From Africa To Russia

Go to Franca train station in the morning to get my ticket for tomorrow’s train. There are twelve booths selling tickets and only one of them is open (sporadically). The girl gets up, mills around, plays with the computer, does her nails, does anything other than help anyone buy tickets. She is relieved by another woman, who proceeds to mill around, play with the computer etc. People give birth, build cathedrals, die in the waiting area, it just goes on and on. After hours it is my turn. I go up, try to use my eurail pass, and find that since first class is booked I will have to pay for the ticket. I suspect that this may get to be a pattern, and if so I don’t know what the bloody point of having the pass is. A Spanish guy walks up to the booth. “Do you speak English?” he asks the clerk sarcastically, smiling. I guess they get that question a lot. After, I eat a great salmon sandwich on a terrace looking up the street at the Arc de Triomf, then hang out at the beach a while. The sand is a bit rocky, and there are nude sunbathers. A fellow wanders up to me and mumbles something, I think he is offering me drugs. Wander around a bit by the port, feeling mellow, drink a beer or two. Then have paella again on the street, making eyes at the cute Spanish waitress. Spanish women have such a distinctive look about them, kind of dark and mysterious. She seems quite amused by the attention. Is very windy out, signs are blowing down around me. Go back in the early evening, La Hostel Party Central is already swinging. The Brazilian guy pours me beer. I drink. A loud red-headed Irishman shows up, cursing the British. A gorgeous girl from Alabama kisses my hand out of nowhere. I chat with a French fellow, drink some more, then go to sleep.

In the morning I find out my roommate is a pretty girl named Nicole from Edmonton (more Canadians?). Nicole loves to salsa, goes dancing every night, has been to Cuba five times to do it. Nicole and I go out in the morning to see La Sagrada Familia, and stop on the way to eat paella. I slice my finger on a crayfish. Nicole is pleasant company, typically reserved as Canadians tend to be, but with a privileged and nonchalant air that pretty girls often have. La Sagrada is big, and covered in scaffolding. “I’m going to have to ditch you, I need to go shopping,” Nicole says, and does so. I walk down Las Ramblas, they are selling birds in cages, and there are performance artists made up in spectacular costumes, sitting still but coming to life when you throw money at them. All in all, Barcelona is a delightful city, one of the nicest I have seen, bright and spread out and cheerful. I sit in a square and throw bread to the birds. I am swarmed by pigeons. A pigeon comes and sits on my shoulder, and I reward him with the loaf for his bravery. I don’t think I will have any problems with pickpockets here, as I am getting the sneaking suspicion that the others think I am the pickpocket myself (long hair and all). I have heard stories of people that have been victimized recently, however. I walk to the port, sit down at the water by myself. My eyes begin to well up with tears unexpectedly. The girl? The trip? I don’t know. I drink some beer, then go to the supermarket to get more. The hostel is swinging as usual, people everywhere partying, drinking and watching soccer (ok, futball). A couple guys from South Dakota there, a Brazilian steadily getting drunk, Bruno spinning around, high on life. I drink my beer, run out, get more. Drink that, start drinking someone else’s. I talk to an Australian who just saw the Red Hot Chili Peppers and has an idea for a web site. We all gather together and go out at about two in the morning. We walk out, kick a bottle down the street soccer-(futball) style, get on the metro, go to a bar. The guys drink Absinthe, which I can no longer drink since Denver. I am suddenly tired, and down, and want to go back. So do a few other people. We walk back to the metro, it is closed. So we walk it back, the girls are wearing inefficient footwear, so it is a struggle for them. I offer to carry one of them, hee hee. Jason from California has an early train to catch, and looks pissed.

In the morning, walk around Madrid. See a few squares, monuments and gardens. Madrid is nicer than I expected, it is a working city but seems pretty relaxed and agreeable, and the people seem amicable enough. On to get the ... [Continue reading this entry]

Get out of Tangiers with no problem, Escape from Alcatraz. Everyone stares at the evil white man. Card machine is broken at the ticket counter, only cash. I'll bet. A Spanish lady is crying at the gate because they won't ... [Continue reading this entry]

We meet up with Anna, a cute Scotswoman and her mother at breakfast the next morning, and head for the Spanish border on foot. Anna's mother is a friendly enough sort but a bit of a dingbat, far too ... [Continue reading this entry]

Drunk at 8 am at the airport, perfect way to start the trip. Beautiful blonde waitress girl sits down next to me as I drink, slams an ashtray down and starts to smoke. I don't know if this means anything. ... [Continue reading this entry]