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...

San Sebastian and a heap of bad luck.

I stepped off the train at 6.30am, hungry and fatigued. This was enhanced by the fact I had to walk past the first class carriage as they all consumed their upmarket breakfast. We had peanuts. As Hugo and I walked out the front of the station, clearly disoriented, we met an American girl named Jen whose hostel was apparently in close proximity to ours in the old quarter of town

As we quickly discovered, absolutely no one is awake at 6.30am in San Sebastian. In fact, the first people we encountered, were yet to get to sleep. It was a hilarious encounter with a group of locals, one of whom was wearing a garbage bag as clothing.. After I told them we were from Australia, the garbage bag clad guy responded by saying “Why are you here then?” This was followed by acting out of every single stereotype they knew about Australia, including ALL the wildlife. I was genuinely impressed with their knowledge.

Hugo and I headed to our hostel. As we guessed it was way too early to check in so we shed our backpacks and headed to the beach for an early morning swim. On the way, we stopped in at a bakery and scored a crossiant and a coffee for 2 euro. Being the first customers of the day, we had a chat to the lady. Now she gives us free stuff every time we go in there. Yay!

I don’t think I could have asked for anything more than an early morning swim after that train trip. It was a truly magic moment as the sun came up as I sprinted down into the saltwater. I haven’t felt that refreshed in a long time. I think both my mind and body were ready for a change of pace and for me, the ocean is the perfect host for that change. A few hours were spent in a daze as Hugo and I both dug holes in the sand and fell in and out of sleep as the sun climbed higher into the sky. We noticed that the surf was dead flat but I was too tired and content to care. It was decided eventually that we head back to check in to our hostel.

Our hostel is located in the old quarter of San Sebastian, typically European with it’s laneways. The whole area is littered with bars and hostels which makes for a great atmosphere at night...especially when Espana play.

I was completely convinced that I would not go out that night. The allure of this party town quickly changed that. After a less than conventional dinner of chicken, pumpkin, mushrooms and capsicum (which, unbeknownst to us, would be the last time we would be able to cook in San Sebastian) and tense few games of 500, we headed out to see what San Sebastian had to offer after the sun goes down. We paid 10 euro to go on a pub crawl and it was definitely value for money as the bartender at the first bar was practically throwing shots at me. It was an enjoyable first night that ended at about 5am. Checkout was at 9am. Damn. To make matters worse, Hugo couldn’t find his camera. Luckily Jen was staying in a hostel that still had room. We dragged ourselves through the old quarter’s streets, which are incredibly easy to get lost in, until we found it.

The day then went pear shaped. We got to our hostel, quickly discovered the two “kitchens” only have a fridge, a sink and a spot where the stove USED to be. I mean, can you even call that a kitchen?

“Raw food it is”

“Yep. I’m getting some carrots” replied Hugo

So of course, Hugo needed money to buy some more food. Off to the ATM. Everything seemed fine as Hugo went to withdraw 300 euro. Until the money didn’t come out...

“Maybe you should try it again?” I suggested

“Yeah. Ok”

Again, no money. At this point in time, it seemed Hugo had lost his camera, at least 100 photos and 600 euro all within a couple of hours. I don’t know how he wasn’t already crying. I probably would have been. I tried to reassure him with the promise of surf. It seemed to work. We headed to Zurriola, the surf beach at San Sebastian in the hope of finally having the surf that has thus far eluded us. After talking with a few locals in lots of broken English and broken Spanish and copious amounts of searching for second hand boards, we decided to wait till Saturday and hire a board instead. I told myself I would have an early night to be fresh for the surf the next day, to no avail.

In typical San Sebastian style, we drank in the company of fellow Aussies and some Americans on the roof terrace of our hostel, and then headed out for yet another big night

As the time finally came to hit the water, our American friend Jen must have thought I was bordering on insanity. Maybe it was the twitching, maybe the high pitched voice. I can’t be sure. The feeling as I did the first duckdive was indescribable. Hugo and I couldn’t wipe the smile off our faces. I was running only on adrenaline, it was midday and the only food I had consumed that morning was one carrot.

After 3 hours, the adrenaline finally fizzled out and I was left with jelly for arms and legs. I pushed on for another 15 minutes but after two months of no surfing, you can’t help but be a little unfit. Still on a high from the surf, I skipped and jumped over to Hugo as he got out of the surf. He was limping. Oh God.

“I think I tweaked my knee”

What I couldn’t decide if he was going to laugh or cry. Or just go home. Anyone who knows Hugo knows that it’s pretty hard to keep him down for long, if at all. In all our years of friendship, I don’t actually think I’ve seen him angry. As he hobbled up the beach, I managed to step on glass. It must have been a sight. Two guys, dressed in wetsuits, hobbling down the street. Jen was also unsure whether to laugh at our bad luck or not.

Hugo hobbled back to the hostel, and spent the afternoon icing his knee. I headed up to pay a visit to the local Jesus, who stands overlooking the whole town. It was agreed that it is definitely a judging pose. I did the walk with two Australian guys who spent the whole walk weighing up the pros and cons of having a “tactical spew.” Interesting conversation topic. The panoramic views of the town and the Bay of Biscay were definitely worth the walk. Although, Dave and Hugo will be disappointed to discover that I did not utilise the panorama option on my camera.

That night brought with it the football. Spain vs Paraguay. The atmosphere was phenomenal. The excitement culminated into nervous energy in the last few hours before the game. A group of us ate tapas, drank beer and cheered along with the Spanish as they scored and eventually won. Made for a big night.

The next few days have followed the same pattern. Wake late, eat something that doesn’t involve cooking, spend a few hours at the beach and wander the streets of the old quarter. Hugo invested 3 euro on a walking stick which has benefited him greatly. As you would expect, he receives his fair share of weird looks, especially in bars and clubs.

Yesterday was 4^th of July. Consequently we had to endure “Born in the USA” from Jen’s computer and went to a 4^th July party with all you can eat and drink for two hours.It must have been at least a 90% Australian crowd I starved myself all day and attempted to consume enough food to see me through all of today. Logic was good until I put it into practice.

I’m about to pay another visit to Jesus with Jen, as it was cloudy the last time I said Hola. Tomorrow we head to Bilbao for a night or two, then to Pamplona where Hugo will certainly not be running the bulls. As for me, I’m yet to decide but after all the stories I’m tempted to dress up as a girl. (Girls aren’t allowed to run for cultural reasons). That’s all I can think of right now as I got home at 7am and only slept till 9am. Brain function is limited. Till next time, Hola!

On the Train from Oporto to San Sebastian

Our first night in Oporto was largely spent deliberating about whether to go out over a few games of cards. We decided against it as we were fatigued from the overnight-non-sleeping-train from Madrid and wanted to be fresh for the next day where the prospect of surfing loomed.

After a big breakfast, we caught Bus 500 from Sao Bento, which wound its way along the road bordering the river. Quite a scenic route. Earlier we were informed that Oporto had only 2 surf shops. Upon hearing this, I became quite anxious as to whether the possibility of buying boards would be possible at all. I walked into the shop to find a very limited selection of boards. To be honest I wasn’t too surprised. Time to look at prices.

“Oh look, this one is 150 euro”

“Yeah, but look at it”

I actually found a great second hand board for about 240 Euros but adding fins and a legrope to the equation turned me off the idea. The other problem was that it was so foggy we couldn’t even see the water when we were standing on the beach. According to the guy in the surf shop, “It happens every blue moon.” Guess I scored Oporto on a blue moon. A combination of these factors meant that the eagerness to surf had to be diminished for the time being. Hugo and I drowned our sorrows in a few cafes for 60 cents a piece, and then headed back to the centre of Oporto to do some discovering.

I have a certain obsession with European laneways, for some reason. No matter how bland or seemingly uninteresting they appear, I catch myself just staring in awe at them. I don’t really know why. It so happens that Hugo shares this obsession. Hence, as we jumped off the bus we spotted a “heaps cool looking laneway” that needed further investigation. We quickly discovered that this laneway was most probably the main druggie hangout in Oporto.

“You want coke? I got coke. I got everything”

“Thanks, but no thanks”

Hugo then decided it was a good idea to take a photo. Probably not a good idea. Shouts of “No! No!” ensued. Some guy practically chased us away. Happy to be alive, we then decided it was time to do some more toned-down sightseeing and spent the rest of the afternoon absorbing all Oporto had to offer.

That night we were encouraged to try a local favourite, Chicken piri-piri (spelling?). For 4.50 euro each, we got a whole chicken a loaf of bread each to ourselves to munch on. It was also the first time we had eaten out in our whole Euro-trip so far. With some chill and a Super Bock (Portuguese beer), the meal went down very well. We aimed for an early night but in typical European fashion, we didn’t end up crashing till about 1am.

The next morning after some deliberation, we decided to cut our stay in Oporto short by one day, mainly due to our eagerness to surf. That meant a trip to the train station to book our next journey. This also meant that for the second time we experienced the non-preferential treatment for international journeys. We had a few coffees to prepare for the waiting. Of ten counters, one is dedicated to international and each person seems to take at least 15 minutes. I got so bored after an hour of sitting around I began to count how many other people were fluctuating through while I waited for the magic “D – 12”. I think I lost count after about a hundred. After finally getting to the counter, Hugo and I were faced with the same dilemma as last time. Seat or Bed? 7 or 30 Euros?

Seven it is. I’m now sitting on the train, it’s one in the morning and what could well be the brightest fluorescent lights in the world won’t turn off. I feel like I’m on an operating table or something. The lights even seem to penetrate the eye mask thingy Maia gave me. (Yes Maia, I took it travelling and it has actually been pretty handy, so thanks.)

After the station debacle, we headed home for a lunch of avocado on bread with pepper (Hugo added eggs, as he had a huge surplus of them) and prepared ourselves for the night ahead. I.e. Espana vs Portugal in the World Cup. We decided we’d head to the main square in Oporto to watch the game. As I type this, I remember a question I asked one of the guys who worked at our hostel in Lisboa.

“So, do you play football?”

“Try and find a guy in Portugal who doesn’t play football”

“Oh, ok, yeah...of course”

I could sense this strange buzz all of that day, and upon arriving at the square a colossal crowd came into view. Of the 3 lane streets on either side of the square, two were taken up by people. It was an army of maroon and green. I was in a pickle. I wanted Spain to win for two reasons. One, because I like Spain better and, two, because we would be in Spain for the next game if they made it through. I kept fairly quiet...I also neglected to mention in my Madrid blog that while I was there I saw Spain play Chile with Huey, Con and Maddie. Every city in the street simultaneously became deserted about 10 minutes before kick-off. Madrid was fun, but Oporto was on another level. The nervous energy before the game, the intensity during it, the slight relaxation at half time and then back into intensity. It was amazing to watch. Portugal is clearly a country that lives and breathes football. To say it is a religion is in my opinion an understatement. There is more commitment in football support it seems.

As most probably know, Spain won. But the first half was definitely Portugal’s. This made it an exciting experience. It was actually quite comical, as we were across the road from the screen. Hence, when a bus drove past the whole crowd dropped to a squat for the few seconds to peer through the windows – just in case.

At the sound of the final whistle, the colossal crowd dispersed so quickly I was dumbfounded. I have never seen such a large group of people move so quickly. The obvious disappointment meant that no one was sticking around to talk about it.

Our final day in Oporto was basically spent wandering around. We crossed the famous bridge in Oporto – it looks a bit like the Sydney Harbour Bridge - to check out the Port tasting (For those who don’t know, Oporto is where Port originated from). The rumours that it was free were quickly dismissed. At 3 Euros a glass we decided against it fairly quickly. The view from the other side of the river was worth it alone. Hugo and I sat there for what must have been half an hour just taking in the view and talking about nothing in particular. I think the most interesting part of the whole conversation was a debate about how high the bridge was. Enough said.

On our way back, we contemplated visiting our favourite laneway again, but decided against it. Avocado and baguette were again on the menu for lunch and after killing a few hours it was time to get on the train I am now on. We are heading to San Sebastian which is on the coast in Basque country in Northern Spain. Hopefully the “cheaper boards” rumour holds true and we can finally do some surfing. I’m pretty sure we will. The brightest lights in the world have now finally been dimmed, its 1.30 am and I’m going to attempt sleep. At times like these, you wonder about the 23 euro difference. That said I will more than likely weigh up the options and choose the seat at least once more...Adios.