture of the whole metro map in my head which was handy. We headed to the outskirts of Paris to visit one of the more solemn attractions the city has to offer: the Catacombs.

The Catacombs originated due to the plague in Europe. The cemeteries in Paris were overflowing to such a degree that there was nowhere to put the bodies so it was decided that they would be placed in the old abandoned mines on the outskirts of the city. Initially, the bones were literally just left in disorganised piles. It was later decided that the bones should be placed into patterns and left in an orderly fashion to better respect the dead. As I descended to 20 metres below ground - below the sewers and the metro - the eeriness of the place was immediate for me. The cool air and the sound of constant dripping added to the effect. The catacombs we visited was a network of 2km of tunneling. After walking for about 10 minutes we arrived at the place where the bones are kept. Each area of bones has an inscription in French and the year (or years) of when the people in that area died. Huey and I were discussing that the people that organised the bones seemed to have a less than favourable job. The sheer number of bones was astounding. As I would approach the next corner of the tunnel, I expected the collection of bones to end, but it seemed to go on endlessly. After about an hour, we resurfaced. I'm still undecided about what my feelings were towards the Catacombs. It was part informative, part confrontational and part amazement. It was definitely worth visiting though.

While in Paris, I also got to visit Centre de Pompidou where we were treated to a wide range of modern and contemporary art. The building itself is art. The architecture has been focused on the idea of building it "inside-out". An interesting concept, and I though it looked pretty cool really. That night Loui and Scarra came over and we decided to go see the Eiffel Tower by night. As with Angkor Wat in Cambodia, I knew that at different times of the day you can get a completely different perspective on the same building. Plus Huey hadn't had the chance to go up yet. We arrived around 10.30pm, and quickly learnt that the tickets to the top are only sold till 10pm. Prior research necessary. We decided to go up anyway as it was a perfect night. At the 2nd floor (still fairly high), we ate peanuts, bananas, apples and Scarra munched on some uncooked two minute noodles. I got asked to take photos for people multiple times and was beginning to wonder if I had some kind of photographer look about me. Loui pulled out his iPhone, played a bit of MJ and we sat there munching on our food.
"Hard life, huh guys"
"Yeeeeeeep. Real tough."
In the end, we stayed up there for at least 90 minutes, got to see the lightshow that happens every hour (luckily no one suffered from epilepsy) and were one of the last people down. We had to get to the metro and get home by 1.30am according to Ben and Loui. No one told us it closed an hour earlier on Sunday night. Bummer. After running (Hugo hobbled and hopped) between lines we ended up stuck at a station and had to bail on the metro for buses. When we came out, what did we see? None other than the Arc de Triomphe, one of the only main attractions Huey and I didn't have time to see. Talk about a fluke. We also got the chance to walk down the famous de Champs Elysees while searching for a bus. It was the perfect end to a thoroughly enjoyable time in Paris, though as per usual it wasn't long enough.


Blurred Paris by night

The boys on the Eiffel Tower

The next day Loui, Hugo and I got on the train to Lille, and by the end of the day we were in Brussels in Belgium. How plans change... We have another night here before heading to Bruges (can't wait to go there as In Bruges is one of my favourite movies), then onto Antwerp for a festival called Tomorrowland. Not sure when the next blog will be, but I'm glad I got Paris out of the way before the memories from that great city were interrupted by some new experience. Au revoir

BARCELONA - and an end (unfortunately) to the Spanish leg of my journey

We arrived in the afternoon after a six hour bus trip from Pamplona To be honest, I’d already started my love affair with Barca before I got off the bus. The drive in to the city was a treat for the eyes. Hugo and I found our hostel, located on the edge of the Gothic Quarter. It was time to find the three most important places in any city. A bakery, a supermarket and a cafe. We lucked out with a bakery that made coffee. That meant that breakfast for me for my time in Barca was a coffee and a croissant. Only set me back 1.80 euro.

The focal point of our stay in Barcelona was to occur the next day. The Football World Cup Final, which Espana obviously won. We met up with Haz and Dave who had returned from Morocco, and Loui and Scarra for the first time on our journey.

Harry, Dave, Hugo and I were lucky enough to stumble upon a gelato place. After debating for at least 5 minutes about whether it was worth the 3.20 euro, we decided we would get one. To be honest, after a sample of the passionfruit sorbet I already knew I was getting one. The combination of passionfruit, mango and pineapple was amazing. We all sat there, silent. Everyone used their own tactics. Some ate quickly, others savoured. I don’t think a word was said until after everyone was finished. Our only communication was through facial expressions.

Walking up La Rambla with the boys, we stumbled upon a street game in which you have to guess under which of the three boxes the little paper ball is. I quickly realised after some people watching that it was more than just the main guy in the centre. I also noticed the only people winning were part of the main guy’s crew. We watched as some poor guy lost 150 euros in about 20 seconds. Harry was sure he had it figured out, but that’s the idea. It looks easy, but you cannot win.
“I’ve got this down”
“You won’t win dude, you can’t win”
10 seconds later, and down 30 euros, Harry decided to agree with us. Then the taunts began...
“You could have bought 10 ice creams with that!”
“You could have had 20 fruit smoothies with that!”
He was understandably devastated. Hugo soon decided that he would refrain, in fear of further repercussions via the beauty of karma. That didn’t stop the rest of us. I imagine wherever Dave and Harry are now, Dave is probably still teasing him about it.

As the countdown to the final began, some bottles of good old Don Simon (cheap Sangria – a litre costs about 90 euro cents) were downed and we hit the streets among a sea of red and yellow. Now for the hard part – finding a bar. To my surprise, La Rambla has surprisingly few bars. We discovered that you only have to go a few streets back to find an array of bars, but it took us till half time to realise. We spent the first half crowded into one of the only bars on the main street. Soon after we arrived, a waitress handed us six beers without asking for payment. Everyone was stoked. Even though it was the final, I didn’t expect free beers. We were cruelly disappointed at half time as the waitress returned and gave us the bill. 4 euro a beer. Bummer. We had a new challenge. Find another bar before the half time break ended. After some frantic running around, we found a medium sized projector screen and decided to hang there till the end of the game.

Full time passed. As did the first half of extra time. People were starting to become impatient. All of a sudden, the streets erupted as Iniesta slotted the all important goal. As the end of the game arrived, a river of people headed to La Rambla where chaos reigned. TV crews scurried around, people chucked buckets of water on the crowd, chants were yelled and a general happy feeling swamped the whole street. I was interested as to the outcome of a win – Barcelona is in a region f Spain called Catalonia, and demands its own independence. I was happily surprised at the response to the win. A few days later, upon running into an Australian guy who we met in San Sebastian, we discovered that people in San Sebastian were threatened and bashed by Basque people for celebrating Spain’s win. I’m glad I wasn’t there for the world cup final.

Huey and I spent the next few days in Barcelona getting a feel for the city. We paid multiple visits to the market, where fruit juice costs 1.50 euro and a quarter of cut up pineapple 1 euro. I think that was my lunch for at least a couple of days. We also got a chance to marvel at many of Gaudi’s architectural masterpieces, including of course La Sagrada Familia. We paid a visit to the Museu Picasso, which I thoroughly enjoyed. It was interesting to see Picasso’s progression throughout his life. We visited La Barceloneta – one of the city beaches in Barcelona and spent a few hours enjoying the sand and saltwater, which has become a rare commodity lately for me. When it was time to leave Barcelona, it seemed all too soon. Getting on our overpriced train (50 euro reservation - don’t use Eurail in Europe) to Paris, I was sure of one thing; one day I will return to Barcelona.

This blog entry probably seems vague. I kept putting off writing it. I am now in Paris and to be honest Barcelona seems like a distant memory. My experiences in Paris have forced my vivid memories of Barcelona to the back of my brain, at least for the moment. Hope you enjoyed the few anecdotes from Barcelona. My description of Barcelona is definately inadequate, but I will say that it is a must-see for anyone travelling in Western Europe!

Bilbao, Pamplona and a few bulls

After carrying two packs for what seemed like an eternity, we arrived at the bus station in San Sebastian. Leaving Jen to do the ticket buying with her proficient Spanish, Hugo and I sat on the ground, waited and drank two cups of coffee each.

We were on the bus to Bilbao in 30 minutes and arrived there an hour after that. When booking accomodation in Bilbao, we quickly realised that there were in fact no hostels. Consequently, we ended up splitting a hotel room which only cost us 25 euro each. After the less than favourable hostel in San Sebastian, the hotel felt like extreme luxury. A proper shower was great but the highlight was definitely the fresh towels.
"Oh man, they're so smooth"
"Dude...smell them!"

Hunger overcame the initial euphoria of fresh towels and we decided it was time to find a supermercado. After an hour of walking, ten different sets of directions and a bit of complaining, we found one. I stuck with what I knew and opted for chorizo and a baguette. Chorizo never seems to disappoint. A week straight chorizo diet and I was nowhere near sick of it.

Hugo, Jen and I spent the night in the hotel room discussing the comfort of our beds and then watching the football. We decided to crash early as the next day meant taking Hugo to the hospital to get his knee checked which did in fact prove to be exhausting. Without Jen's Spanish, I think we may have still been at that hospital in Bilbao. It took us an hour to get there, followed by an hour of waiting, and then an hour of consultation which at one stage involved 6 medical personnel (why? I'm not too sure...)

Following the hospital visit it was time to investigate Frank Gehry's architectural masterpiece, the Guggenheim Bilbao Museoa. In truth, it was the only reason we went to Bilbao and honestly, it was worth it. The Guggenheim's interior architecture is as spectacular as the exterior, if not more so. As we walked through the entrance, an employee of the Museum asked Hugo if he required a wheelchair. "Really?" replied Hugo. Meanwhile, his face changed to an expression that seemed to suggest all his dreams had come true.

We spent the next few hours visiting the various exhibitions throughout the museum although I took a particular interest in two. The first involved a series of elliptical and spirally installations made of steel, in a room that must have been 200m long. It was a truly strange feeling as you walk through the spiral and your brain starts playing tricks on you. Sometimes you would begin to feel that the ground was tilting, sometimes it would give the impression that the walls were closing in. The audio guide which had an explanation from the artist (whose name evades me) informed me that through a complex methd of positioning of the steel, it can produce certain effects for anyone who walks through it. I left that exhibition with a mild headache, but there were more brain tricks to come.

The second exhibition I took particular interest in was by an Indian guy named Anish Kapoor. He made a diverse range of sculptures but a few stood out in my mind. One involved a half-spherical ball, probably 2 metres in diameter. It was painted dark blue but depending on where you looked at it from would alter your perception of it. If you walked towards it, it gave the feeling that there was a black hole that would engulf you. My brain was starting to freak and my headache got worse. Next up was a room of mirrors. The audio guide explained what to do at each mirror to provide a truly surreal effect. Hugo and I must have spent 30 mins in that room testing out all the different things to do in front of different mirrors. We were bummed when 8pm came. Hugo was even more bummed because he had to swap the wheelchair back for his walking stick.

8pm also meant it was 30 mins till the kick off of the World Cup semi-final between Spain and Germany. Once again, in Spain. After a delicious 4 euro kebab, we went on a search for a bar to watch the game in. Eventually we found the "Galleon Bar" and got involved in the cheering when Spain scored and consequently won. Then the search for a taxi began. Hugo was not going to walk 2km home. Among the cluster of cars constantly honking their horns and waving their Spanish flags, we found a vacant taxi and attempted to hail it down, to no avail. After the 4th vacant taxi drove past, we were beginning to wonder if we looked like murderers or something. Eventually we managed to coerce one into stopping and giving us a ride home.

The next day we arrived at the bus station in hope of catching a bus to Pamplona, which for a week in July every year plays host to the festival of San Fermin (commonly known for the Running of the Bulls). Initially, it seemed as though there would be no buses that day. A part of my mind told me I should be relieved. Soon after we managed to get a bus. The ticket came with a complimentary red scarf (part of the traditional attire for the festival, along with white clothes.) On the bus, I made sure I had my headphones loud enough as to not hear any of the stories of misadventures at San Fermin. I had already heard my fair share. As the bus drove into the city, I was greeted by a sea of red and white. There is no other way to describe it. EVERYONE wears red and white. A red scarf around the waist or neck and white pants with a white shirt. (Although at least 50% of shirts had turned an off red from nights spent with too much red wine) I also quickly discovered that San Fermin was the biggest party I had ever seen. I would challenge anyone to find a place where there is a majority in sober people. I would also set this challenge at any time of day. Since the bulls are run at 8am people who were sober do not stay sober.

Hugo and I had a challenge of our own, getting to the campsite 5km out of Pamplona. After 3 hours of waiting for buses in four seperate locations, we finally managed to get the right bus. It dropped us in the middle of nowhere but luckily some Spanish guys were able to vaguely direct us to the campsite. Arriving at the campsite, I was greeted by a horrific eyesore. The Fanatics were here. For those who don't know, Fanatics is an organisation that runs package deals for well known events such as San Fermin, La Tomatina and Palio to name a few. Fanatics also seems to appeal predominantly to the bogan population of Australia, which seems to be increasing by the day. Upon hearing stories from other travellers and locals, it seems that the Fanatics and similar groups seem to be diminishing the reputation of Aussie travellers. After seeing them out in force, I can understand why.

We payed our 5 euros for the campsite and spent the last hours of sunlight relaxing. I was not going to exhaust myself in any way. The morning brought with it the certainty that I was running with 6 bulls, each weighing around 500kg. I say certainty because I knew that I did not go to all the effort to get to Pamplona and not run. The question you are asked during San Fermin is not "Did you run?" but "When did you run?" or "How many times have you run?" Mum's advice upon mentioning that I may be going to Pamplona was that I was not covered by travel insurance...

I was adamant on getting a good night's sleep but I was admittedly a little sick with a sore throat and a cold. Hugo and I were also sleeping on the ground while Jen and her friend slept in a tent. A combination of these factors - plus the fact that I had to get up at 5.45am to get the bus into town - meant that I got, at most, 2 hours sleep. In my opinion, not the best preparation for what would be the scariest hour of my life.

I got up, decked myself out with a white shirt, grey pants and a red scarf tied around my neck. I tied my shoelaces three (maybe four?) times. It was time to go. Hugo had to stay behind as his knee would not let him run. I reminded him it was not called "Hobbling of the Bulls"
"Good luck man..."
"Yeah. I'll see you in a few hours...hopefully"
The nervous energy on that bus was blatant. You could hear people feebly attempting to make jokes, others just sat quietly. I chose to use my logic to keep calm
"You have way more chance of dying in car crash, it's rare that people die during San Fermin"
I soon found out that someone had in fact died the day before. Logic was out the window.

The bus arrived in town. During the walk to the start of the run, I met an Australia guy named Joe. We tried to psych each other up for what was to come. This was a bad choice in hindsight. The reason for this is the following; we arrived at the course at 6.45. The bulls didn't run till 8am. It would turn out to be one of the longer hours I have experienced. At the offer of a coffee, i quickly accepted as I was still fatigued from very little sleep. I chugged down the coffee and devoured a croissant in record time. This was, in hindsight, a bad choice. All of our heart rates spiked with the hit of caffeine. Great!

While we waited, we began talking to two guys from Philadelphia. It soon became apparent that this was their 39th run. 39th!! They must have been at least 45. We fed off every tip they gave us, none of which were reassuring. These are the few I can remember:
1) If someone grabs onto you, slap that hand away and DO NOT let them drag you down
2) If you do fall, DO NOT get up. Adopt the foetal position until someone tells you its ok to get up.
3)Do not be near "Dead Man's Corner" when the bulls come.
4) If you hear "swelto" , get the f**k out of there (swelto means a bull has become disoriented and turned around and begun to run the opposite way)

The waiting game ensued. I feebly attempted streches in an attempt to kill some time. At 7.45am, the first gun goes off and everyone begins a slow walk. Thankfully, we passed dead man's corner on the walk and began up the 300m straight. We stopped about 70m from the entrance to the stadium. I will explain now that when the 6 bulls have run the course, this is by no means the end. Anyone who makes it into the stadium before the gates close have to then evade 6 small bulls, which are released one-by-one. NB. The "small" bulls weigh around 300kg

I checked my watch 100 times and sure enough at 8am the gun went off. According to our friends from Philadelphia, the first bull runs the 825m course in around one minute and twenty seconds. For that minute, my brain was having a really hard time telling my feet to stay still as I waited till I could see the bull. You know the bull is coming before it gets there. The crowd of people changes from a whole lot of faces looking back for the bulls to a whole lot of faces that have a look of terror on their faces. They do not look back again. I caught sight of the bull in the distance and began my 70m sprint. If I remember correctly, I think I had tunnel vision. All I could see was the entrance to that stadium. I snuck a look back and discovered the first bull was at most a metre diagonally back from me. Thankfully it was looking straight ahead.

I entered the stadium and peeled right, and hopefully away from the bull. I couldn't afford another look. The rest of the bulls ran through the stadium and out the exit on the other side. The gates were closed and the roar in the stadium was deafening. The sea of red and white chanted as we waited for the first bull. The bulls in the stadium are small and have capped horns but in my opinion they are no less menacing. The aim is to tap a bull on the bum. I decided that as soon as I managed to do that I would call it quits. It didn't start well, as within minutes a bull seemed to pick me out and my only option was to attempt a superman jump over the fence. Luckily someone caught me.

As if the bulls aren't enough of a worry, you have to keep your eye out for the locals who try and hold tourists back as they run for the comparitive safety of the edge of the ring. The other "problem" is, as the bull is much lower than the crowd of people, it is at times hard to know where it is. By the fourth bull I was beginning to wonder if I was going to be able to touch the bum. As luck would have it, the opportunity arose and I tapped it and got the hell out of the ring to be a spectator for the last two bulls. By then, I was also quite exhausted. I quickly learnt that where I sat to watch was right near where the medics are based. As a result I saw some pretty bad injuries. One girl copped a hoof to the eye and was not in a good way. I began to realise how insane the whole thing is. Luckily I realised it after I did it...

The only word I could use to describe the feeling after the bull run was euphoria. I accompanied Joe and a few others for a beer to calm our nerves. I think it's the earliest beer I have ever had at 9am, but it tasted great! I returned to the campsite to inform Hugo that I had survived. Then I called Mum... "I'm glad you called me after and not before"

I spent the rest of the day enjoying the feeling of relief, drank some Don Simon (Sangria) and later on spent a few hours trying to book transport to Barcelona. Since San Fermin is one of the biggest festivals ever, it is no surprise that trying to book a train or bus for the next day is not particularly easy. Nevertheless, it gave me the chance to check out a bit of the old quarter of the town and investigate the track when six 500kg bulls are not charging down it.

Hugo and I slept well that night and got the non-direct bus to Barcelona the next day. The World Cup Final was the following night and would hopefully prove to be the exclamation mark on an eventful week for me. I am actually writing this on my 3rd day in Barcelona, but I will save that blog until my final day tomorrow in Barca as I don't think I can write anymore right now. I wonder if I deterred anyone from choosing to partake in the Running of the Bulls? Or the opposite?If I did, let me know! Ha. Thanks for reading...