Day 36 - Guejar Sierra

My third and final day on the farm. Our plan for the morning is breakfast, bike ride, the Granada. Graham, Josh and I will bike down the mountain where Rosie will meet us with the van. Then we’ll drop Rosie off in Guejar Sierra and we’ll continue off to Granada so I can reserve a spot on a train to Barcelona tomorrow. I get out of bed and head into the house. Breakfast today is toast with the delicious cherry jam, pancakes, and bread with drizzled olive oil and diced tomatoes. Everything is incredibly rich and delicious. I’m a big fan of the banana pancakes though. After breakfast we set off down the mountain. It’s a challenging ride, but it’s a ton of fun. Lots of photo opportunities as well. We get down towards the bottom, Graham leading the front, Josh in the middle, and me bringing up the rear. Graham points out a rock just to the side of the trail that he once hit and broke a bunch of bones. Naturally, Josh hits the rock too. He falls off the bike, but he’s not hurt at all. We rest for a few minutes before setting off the rest of the way. At the bottom, we pedal around the old train line for a few minutes until Rosie shows up with the van. We all pile in, drop her off in Guejar, and drive down to Granada. It takes us a few minutes to find the train station, but eventually we do. I run inside to reserve a spot on the train tomorrow morning.

Hablas Ingles?

No.

I guess we’ll be speaking Spanish then.

I ask for a ticket for tomorrow mornings train to Barcelona. He says no. No explanation, just “no.”

“Por que no?”

He tells me its full. I ask him to put me on the next available train. Again he just says no. The guy is an absolute ass and as making it as difficult as possible. He tells me that tonight’s train is full, so is tomorrow morning’s.

Just put me on the next train. I don’t need you to tell me all the trains I can’t take.

Eventually he puts me on the night train tomorrow night. It leaves Granada at 11:40p and arrives in Barcelona at 9a. Not ideal, but I’ll take it. I walk back to the car and we head back to Guejar. Graham takes the scenic route back so that we can see Guejar and Granada from a different perspective. It’s amazing how beautiful it is looking down from high up in the mountains. When we got back to Guejar we picked up Rosie and drove the rest of the way back to the farm. Once we’re back, Rosie prepares us bread with chorizo and cheese to put on top.

After lunch we continue putting in steps around the side of the house. By the end of the day we’ve completed 6 risers. It’s coming along nicely. We head inside and all sit around playing Doom, a board game, for an hour. It’s an intense game, and half of us aren’t really into it. Graham is having a great time though since he’s the one unleashing monsters on the rest of us. I’m entirely convinced that the game is impossible to win. Rosie gets up halfway through the game and makes us rice and veggies for dinner. There’s a salad with tuna mixed in as well. It’s quite good, and I really like the vegetables. After dinner we have more honeydew and watermelon, followed by a couple games of Graham’s dice game and tea. After the women have gone to bed, Aidan, Graham, and I sit around for a bit. Graham and Aidan explain some of the workings of railroads to me, and I throw puzzles back at them. It’s a lot of fun, but by the end of it my brain is fried and I’m ready for bed. I’ll have only a few more hours on the farm to finish the steps that Kiara started.

Day 35 - Guejar Sierra

I wake up at 8 thinking I’ll head out and pick the weeds that have taken over the future greenhouse, but after trying to get out of bed I realize that it’s just not going to happen. I roll over and fall back to sleep for another 45 minutes. I wake up a second time and walk down to the house for breakfast. Everyone is already awake and at the table. They give me a hard time for finally waking up, but I’m quick to point out that breakfast was scheduled for 9a. I sit down and get to work. Breakfast consists of toast, homemade cherry jam, eggs, and tea. It is absolutely delicious, but the cherry jam is out of this world. Graham made it himself. After breakfast, Graham, Josh, and I get the mountain bikes all straightened out and set off up the mountain. Graham is a little out of shape since it’s his first ride of the season, so we take a lot of breaks. Josh needs a few breaks too. I keep forgetting that Josh is only 12.


We continue on the up mountain and we are constantly presented with views that span for miles. Mountains, ravines, springs: it’s impressive. We won’t be making all the way to their other piece of land as planned, but we decide to pedal to the next barranco and stop there. The barranco is a spring that trickles and pours down a cut in the mountainside. The cut is lined with slate rocks of all different colors that flake off when pulled. Graham and Josh wait down at the bottom and give me a few minutes to climb up the gorge to the top of a big rock. At the top I’m able to look off in the distance as far as the eye can see.

There’s a cliché for you.

I climb back down, which proves tricky with the shale rock underfoot, but eventually I make it back down to the bikes. We head back to the house for some lunch and, of course, tea. Back at the house, they put on a kettle and Rosie begins to make lunch. Graham and Aidan take a look at the steps and begin to plan out what needs to be done. I sneak around back to pull weeks from the greenhouse patio. My timing is impeccable, since Rosie shouts that lunch is ready just as I’m about to finish pulling the last of the weeds. I can’t believe how big some of those roots were, though.

Rosie has made us all sandwiches for lunch. There’s three varieties: cheese, chorizo, and a combo. After lunch, Graham says he will have a siesta, and Rosie sets me up out front on the steps. She shows me how to mix concrete and gives me a trowel and rocks to work with. It takes me about a half hour to finish the stonework. After Graham’s siesta, we sit around inside and have a cup of tea. He teaches us a dice game, and we play for an hour or so. By this time, we’ve all finished our tea and it’s time to get back to work. Graham, Aidan, and I head off to the barn to cut some old fence posts. They’ll be used as the risers on the steps he’s building. I help cut them down with a handsaw, then carry them over to the front of the house where I cut them into 8 80cm pieces. I wheel a big generator around the front too. We bore two holes in each 80cm piece with a drill and then mix concrete to help hold them in place. We put in four or five steps by the end of the day, pausing for tea after each step is completed. After our work for the day is finished, dinner is ready. It’s a delicious pasta with bread that Rosie has prepared. Dessert is honeydew and watermelon. Graham is crazy about the watermelon. I’m crazy about everything. During dinner we make plans to go mountain biking in the morning. We’ll be going down the front of the mountain. It’s much more technical than yesterday’s ride, and it’s sure to be a good time.

Day 34 - Guejar Sierra

On the road again. I get up early this morning to check my email and try and get in touch with Rosie and Graham, the couple whose farm I will be staying at near Granada.  I send off an email to Rosie. She had written to me saying I would have to take a bus from Granada to Guejar Sierra, then call her from Guejar so that they can pick me up. Sounds easy enough, but she didnt give me a phone number. Nor an address. Thats all fine, but she doesnt have internet and might not get my email for days.

Awesome.

I pack up my things and head to the train station. The walk to the Santa usta train station in Sevilla is ridiculous. Its still morning, yet the city is already an inferno. It should never be this hot before noon. Since I am now a professional traveler, catching the train is a breeze.  Along the ride to Granada I take in the Andalusian scenery. The contryside is gorgeous.  upon arriving in Granada I searched for my bus stop near the train station, caught the #33 bus, and set off.  On the bus a couple English speaking girls from Australia cant remember which stop is theirs. They dont speak Spanish so I ask an old woman next to us for directions.  They greatly appreciate the help.  I feel like a super hero.

Eventally I arrive at my stop, hop off the bus, wait for the #390 bus to Guejar Sierra, and catch it towards Guejar. After 30 minutes we arrive in Guejar and I hop off the bus. I ask a woman where plaza mayor is. She says uphill.

Sweet.

So I set off towards plaza mayor and walk all over Guejar trying to find WiFi to check my email. I find a restaurant that has a network and I ask for the password, explaining that Im a little lost.  The guy behind the bar is nice enough to give me the password, and since Im extremely hungry I try and get some food. Its around 4p.

Puedo comer?

Kitchen is closed.

Puedo beber?

He laughs, yes of course.

Ill have a beer then.

The small beer comes with free tapas.  Im much more interested in the delicious dish than the beer.  After getting in touch with my friend Kiara who stayed on the farm last year, I get Rosie and Grahams phone number. Kiara also gives me directions to their farm deep in the mountains in case they dont answer the phone. She warns me that there are turns that she wouldnt remeber to take. She advises against trying to find it, but suggests that someone might be able to point me in the right direction if I ask where I can find an English couple who sell cherries and live on a farm called Cortijo Hoya Grande.

Kiara youre a lifesaver.

I leave the restarant and the internet and set off to find a payphone.  I call Rosie but theres no answer. Rosie had warned me that they wouldnt be able to afford calling me back if they missed my call.  So I set out walking.  Kiara had told me to walk down the road to the right of plaza mayor and follow it up into the mountains.  I set off walking and fond my first fork in the road.  No signs for Cortio Hoya Grande, so I kept right on the main road.  Farther down the road I run into a man, so I asked if he could point me the right way.  He has no idea where they live.  I keep walking.  About another 30 minutes down the road I come across a restaurant. Its another opportunity to ask for directions. I stop in and find a burly Spaniard working in the kitchen.  I ask where Cortio Hoya Grade is.  He knows.  He walks me outside and points to the montains on the other side of the ravine.  Im not even on the right montain.  I thank him and start walking back to plaza mayor in Gear.

Apparently Kiara has no sense of direction.

After a five minute walk back, a car comes by and I stick my thumb out.  Its a million degrees and I really dont feel like walking anymore with my big pack.  The car stops and asks where Im going. I tell them Guejar and they tell me to get in.  They came up here to hike and theyre on their way back to Granada now.  They drop me off in Guejar and continue on their way.  With few options left, I decide to try the phone again.  Rosie answers.  She tells me to wait at plaza mayor. Graham will be down in a red mercedes van to pick me up in a half hour.

Success!

In the mean time, I run into a supermarket that has been reopened after a siesta.  I buy cheese, crackers, and a bottle of wine for Rosie and Graham. I start walking back to plaza mayor and a dark blue Audi pulls up next to me.

mack?, the man in the drivers seat asks.

Im confused. I dont really know what the man said, but it sounded like he said mack with a Spanish accent. Graham is English. Instinctively I just say mack in return.

Are you Graham?

It is. He really did say mark, but with an English accent. I get in the back and introduce myself. It takes me a minute to realize that Graham isnt even driving. His friend Aidan is. On the right side of the car. Aidan had just drove down from England with his wife Bridget and son Josh. Theyll be staying at the farm while Im there.  We drive off to the farm and I realize Kiara had given me decent directions. The big Spaniard was just plain wrong about where Cortio Hoya Grande is. After abot a 20 minute drive we arrive at the farm house.  The place has a gorgeous view. The farm is nestled in the mountains with a view of Guejar Sierra down to the right, the reservoir situated between the two montains, and further down sits Granada.

This is a special place.

At the house I finally meet Rosie. I also meet Josh, whos 12 but looks 16, and Bridget. We sit around for a while, then Graham shows me around the farm while Rosie prepared dinner. Ill be staying in the bunkhouse. Theres a barn out back thats been turned into a stable. Around back of the house there are a few cherry trees, but most of them are down the mountain on the front side of the house. We pass by a patio overgrown with weeds that will eventually be turned into a greenhouse, but after all the weeds are gone.  I make a mental note to pick all the weeds by the time I leave the farm.  We continue on around the side of the house and theres two steps completed in what will eventually be a staircase around the side of the house.  Back at the front of the house, Graham shows me his front steps. Kiara had built the first one a year ago. Now, all thats left to be finished is the concrete and pebbles at the top of the steps, and the wooden steps and bench need to be stained.  He suggests that I finish the ob. He quite likes the thought that my friend started the stairs and I cold finish them. I do too.

We head inside for dinner. Rosie has prepared some chorizo and some freshly chopped tomatoes with onion. Theres also my crackers, cheese, and wine.  The food is delicious. At 9p its too dark to see in the house anymore so Rosie leaves to turn on the generator. We sit arond for a few more hours until I admit that Im completely exhausted. I head to bed, but before I leave to walk to the bunkhouse Graham, Josh, and I make plans to eat breakfast at 9am and go mountain biking at 930a.

Sounds good to me.


PS. y copter has keys that dont work. excse typos.

Day 33 - Sevilla

To siesta or not to siesta?

That's not even a question. I sleep until 2:00p instead. I finally get out of bed and I'm relieved to see that my fellow pub-crawlers are still confined to their own beds. I'm an early bird. I only takes me a few minutes to realize I want some food, so I head to the grocery store I was at yesterday. It's closed Sundays. Everything is closed today. This place is a ghost town. You can walk for a half hour down big streets without seeing a soul. I finally find a place to eat and I sit inside. It's hot out again today, but it's not as bad as yesterday. I order Paella. It's good, but it's really nothing special. It's almost too dry.

After lunch I stop back at the hostel to collect myself and devise a plan for the day. I'm not entirely convinced that there's all that much to do today. There's nobody in Sevilla.

I decide to walk down the street to the GastroSol. It's a funky-looking structure that's supposed to represent mushrooms. For €1,30 I take a space-age elevator to the top and admire the view of the city. I walk around the ramps at the top of the GastroSol for a while then sit down at one of the tables on the balcony with a Mojito. It's discounted the €1,30 I paid for the ride up. It's not a bad deal. I sit for a while admiring the views and writing. It's a gorgeous day if you're in the shade. I'm slurping away at the last bit of my Mojito when I get a tap on the shoulder. It's Petra. She's walking around the GastroSol with her couchsurfing hosts. They're locals. We talk for what must have been close to an hour before they decide they'd better get going. They invite me along with them down to the river, but I politely decline. I've got to go back to the hostel and I sill have to reserve a spot on a train to Granada tomorrow. They'll be going to a free flamenco show at 10p, so I tell them I'll meet then there. They give me the address and head off.

I wait a few more minutes before following suit. I need to reserve the seat on the train so that's exactly what I do. Eventually I'm back near the hostel, but all this walking and heat has really helped to build up an appetite. I find a tapas bar and sit down. I order the tapas that the proprietors suggested. I'm also recommended a local beer. I order that too. The people at the tapas bar are incredibly nice. They let me try the salsa with bread before putting it on my sandwich for me. Eventually my meal comes out and it's massive. A huge sandwich with a large order of fries to boot. The meal is absolutely amazing. Much better than the paella I had for lunch. The meal and beer runs me a whopping €4,30.

Nice.

I thank them profusely for the meal then head back to the hostel. It's time for some free sangria before heading to the flamenco show at 10p. At the hostel I sit around with a guy I met last night and sip sangria. Adam's from Canada. We talk for a while before I head to the flamenco show. As I was previously warned by the locals I met at the GastroSol, free flamenco is not the best flamenco. It wasn't that bad, but after watching for 20 minutes and waiting for Petra and the Spanards I decide to go back to the hostel. I'd rather watch the closing ceremony of the Olympics with my fellow travelers.

I sit down in the hostel just as a guy in front of me asks who won the Olympics by medal count.

"The United States," someone replies.

The guy is pissed and smacks his hands on his knees in disappointment. Then they ask where I'm from.

"The United States."

Sweet, sweet victory.

Day 32 - Sevilla

This morning sucks. I woke up at 4:15am to walk Valerie to her bus stop, then returned at 5am to sleep for a couple hours before waking up to pack. Five churros and a couple cups of coffee and I'm off to catch my train to Sevilla. It leaves at 11am and I'm off with no problems. When I get off the train I'm in disbelief. I knew it would be hot. I had been checking the weather for weeks. I didn't think it would really be 110+.

This is ridiculous.

After walking the wrong direction for a while I finally stop to ask for directions and got back on track. I walked back to the train station and around the town for another 20 minutes before coming to my hostel. Along the way I took it all in: the beautiful Spanish architecture mixed with Moorish style, the white buildings, and the beautiful bell towers. At the hostel in relieved to be out of the heat. Seeing my name on the blackboard welcoming me to the hostel was a nice touch, too. I settle in for a few minutes and sit down next to a guy that doesn't say much. Shortly after a couple blonde girls sit down across from me and we get to talking. They're from Germany and they've just came from Portugal. They'll be making dinner soon and ask if I'd like to join. I say I would, but I'll have to get groceries first. They ask the guy next to me what his name is. He doesn't say anything. I try again in Spanish.

"Vicente."

He's from France but studied in Mexico. An interesting combination if you ask me. We all talk for a little bit before I go to the store to get groceries. I come back with pasta, olives, and tomatoes. The girls needed tomatoes and I offered to get them while I was out. I used some for my sauce as well. I sit down and I'm soon joined by the German girls. Vicente comes over too. He's found someone who speaks Spanish and now he won't leave me alone. I eat while we all talk. My meal is delicious. The chopped olives are incredible. I'm so proud of my little meal, it came together quite nicely. After we eat we all head out on the free walking tour at 6:40.

At night the weather is a little more bearable. We walk around the Giralda Catedral, Reales Alcázares (the palace), the narrow alleyways in the old Jewish district, and end at the town hall. It takes a few hours and we are all hot and exhausted. We head back to the hostel and get there at 9pm. There's free sangria at the hostel from 8:30p to 9:30p.

Perfect.

There's definitely a reason The Garden Hostel has been voted as one of the world's top three hostels three years in a row. The free sangria might have something to do with it. We all hang out on the patio for a few hours before all moving out on a pub crawl. Like most others, this pub crawl starts with a few bars and ends at a discotecha. This one has a little more walking involved that the others though. Along the way I stop constantly to take photographs.

"The buildings have a different spirit in the night" Tamara would have said.

I would have agreed. After a few bars and a few "Terminator" shots we're on our way to the discotecha. I'm so tired though and it's almost two. I will myself on. A few minutes later a girl starts walking with me. Her name is Petra and she's from Austria. She's got short blonde hair. I tell her about the festival in Villach. She pronounces it "Feelak." I tell her about the lederhosen and the traditional dresses. She tells me she wears hers twice a year.

Too cool.

When we get to the discotecha we go outside and sit down. I'm exhausted. I'm basically asleep with my head buried in my hands as I talk to her.

"Wake up."

Oops. What a jerk I am..

We get up and head inside. She orders a drink. I order a Red Bull. I'll not be falling asleep here. We go back outside and talk a while longer before leaving. She's couch surfing around the corner so I walk her home before returning to the hostel. I crawl into bed at 4am. I'm not sure I like this late-night habit. I'll need a siesta if I do this again.

Day 30 - Madrid

Ibiza to Madrid. Last flight within Europe. Homestretch. I'm up with plenty of time to pack and catch the bus that picks up every 20 minutes around the corner. Pepita is out in the sitting room cleaning up a little when I come out of the room. I start to say goodbye, but she asks if I want to have coffee with her.

I thought you'd never ask. I'd kill for some coffee right now.

So we sit out on the patio and talk a while over coffee, until eventually we both decide I'm cutting it a little close. We say goodbye, and I leave. Painfully. Not because I'll be missing Petipa terribly, but because it actually hurts to walk. My shorts rub against the burns on my thighs and with each step I take I'm quite certain I've got shorts made of sandpaper. That's what you get for falling asleep on a beach.

When I reach the bus stop the bus is at the light 20 ft away, but the driver won't let me on. He's giving me this look like he can't stop the bus for me. But he's already stopped at the light.

Come on man.

But he's got a heart of pure ice and an attitude to rival the grinch. He doesn't let me on. An old Spanish woman sitting a few seats behind the driver starts giving him hell for me. I can't hear what she's saying, but judging by that body language and those flailing arms she's really going at it.

You go girl!

It's no use though, and after the 30 seconds of silent plea the light turns green and the bus pulls away. I wait for the next one and it's here in 15 minutes. I'm at the airport shortly after. It's a beautiful airport. It must not be very old. I load up my pockets with the usual crap and get through security to the waiting area. This part of the airport is disgusting. Partially drugged and intoxicated bodies lay scattered on the floors and chairs. They're somewhere between between an intoxicated stupor and a hangover. Purgatory probably. The guy next to me is draped across a few chairs, face down with a constant stream of mucus, saliva, and whatever the hell else that is dripping from his face into a puddle on the floor.

Nice.

I'm relieved when the gate is announced for the flight to Madrid. I hop up and get in line to board, and after a 20 minute wait I finally do. Take-off is sad, especially when I see the island paradise through the window that I'm leaving behind. Madrid will be fun though. Especially since I'm meeting someone at 3pm.

The plane lands shortly after taking off and I catch the bus. I'll be going a half hour to the Plaza de Cibeles stop, then I'll catch another bus to a stop near the hostel. I get off the first bus to find that the stop for my second bus is under construction. I find the stop next to it where other busses stop and wait there. After 5 minutes, my bus approaches but doesn't stop. Instead it keeps going down the street to a stop a few blocks away.

What a pain.

I start running down the street after it in the sweltering heat with my 25lb. backpack on. By the time I get to the stop my shirt is nice and wet and of course I don't catch it. I take a look at a little map I had saved on my iPod and find that the walk to the hostel can't be more than 20mins from where I am. Time to hoof it. The heat is brutal. It's the middle of the day and I should be in the middle of a nice siesta, but instead I'm walking around with a giant backpack in 37 degree heat, whatever that is. Turns out that's roughly one hundred degrees in the motherland.

How lovely.

I find the hostel and check in just before 3pm, so I get a chance to relax on the couches for a few minutes before Valerie comes in. She's just come from lunch, but she's got no problem coming with me to get food. I haven't eaten yet today.

Valerie's internship in Paris ended a few days ago, so she's got a few days of downtime before heading back to Tulsa. A week or so ago we had planned to meet up in Madrid for a couple days to tour the city together.

While we're catching up over lunch, I order an eggplant salad and a water. When it comes out, it's not a salad. I don't really know what it is. It's a tower of eggplant and tomato and its smothered in a white sauce. Upon tasting it I immediately decide it's delicious and I devour the whole thing.

We keep talking over lunch and begin to come up with a plan for the day. She wants to go to a flamenco show. I agree to go. I want to go to La Reina Sofia museum. She agrees to do that. We both want to go back to the hostel first so we do. Back at the hostel I discover that the museum is free from 7pm to 9pm today and tomorrow. Since we'll be going to the flamenco show tonight we decide to go to the museum tomorrow. Valerie calls to make a reservation for the 8:50pm flamenco show. Then we decide to walk around in a park for a few hours before then.

The park is absolutely gorgeous, and we make a conscious effort to stay in the shade where we can. Fountains, rose gardens, statues, etc. My favorite is the statue of The Fallen Angel. It's inspires curiosity. Before we leave the park, we come across a big glass building. It's run by La Reina Sofia museum and it's got an exhibit dedicated to glass inside. It's pretty weird. Eventually we get back to the hostel and walk to the flamenco show. We get there earlier than 8:50 to discover the woman had told Valerie 8:15. The accent threw her off. We go inside and it's not what I expected. Not even close.

We're ushered through a dimly lit room to a candle-lit table for two right next to the stage. So intimate. Valerie and I take a seat at the table and within seconds two glasses of sangria are on our table. It only takes me about a minute to realize I'm the only person wearing flip flops, I'm the only person wearing shorts, and I'm the only person wearing wearing a T-shirt.

What a scrub.

Everyone else is wearing nice clothes. There's even three Japanese gentlemen front and center wearing suits. I'm pretty uncomfortable, and a little embarrassed, but I get too swept up in the performance to care any more. It's absolutely riveting. Two men play the guitar, two men sing, and two women and a man take turns dancing the flamenco. Passionate, beautiful, and raw. It was really disappointing to know we had arrived 30 minutes late to the performance. I could have watched it for hours. Eventually it came to an end, and we walked back to the hostel. Along the way we bought a bottle of wine and a coke to mix it with.

These Spanish and their drinks.

Back at the hostel we joined the rest of the group with our wine and coke. Ch):&(& they call it. Then I remember that my most recent CPA Exam score had just been released. After a quick check on the Internet, I'm quite pleased to see that tonight is going to be the biggest celebration ever. I mean, ever.

We were going to go along to a few bars with the people from out hostel before finally ending at a Brazillian fiesta, but we decided to go to dinner with a few others in lieu of the bars. We'll be at the fiesta later. So at dinner Valerie and I split a pizza then we all head to Barco for the fiesta. The live Brazilian music is unreal and half the bar is dancing. We join in. After a few hours the band packs up and the DJ in the back of the room starts spinning. We take the stage. Only a couple other couples get up and dance with us, but who cares.

I'm halfway to a CPA.

Hours go by and we're both dripping wet. Almost everyone else from our hostel has gone home, but we go on for hours. Eventually around 4am we decide to walk back to the hostel. I've got nothing to do tomorrow. It's the first time I don't set an alarm in weeks.

Day 31 - Madrid

I've really got nothing to do today. It's the best feeling ever. Valerie's been awake for an hour or so by the time I roll out of bed at 10. She tells me there's churros for breakfast so I dash down the hall and scarf a few down. They're really not that satisfying. I'm still hungry after about four or five of them.

That can't be nutritious.

After a half hour of sitting around the hostel we leave to go tour the city. We start at parque del oeste, a park a few metro stops away. There's an old Egyptian temple in the park, so we walk through it for a few minutes. Valerie gets in trouble or touching the walls. We leave shortly thereafter to walk to the palace. It's the second largest in Western Europe. It's big. Valerie had done a free walking tour the day before so she was able to tell me a little bit about it. We continue on and within a few minutes we're at the grand cathedral next to the palace. It was built in the Spanish spirit of "mañana." Construction started in the 17th century. It wasn't completed until 1990.

One too many siestas in my opinion.

After walking around for a few hours the heat has really started to build up. So has my appetite. We stop into a place she had eaten at two nights ago for a quick bite. I order 6 tiny little sandwiches and I only enjoy half of them. The rest have a funky taste. After lunch we went back to the hostel for a siesta.

Oh what a glorious siesta it was.

I could really get used to this.

After our siesta we head out to another park before going to La Reina Sofia museum at 7pm. Inside the museum we see it all. Dalí, Picasso, Kandinsky; the names go on. I'm a particularly big fan of Dalí, so I'm in my own little heaven as I bask in his work. At nine we leave the museum and head off to find dinner. The tapas restaurants we had planned on checking out were either disappointing or closed, so after a long search we settled on paella. It was absolutely delicious.

We walked back to the hostel for an early night. I've got to catch a train to Sevilla in the morning. Valerie has to catch a flight at 6:30am to go back to Paris so she can make her flight back to the states. This was the first time she had left France during her two month internship.

This is the 13th country I've been to in the past few weeks.

Day 29 - Ibiza/Formentera

I didn't get home until 5 this morning, but I'd feel so judged by Pepita if I slept in. I make myself get up at 10 and I get in the shower. It's the first time I haven't worn flip-flops in the shower since Ireland. It's really nice. I liberally apply sunscreen, then I pack a bag with stuff I'll want on the beach today and head out. On the way to the boat that will take me 30 minutes south to the Island of Formetera, I stop in a store and buy 3 liters of water, a breakfast bun, and a wrap for lunch. Afterwards, I walk down to Plaja Fugueretas. I got on the boat at 11:10, and off we went.

I decided to sit up on the top deck to soak up the sun and enjoy the trip. A couple announcements are made on the PA system: trip duration, where we'll make port, and where you can catch a bus to the beach. Then they play music over the PA. Not the kind you'd hear on a bus or ferry in America, but the kind you'd hear in Ibiza. Everyone on the boat is loving it.

I certainly am.

It feels like we're in the Caribbean as we sail on. We pass islands, white sand beaches, and bright blue shores. This is the Mediterranean. It's beautiful.

We make port in Formentera and I head straight off the boat towards a scooter rental.

I'm gonna get me a scooter.

I rent one at a slight discount, and after leaving a €10 deposit, I rip off down the street. I have absolutely no idea where I'm going, but I don't care.

I'm on an island. How hard can it be to find a beach?

I weave around island roads and eventually pass a gate and a monster line of people on scooters waiting in line on the shoulder of the road. I flip around and get in the back of the line. I figure it must be a beach. I ask the guy walking up and down the line of scooters if we need to pay to enter.

"Sí, necessitas pagar."

It's €4. There's probably other beaches that are free on the island, but I don't really care. There must be a reason it costs €4. After waiting a half hour I discover there is a reason. A very good one. It's the most incredible beach I've ever seen. A vivid, deep blue turns sharply into an aqua that greets a white beach. Scattered every few hundred yards there are colorful rocks that butt out into the water. Waves spray over them and throw a white wall of water into the air. It's a perfect backdrop to the most incredible photograph. Eventually I take my eyes off the natural beauty that is the beach and look for a spot to lay down for the day. On my search I take it all in: the water is a color I didn't know existed, one in three women don't wear a top (one in 50 is completely nude), and the men wear bañadores that rarely make it halfway down the thigh.

I came prepared.

Since I hadn't packed swim trunks in my backpack, yesterday I bough a pink and blue bañador that fits right in. No one pays me any attention when I lie down on towel in the sand. They're too busy being naked.

After a half hour I go for a swim. The water's warm yet refreshing, and the waves are the perfect size for bodysurfing. I spend what must have been an hour floating around and catching waves into shore before heading back in. After a reapplied coat of sunscreen, I decide I'm going to fry if I don't find shelter from the sun. I pack up and move under an umbrella where I gladly pay €6 when a man comes over to collect. I'm so content that I siesta.

I wake up red. Very red. The umbrella didn't protect against burns whatsoever. But there's no time to dwell on that. It's too nice out and there's more fun to be had. I dive in the ocean and ride a few more waves in to shore. Three hours left before the last boat leaves for Ibiza. I had originally planned to leave the beach with three hours to spare so that I can explore the island.

That can wait 30 minutes.

Eventually I drag myself off the beach and head back to my scooter. Time to ride around. I find a nice two-lane road that follows the coastline and motor down it for miles. I stop at beach after beach to admire the bright blue waters and the bleached-white buildings that sit back from them. Amazing.

Farther down the road a hill creeps up. The road starts winding. The views are grand. Looking back on where I'd came, I see a small strip of land with blue beaches on either side, leading into a larger body of land. I continue on, and when I continue on into a small town I run into a police roadblock. They wave everyone right. There's nothing there but a dead end and a parking lot. And a tiny alley between buildings just small enough for a scooter. My scooter.

They didn't say not to go around..

I find my way through houses and shops and back on to the main road. It's a successful evasion that pays dividends. There's a lighthouse ahead that sits high upon rocky cliffs. It's a long way down.

Back on the scooter.

I motor back down the road, through the roadblock, down the winding hill, and back down the small strip of land. When I reach the larger part of the island I turn left and head south. This time it's one-lane roads and dry plots of land separated by rock walls. Lots of agave and prickly pears.

I finally reach the end of the road and another lighthouse perched upon a cliff. There's a hole in the ground nearby with a makeshift ladder heading down into it.

Why not.

I clamber down into the hole and find that it drops into a hole that leads out to the cliff. I'm in a cave that's halfway up a massive cliff. It's way too cool, but I can't stay forever since I need to be back at the port in a half hour. I made it in time and eventually stumbled back into Pepita's apartment. She can't believe how red I am. Neither can I.

Oh well.

After showering I come back out to ask Pepita where a cheap place to eat would be before heading to bed. I don't want to have another crazy night. I need sleep, and Ibiza has been expensive. She recommends a Chinese place around the corner since most other places are closed.

On a Wednesday?

"Sí. El 8 de Augosto es el día más importante de Ibiza."

It's basically their Fourth of July.

So I now have yet another unexpected party awaiting me. Fireworks included, and they don't even start 'til midnight. So with that plan in mind, I went and ate at the Chinese restaurant she had recommended. The food was amazing. So was the staff. A middle aged Asian woman, who I assumed to be the owner, was very excited to hear all about my travels. She couldn't believe that I was leaving Ibiza without hiking up to a vantage point where I can see the whole city. She says the beaches are beautiful, the parties are great, but this is something special. I tell her I'd see it. So after paying for the meal I headed off to find the spot she described.

Through the streets, around the port, up the stairs, and eventually I see people standing behind an old castle wall high above the city. I keep walking and I find myself grateful that she told me about this place. Not only can I see the city, I also have a perfect view of the port where the fireworks will be.

When midnight comes around the fireworks begin. From where we're standing we have an amazing view. And that sound. Each firework resonates off the buildings below and echoes back to us. After the firework show I head back to the house. I get down to the port and turn left to head home, when all of a sudden my body begins pulsing from the massive bass of the electronic music that just started playing.

There's no ignoring this. I'd better go check it out.

I turn around and I see about a hundred yards away a stage has been erected in the port. Ibiza brought a discotecha outside. It's a massive music festival with a DJ accompanied by live vocals. It's just started. And it's 1am.

Ibiza

I stay for a while before eventually walking home. Only after a mile does the music finally fade out.

Day 28 - Ibiza

Routine. That describes this morning. I'm very meticulous about packing my bag though. I haven't flown for weeks and I want to make sure I don't have a repeat experience. I'm up much earlier than necessary so I can shower, pack my bag, and head off in search of food.

The first thing I find that seems like a decent place to eat at this time of day is a pizza place.

Go figure.

Aside from the leftover pizza I'd eat for breakfast in college, this is the earliest I'd eaten pizza. I order a pizza napolini and wait 20 minutes before someone comes out to tell me in Italian that there's a problem with the oven. I'd have to wait another 20 to 30 minutes. Can I wait? I'd have absolutely no clue what the man was saying if it didn't sound an awful lot like Spanish. After a very long wait, I'm finally presented with a pizza. An anchovy pizza. I didn't order an anchovy pizza.

I can't afford to wait for something else. Dig in Mack.

The first couple bites are really good, but when I finally get a mouth full of anchovies I can't handle it. All that fish and salt at 9am is not what I had in mind. I removed the anchovies.

After breakfast I walked to the bus stop, caught the bus, and got off at the airport. My flight leaves from the Rome Ciampino airport. This airport says it's something different.

Not again.

After a short panic and a quick google search I'm relieved to see I'm in the right place with plenty of time to spare. I decide to experiment. Instead of putting on the majority of the clothes in my bag, I decide to put on just the cargo pants and a shirt. Then I took everything out of my bag that wasn't clothing and filled up my pockets. Combination locks, cards, a notebook, toiletries, camera charger, iPod charger, etc. Then I bring my bag over to the bag drop to weigh it. It's over 10 kilos.

The maps have got to go.

I'd accumulated a fair pile of maps along my journey and they were in my bag. Now they're in the trash. I weighed the pack again. Too heavy. I take out the ziplock baggie with my sunscreen and other "potentially dangerous liquids" and put that in my pocket too. Just under 10 kilos.

Let's go.

Through security into the waiting area filled with degenerates and party animals, onto the plane, and off to Ibiza. The passengers roar during take off. Everyone's in high spirits and full of energy. They're going to party. I'm going to sleep.

An hour later I wake up to the sound of the passengers going nuts. We're about to land. We finally do, and I head outside to find the bus.

When I was in Slovenia I decided to book a place in Ibiza Town for two nights. All hostels required I pay for the entire room, including the empty beds. All hotels required a minimum four night stay.

Where am I going to sleep.

The way i saw it, I had three affordable options: no sleep (which I managed to pull off in Vegas), a nice park bench/spot on the beach, or Pepita's house. A BnB sounded much better that the other options so I booked it. Apparently Pepita gets good reviews.

After a short bus ride and a quick walk I find the street her apartment is on, but I can't find the address: 3,4 b. None of the apartments have letters. I stop into a Internet cafe, make a call, and get her on the phone. She repeats the same address she had sent me. I ask what floor. She says four.

Well that's a start at least.

I hang up and walk to the counter to pay for the phone call. The girl won't let me pay. She says I have to call first. I tell her I did. She says I have to call first, then walks away.

Is my Spanish really that bad?

I give up trying to give her my money and head next door. I decide that #2 on the fourth floor is what Pepita means by "b." I ring the intercom and she buzzes me in. Then I take the elevator to the 4th floor, which is actually the 5th, and and as soon as I leave the elevator I'm greeted my Pepita. She's in her late thirties/early forties. She's very tan with a bright smile. She ushers me in, shows me around, and sits me down for some watermelon.

Sandilla del campo.

It's absolutely amazing. Especially since it's so hot out.

After we eat eat she sits me down and draws me a little map with a few things on it that I'd ask about. Food, beach, port, discotechas. She writes it all down. I thank her then head off. I attempt to head to the plaza near by but I ended up on some stairs. That go up and up and up. There's amazing views at the top of the stairs. It feels like Key West with all the palms and the blue water in the background. I head down the other side of the stairs and down to the rocks at the water's edge. Waves crash and people bathe. I keep walking along the rocks and eventually come across more people sunning themselves in the nude.

No big deal. This is Ibiza.

Back at the house Pepita tells me about El Zaguan, a tapas restaurant that I should eat at. It's absolutely delicious and I eat 8 tapas and love them all. Now it's time to discotecha.

I walk down to Space around 1am. It's on the other side of town. It's just getting started, and the place is absolutely nuts. People everywhere sweating, dancing, and not caring about anything whatsoever. It continues on for hours. The place is heating up, way above 90, the beat is building, and BOOM. Jets of freezing cold air are blasted down on us. It happens a few more times.

Keep the crowd craving more.

Eventually I'm just too tired to keep going. I head home. The beaches of Formentera will be waiting for me in the morning.

Day 27 - Rome

Rise and shine.

Why am I so tired?

I decide to lay in bed for a minute before getting up and starting the day.

Bad move.

I fall asleep and wake up at 11:30. I have to be on the outskirts of Vatican City in 15 minutes. It's an impossible task, yet it's one I plan to accomplish. I can't miss my tour. That'd be €35 wasted and a missed opportunity to see the center of Catholicism. I've never used the expression "high-tailed it," but I believe there's really no other way to describe my actions this morning.

I high-tailed in on out of my room, down seven flights of stairs, into to the train station, on the metro, (waited to reach my stop), out of the metro, down the street, around the corner, and to Romearound office. It's not there.

What the hell is going on in Vatican City.

I ran up and down the street for a few minutes before giving up. It's 12:07 and the tour started at 12. I find a couple guys on the street recruiting for a different tour company and as them where the Romaround office is. They say it's back on the street I've been aimlessly running around on.

Impossible.

I run back over there, this time down the opposite side of the street, and there it is. No sign and nothing to make it conspicuous. There's a group waiting out front and two people at the desk waiting in line. The tour hasn't left yet.

Good thing the Italians are punctual.

The line to check in moves quick and while I'm waiting I overhear the girl at the front say she's staying in my hostel. Hopefully she's up for a conversation, because hours of silence in the Vatican doesn't sound appealing. After a few minutes I'm checked in and head next door to buy a big bottle of water and a peach. It's quick so it's breakfast. Then I walk back to Romaround. Now there are two girls from my hostel. I haven't met them yet so I introduce myself. Liana and Jessie are from ASU and are studying design. They've got internships in Europe. Jessie in Barcelona and Liana in Torino. They're relatively friendly but we don't talk much as the tour continues. We walk down the street to the Vatican and since we're on a tour we skip the lines.

Thank God.

When were all inside and all sorted out we begin our tour. Courtyards, halls, it's all priceless. The Vatican has the best art and half of it is painted on walls and ceilings. The Rafael rooms are amazing. The photographs don't do it justice. I take a ton though, especially since we've been told that we can't take any once inside the Sistine Chapel. In exchange for extensive restoration, a Japanese company now owns the distribution rights to Michealangelo's masterpiece.

Someone sold their soul to the Devil.

When we are about to enter the Chapel we are reminded one last time by our tour guide not to take photos.

"They take it very seriously. If you're caught taking a picture the guards will delete all of your camera's photos and escort you out."

But not today. It's a photo frenzy inside the Chapel. It's hot, the guards are tired, their friends are on vacation, and their stuck working at a zoo. They've given up. They'll let the guards on the next shift deal with it.

I decide to risk taking a sneaky picture of the ceiling from down low. No guards come. I take another. And another. And another, until finally I get trigger-happy with my camera. The art is beautiful and the chapel is amazing. I can't imagine even attempting to paint it. But Michealangelo did.

We finally all meet up at the exit to the Chapel and walk out to the entrance of St. Peter's Basilica where the tour ends. I thank the guide then head to the gift shop to buy a rosary. The plan is to get it blessed by a priest, cardinal, bishop, or any other man of the cloth I can find inside the Basilica. In the gift shop, a bunch of old nuns run around and help the shoppers and work behind the counter. It's almost funny.

I gravitate towards a specific rosary and buy it. Then I head into the basilica. It's a masterpiece. High ceilings, grand architecture, and an awe-inspiring altar. I spend about 30 minutes admiring the interior. Eventually I head for the door, and right before an exit I hear "hey!" At first I keep walking, but after another step or two I realize that there aren't really any English speakers here. So, I look over my shoulder and there are the two girls from ASU. I stop and talk to them. Jessie wants to buy a rosary in the gift shop and find a priest to bless it. I tell them I'd just done it. Afterwards they're going to find the famous Boca Deverra and eat pizza. They invite me along and since it's exactly what I had planned anyways I decide to go. We head back to the gift shop and she finds a rosary for a friend. I get one for my friend as well. He drives with one hanging from the rearview mirror in his car.

After we search for another priest in the Vatican, we head outside into St. Peter's Square. It looks bigger when it's packed with people, but it is absolutely massive. The statues that look down upon the square are impressive as well. After a few minutes of taking photographs, my camera dies and we head off.

The three of us decided to eat pizza first, and find the relic second. They found a great place yesterday and they think they could find it again. So we walk. And walk. And walk, until I find myself in the most beautiful place. Small alleys paved with cobblestone, old buildings covered in ivy and beautifully maintained, small sidewalk restaurants, and laundry strung on lines between windows. This is Roma.

After a while they can't find the place their looking for so we settle on a different restaurant. I order a pizza Roma. They order pizza with breschuto. Mine comes first and it's got a thin crust with melted mozzarella, topped with fresh Buffalo mozzarella, fresh tomatoes, and fresh basil. Theirs follows shortly after and is simply a cheese pizza topped with brushuto. Mine is absurdly fantastic. It's the best pizza I've ever had. I exchange a piece for Liana's breschuto and it's also amazing. Italy really does pizza.

After dinner, we find the Boca Deverra and finish our day by walking to the Colosseum. It's dusk, and the lighting is beautiful. The photographs are so brilliant that they look fake.

No one will believe this.

After we sit around for a half hour or so, I propose returning with wine. They jump on the idea, and after a short and successful search for wind we returned to bask in the glory of the Colosseum and watch people as they made ridiculous poses for the camera. We sit for hours, until finally we decide to pick up and move to the steps of a grand church near the hostel. Again we spent hours talking. Jessie has fallen asleep. Liana and I keep talking. Finally I decided I'd better head back to the hostel and we picked up and left.

I have to fly to Ibiza tomorrow. On Ryanair.

Day 26 - Rome

Roma. It wasn't built in a day, but it was built on pizza, pasta, and amore. It's really not what I imagined. I woke up in the morning with a game plan to see the ancient city today and the Vatican tomorrow. That's exactly what I'll do.

After getting dressed I grab the map the hostel gave me and he's off towards the Colosseum. I figure it would be the best place to start. I head around the corner and towards a massive church i had discovered last night. It's open to visitors at the moment so I decide to walk up the stairs and have a look. I soon discover it's open to a very different type of visitor. It's a Sunday.

God wouldn't like it if I just turn on my heel and head out the door, and I'll be at the Big Man's house tomorrow when I visit the Vatican. I'd better stay.

So I do. I feel like I'm living the days when mass was in Latin and the common-folk weren't privileged enough to understand the mass.

Time-warp.

Eventually I continue walking to the Colosseum. I discover along the way that Rome is completely littered. With ruins. They're scattered everywhere. There's just so many of them that I almost begin to think it isn't interesting.

A column here, a collapsed arch there, an abandoned brick foundation

It's repetitive yet unique.

I finally arrive and the Colosseum. There it stood in all it's former glory, towering over the people below. It's smaller that it's made out to be in movies yet it dwarfs everything and everyone around it. The most amazing part about it is not how many fought there, nor is it how massive it is. It's that it was constructed at all.

How did they build something so big that long ago??

I have a really hard time imagining the thousands of people building the Colosseum with the aid of animals and pulleys. But they must have done it, because here it is.

I walked around the Colosseum before heading off in the direction of the Forum, and on the other side of the stadium it looks completely different. The outer wall no longer exists. It's collapsed over the years, leaving the the smaller interior ring bare. If you look at just the right angle it's as if someone took a cross-section of the Colosseum and put it on display so people can see the inner workings of tunnels and passages that allow people to come and go. It's quite cool.

When I've made a full circle around the Colosseum I finally head to the Forum. At the gate I buy a ticket to both the Forum and the Colosseum and proceed through the gate. It's nothing like the Forum in Caesars Palace. It's the Mecca of ancient Roman Ruins. There's arches, basilicas, foundations, walls, columns, and the occasional structure that withstood the test of time, all scattered around the place. There's so many ruins that they've began using priceless sections of columns as benches.

Just leave them where they are and let the people sit.

It's nuts. It takes me a few hours to really walk through the place. The whole place. Palatine hill, the arch to Apollo, aqueducts, and the current archeological digs. It's too much. It's as if each Roman emperor tried to out-do the last when he came to power.

Boys will be boys.

After I've thoroughly toured the ruins I walked back to the Colosseum, and with my previously purchased ticket in hand I skipped the lines. I decided to pay for an audio guide.

Should be more interesting.

And it was. I was hearing about the history, construction, and proceedings that took place at the Colosseum. It was worth the €5,50. After the tour and a few minutes of wandering around inside, I decided to head back to the hostel to get out of the sun and to do laundry. It's about that time again.

Back at the hostel I grab all my dirty clothes and head down to the laundry room. It's a sauna, and getting the clothes out of the dryer is the worst part. Heat pours out of the dryer when opened, and you can't touch the clothes without sweating profusely. I decide to set them on the table in the room to allow them to cool. In the mean time I meet Diana, a girl from Ireland. He thoroughly enjoys hearing about my Irish travels. I also meet Andrew and Ellie. They're siblings from Texas. Andrew and I talked for a while as I folded my clothes, or rolled them rather, then I went back upstairs to put them in my backpack.

At this point I'm starving, so I asked the Aussie working at the reception desk where I should eat. He recommends Alfredo's and it comes with a 10% since I'm staying at Hostel Alessandro Downtown. When I get there I sit down at a table on the sidewalk and order penne a la salmonne. It takes about 10 minutes to come, but when it does I'm slightly disappointed. For €12 I'd expect something a little bigger and more pleasing on the eyes. But I'm in Rome. Everything is expensive. So I take a bite and I instantly fall into bliss. It's creamy, tasty, and the sauce marries perfectly with the penne. I can't believe how mistaken I was.

Why is this so good????

I take as much time as I can enjoying the pasta, and I almost order another. But I can't afford it. Not after the €35 tour of the Vatican I just pre-payed. So after paying for the meal I walk off, thoroughly satisfied yet craving more.

After the 30 second walk back to the hostel I take refuge from the sun and plan my next moves. I want to see the Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon, and the Spanish Steps today. Tomorrow will be dedicated to the Vatican.

So in the hostel I plan my route and run into Andrew and Ellie again. They can't believe I'm heading out in this heat. I tell them I have to see it all.

When in Rome.

So I set off again. The Fountain, piazzas, the Steps, the Pantheon. I get it all done, but it takes hours. On my way back it's getting late and it's time for dinner. I have two options that coincide with two promises I've made. The first is a promise I had made to myself before leaving America.

I have to eat pizza in Italy.

The second is a promise I had made to a homesick girl with jet-black hair and a nice smile working behind a bar in London.

"Promise me you'll have spaghetti carbonara."

I intend to keep that promise.

So on my way back I found a restaurant with spaghetti carbonara on the menu and sat down. I order spaghetti carbonara and I instinctively ask for water when the waiter asks what I'd like to drink. It's a mistake I'll pay for.

Not knowing what spaghetti carbonara is or what it looks like, I'm surprised when I'm presented with pasta in a yellow sauce. Egg and cream based with cheese I decide. I could be wrong. There's also bacon mixed in. Not caring at all, I dig in. The taste is more surprising than the appearance. It's so rich and flavorful that I'm completely overwhelmed. I don't think I'll ever order it again. After I finish, I thank the waiter, pay for my meal, and return to the hostel. Andrew, Ellie, and three others are walking to the Trevi fountain and afterwards they're having dinner. They ask me to come. At first I politely decline, but after I think about it I accept.

What else am I going to do tonight?

So we all set out on our merry way into the night and along the way I get to know them. Andrew is going to live in San Francisco in a few weeks and Ellie is still in school. Then there are the three others. The two girls are from Jersey, and the guy is from Southern California. We have nothing in common.

We walk all over and we split off from the Jersey girls before finally settling on a place near our hostel. It's a shady pizza place, with foreign guys at the door hassling people for their business. A guy leads us inside and through the small, rundown pizzeria and into a different room. We find ourselves in a posh, swanky club with a bar and outdoor patio. It's almost as if the shady pizzeria is meant to drive away people who are unworthy of admission into this upscale establishment. I stop for a beer at the bar before joining them outside. They order pizzas and vino, and I sip on the beer. After dinner we head out to find a place to buy some wine and later to have a drink. When we finally find a place to buy wine it seems a bit pricey: €10 or a bottle. We talk them into two for €12.

Cheers to haggling.

Back at the hostel the four of us enjoy the wine with another woman from Italy who's traveling solo, then after we look for a place to have a beer. It takes us a while to find a descent bar that's open: it's midnight on a Sunday in the most Catholic city in the world.

Happy hunting.

We're in no hurry, so we really don't mind the search. Eventually we do find a place though, and we sat down to have a beer and talk. I really enjoy talking Andrew and Ellie, but the other guy is a complete idiot and cannot be reasoned with. He thinks a college education is worthless, yet he works at a university.

No wonder the system is bankrupt.

Ellie and I can't stand listening to the verbal diarrhea that continues to flow from his mouth so we start our own conversation. It's enjoyable. Afterwards we commend Andrew for his resilience for continuing to listen to the Southern Californian.

We eventually head back to the hostel. I've got to be in Vatican City at 11:45am.

Day 25 - Villach

Today's going to be dull. I don't think I'll be doing anything but traveling. Even when I get to Rome I'll probably just stay in.

I ate breakfast, showered, and packed my things. Then I walked down the hall to the reception where I was greeted by a very friendly and apologetic staff. They gave me my deposit back and a little something extra as an apology.

I accept.

Then I briskly walk down the street to the station to make sure I don't miss the the first train. I'm supposed to take a train to Villach, Austria and wait for a couple hours before boarding a bus that drops me off at a Venice train station just in time to catch another train to Rome. should be around 11hrs of travel.

Couldn't I be stuck in Venice rather than Villach, Austria for a couple hours?

I catch the first train and eventually we stop at the Villach station. I set the timer on my watch to count down to the time my bus leaves and then I start looking for somewhere to eat. There are quite a few places near the train station, but I want something more authentic.

Maybe there's a town square somewhere.

I keep walking away from the train station and I start to hear music. Eventually I come to a small square in front of a church where the music is coming from. There are a few temporary food stands propped up around the square. I'm deciding between eating at one of those places or continuing on in search of s better place when out of nowhere gunshots start erupting to my right. The sudden noise made me jump horribly. After a couple seconds I decide it's the sound of firecrackers, but I want to confirm. I walk around a food stand to look down the street. Are those..?

Whips.

Massive whips cracking in unison swung around by ten big Austrian men in liderhosen. They pause for a minute, then the leader starts up the routine again. It's awesome. I decide to walk the direction they came from and in less than a minute a big wagon pulled by four horses comes down the street with about 30 barrels of beer.

This is so awesome.

The farther I walk the more lederhosen I see. The women are all wearing traditional Austrian dresses as well. Eventually I come across barricades, police, and a ticket booth. There's a massive festival taking place on the other side. I gladly pay the €9,00 to enter the festival and I'm immediately glad I did. I don't quite know what they're celebrating, but by the looks of it, they're celebrating Austrian culture and beer.

Everyone is wearing traditional Austrian clothing and drinking Villacher beir. I assume Villacher is a local beer in Villach. I find a place to have lunch and a beer in the heart of the festivities. After my pint and sausage I head over to the main stage where the action is. Everyone in the audience is cheering, hollering, and clapping for the men and women dancing on stage. Traditional dances with intricate dance moves and authentic music.

I am absolutely loving it. My thoughts have drastically switched from 'what am I going to do for two hours in this town, to 'do I really need to catch that bus?'

I decide that, in fact, I do need to catch that bus.

I'll have to make the most of the next hour.

I stick around the stage because it's the most exciting thing around and the dancing is really starting to draw a lot of attention and enthusiasm. Towards the end of a dance a guy and girl about my age wearing traditional clothes join me where I'm standing. I've got the best spot in the whole crowd. I don't mind sharing with them though. Especially her, she looks spectacular.

After the dance ends the guy walks the girl up the stage and starts to point out things around the town to her.

She must be here visiting for the festival.

One of the original dancers whistles at them but they don't notice so he walks over to them to tell them to get off the stage. Before any words are exchanged, the dancer throws the poor guy on the floor and halfway across the stage. Then he takes the girl's arm.

Here we go. Nothing better than a couple lederhosen-wearing Austrians fighting over a pretty girl.

The guy gets up off the ground and marches over to the dancer, grabs his ear, and pulls him off his girl.

This is planned?

It soon evolves into a routine and the crowd is roaring. While the two guys fight and slap each-other across the face, a third dancer comes and takes the girl. Then he joins the fight, and eventually a fourth dancer does the same. It is awesome.

After 30 minutes of the most amazing dancing ever, I decide I have to walk back to the train station so that I can catch my bus to Venice.

I caught the bus to Venice, and the following train to Rome. It's a high-speed train.

Why aren't all trains high-speed trains.

By the time I get to Rome it's past 10pm. I checked into the hostel then went and walked around for a bit. I'll have to do most of my sightseeing Sunday and Monday.

Day 25 - Ljubljana

A day to myself. I miss this. For more than a week now I've spent my days with friends or people I've met along the way.

A whole day to myself.

I start my morning ritual: shower, eat breakfast, and circle things on the map I'd like to see. Here in Ljubljana it doesn't look like there's that much to see. A town hall here, a church there, a couple bridges, and a castle. I circle everything I can imagine would be remotely worth a visit or a photograph. Then I set off, but first things first: I've got to reserve a spot on a train to Rome tomorrow. I figured out the route to the train station and had no problem finding it, but on the way to the station I had something unexpected happen. I fell in love. Not just once, but again and again. The women here are beautiful. I couldn't say the same about the woman who worked at the train station, but she did succeed in reserving me a trip to Rome tomorrow. I'll be doing a train-bus-train combo.


With that out of the way I started walking around town, weaving my way through the streets on the way to the castle. I saw musicians, beautiful buildings, a street market, and thoughtfully constructed bridges on the way to the castle. Along the way I decided to stop into a church to look at the interior. Upon landing in Europe I've noticed that churches are always more ornately decorated and built than anything else. St. Nicholas's church in Ljubljana was no exception. It might be the most beautiful of all the churches I've seen so far. Towering pulpits, grand architecture, and beautiful brass doors. It's spectacular.

I keep walking and I finally find one of the walkways up to the castle. Steps, steep hills, and more steps wind their way up narrow alleyways and paths covered in trees. It's a beautiful hike. The castle is nothing spectacular, but the views! The castle is perched so high upon a hill that its views span for miles. The city is a beautiful sight from above, red roofs and church spires set against the towering alps in the distance. I'm amazed, and when I go out for a run in a few hours I will climb the grueling steps with the view as a reward.

I walk around the castle a bit then walked down the steps and hills towards the dot on my map marked "Roman Wall."

Might as well see what it is.

Turns out that the "Roman Wall" really is a Roman wall dating back to 14 AD. It used to border a city in those times. The wall is beautifully preserved and I go trigger-happy with my camera.

Why are there not more people here? Not just at this wall, but visiting this city. It's absolutely striking.

Back at the hostel I watched a couple olympic games then dressed to go for a run. Eventually I head off into the heat and up to the castle on the steps a couple times. Forty-five minutes later I was back at the hostel I cleaned up, left my stuff in my room, the Turquoise Room, and head upstairs to use the computers. On Facebook I had received an angry message from a young Italian guy asking me, no telling me, that I had stolen his group's phones and IDs back in Berlin. Apparently he thinks I am the only one who could have done it, which is obviously not true at all. He also claims to have my name and passport number. At first I don't believe that the hostel would give out that information, but how did he find me on Facebook?

This doesn't seem right.

After replying to him and explaining how poor his logic is, I head out to dinner with the Aussie trio. They had spent the day at a nearby lake. Fried calamari was a cheap item on the menu, but the price didn't reflect the taste. It was amazing.

Slovenia has a tiny coast. Is this common here?

After dinner Liam went back to the hostel to rest up since he hadn't been feeling good, but Emma and Nicole came with me to the bar crawl. Apparently it was mostly for PhD students, but there were a few people from our hostel as well. We mingled a bit, and at the second bar things got wild.

Karaoke!

By the time we reached this bar we had formed a small group. We dominated the karaoke since few others volunteered to sing. A few of us did songs solo. I sang 'Johnny B. Goode.' The girls sang 'I Feel Like A Woman.' The men sang 'Wonderwall.' Good times were had by all. Everyone cheered and clapped.

After a few more bars we eventually landed in a club called Cirkus. The place was a madhouse.

I have no idea how I'm going to survive Ibiza in a couple days.

Everyone in my hostel headed home rather early, but I stayed out. Late. Eventually I called it a night and walked back to the hostel.

I can't wait to sleep.

I enter the pin number at the front door. (We have to enter a code at the door after 9:30 since all the hostel employees go home by then.) I walk upstairs ready to fall asleep, turn the corner to walk to the Turquoise Room, and there's a big sign on the door.

"MACKLIN"

What could this be?

"We have a situation! My colleague gave you a wrong bed in a wrong dorm! So we prepared a bed for you in the LIME ROOM which is on the 1st floor (right next to where you were staying). We moved your stuff from the locker and locked it in the locker of the LIME room (#113). Please, forgive us our mistake, we are really sorry for this inconvenience! -Vila Veselova"

Below the note they had taped the key to my new locker.

What good is a locker going to do me if you publicly announce my locker number and leave the key sitting out? This is mental.

With no employee to complain to, I stumbled into the new room and tried to find my empty bed. I tried the key in the corresponding locker to make sure I had the right bed, then looked through my bag to make sure I still had my passport and valuables.

So much for security. And what's up with these hostels today?

I find the things I'm looking for and lock my locker. I pull on the door to make sure it's locked, as I always do when I leave my things in them. It opens.

You have got to be kidding me.

The lock is broken. Not only did the staff leave the key out for anyone to use, but they hadn't even checked to see if the locker was locked after they put my stuff in it.

Idiots.

Seeing no other alternative to my predicament, I put all my most valuable things into my day pack and snuggled up with it in bed.

Let's see someone try and pry this bag from my Kung-Fu grip.

Day 24 - Austrian Alps/Ljubljana

Checkout is at 10am. I'm supposed to be meeting the Aussie trio at breakfast in the bar area after. Breaky they call it. So I pack up my stuff, wait a half hour for the Korean guys to finish in the bathroom, and head downstairs. Checkout is a breeze as usual and I leave a few postcards with them to mail for me. Then I eat. I meet a couple from Scotland over breaky and they ask where I'm off to.

"Well," I tell them, "if three Aussies come through that door in the next 15 minutes I'm off to Slovenia. If not, I'll probably be staying in Munich."

"You've got people after you?"

Yes, I'll be going into hiding in Slovenia.

I tell them the story. Then the Aussie trio of Liam, Emma, and Nicole come through the door.

We pile in their leased Peugot, set the navigation (which they've named Ana) to Ljubljana, and head off. The scenery along the way is absolutely the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. We spend the majority of our trip in the Austrian Alps. They tower all around us. Lush greenery, jagged granite faces, and rushing rivers. We drove through it for hours, climbing higher and higher into the sky and cornering tight curves in the road. The more I think about it the more I realize I've put my life in the hands of an Australian woman on some of the most dangerous roads in the world when she usually drives on the left side of the road.

Crap.

I can finally stop holding my breath when we stop in a small Austrian town to get lunch. Liam gets out his phrasebook so that we can decipher the different things on the menu, but when the young waitress comes to order she speaks perfect English.

Everyone speaks English.

I order some sort of sausage and it comes with a roll, mustard, and raw horseradish. I decide to pile it all in the roll I've cut in half and it's great. Then I follow it up with an apple stroodle. The Austrians really know their stroodles because this thing is out of this world. I tried to savor it, but I really couldn't help but scarf it down. So good.

After we're thoroughly satisfied with lunch we get back in the car and drive off. We cross the border into Slovenia in a tunnel at the top of a mountain then make our descent into the heart of the country. We finally arrive at our hostel, Vila Veselova, and I ask the receptionist if she has an extra bed. Since I only just decided to come to Slovenia at 1am this morning I haven't reserved a place. She had room for me though. In the Turquoise Room. All of the rooms in the quaint Vila Veselova are color themed at meticulously up-kept. The place is more of a bed and breakfast than a hostel.

We meet a few people in the common area and all make plans quickly. Tonight we'll make dinner, have a beer, and watch the olympics. Tomorrow night we'll go on a bar crawl.

Seeing this as an opportunity to save money, I set off to the grocery store in search of the cheapest dinner. I settle on one can of Lasko, a local beer, and tortillas and cheese for quesadillas.

Back at the hostel I make quick work of the quesadillas. They're easy to make and take little time. Emma is dumbfounded.

"What's a quesadilla?"

It's one of the finer things in life. Melted cheese in a folded tortilla.

She tries a bite and likes it. Who wouldn't.

We all sit down at the table and watch the olympics for hours. I'm much more reserved with my enthusiasm for the American athletes in Europe than I am back home. I'm being respectful of the other nations. Especially since we just keep racking up medals. Then someone makes a comment about how Michael Phelps should have never come back to the Games. I bite my tongue. Swimming is next. Phelps wins gold. By a mile.

"So what was that you were saying about Phelps being no good anymore?"

Sweet, sweet victory.

Day 23 - Munich

I woke up fairly early, but by the time I finally was able to use the shower and brush my teeth another hour had gone by. The Korean guys in my room take forever, and I'm pretty sure one of them didn't realize the shower has sliding doors because there's an inch water all throughout the bathroom.

I'd hate to be the cleaning lady.

After my shower and breakfast I head downstairs to see where and when Munich's free tour begins. I enjoyed Berlin's so much I've decided to do it again today. I'll have another full day tomorrow in Munich before going to Rome, and I've decided to use that day to tour Dachau, the Nazi's main concentration camp. it's fairly close to Munich.

I walk down to the city center by 10:45 where the tour leaves. I see when I'm there that the Dachau tour leaves from the same place. I tell the guide that I'd like to see Dachau tomorrow and ask how long the Dachau tour is. He tells me it's four hours, but he does it in five because he thinks it's too much history to do in that amount of time. He really cares about Dachau and he trains the other guides. I decide to skip the Munich tour and go to Dachau today. It's €18 and includes transportation.

It takes about 25 minutes to get to Dachau, and when we arive our guide finds a shady place outside the Camp and gives us an hour's worth of German and relevant world history.

Then we walk through the gate, which is to be symbolically left open. Inside is vile, disgusting, and horrific. It's something I will never forget, yet I never want to remember. I'm walking through gas chambers, torture rooms, and mass graves.

My stomach hurts for hours.

After a quiet trip back to Munich, I thank my guide, Marcin, then walk back to the hostel. I grab my train pass and head to to station to reserve a seat to Rome on Saturday the 14th. I'll have two more nights in Munich.

Back at the hostel I meet Liam, Emma, and Nicole in the bar. I use my three free drink tickets and receive three very small beers in return. Two-tenets of a liter each.

At least they're free.

We talk for a while in the bar. They've leased a car for two months since it's cheaper than each of them paying for trains and busses everywhere. They're off to Slovenia tomorrow morning. It's been funny running into them a couple times, but it's going to be our last night together. The rest of our travels won't take us to the same places. We finally head off to the Haufbrauhaus with a small following. Along the way Liam offers me a ride to Slovenia. I tell him I've just reserved a train to Rome on Saturday, but I thank him anyways.

The lengendary Haufbrauhaus is packed. Years ago, Hitler made some of his big speaches here, but now people are seated everywhere at big tables in the large beer hall. The only one open has two Korean girls seated at it and an old German man. He's obviously a local, and rolls his eyes when 8 tourists clamber into the benches. He's somewhat enthusiastic about having the girls sit next to him though. He doesn't speak any English so we use hand gestures to communicate. It doesn't work very well. Eventually we all order beers and I order a big pretzel as well. The pretzel is salty and delicious. The small waitress returns with 8 massive steins in hand.

Marry me?

I don't know how she managed to carry them all, but it's the most impressive thing I've ever seen.

People keep moving around when they get up to use the toilet and I think the German local is starting to get annoyed since he keeps having to stand up to let people slide down the bench. He starts making gestures and again we don't really understand him. What is obvious, however, is that he is enjoying the oompa band wearing the leeterhosen that has been playing the whole time. He introduces himself as Tony, and I introduce myself as Macklin Behmke. I feel like my German last name will make me seem more acceptable in the Haufbrauhaus. He reaches into his wallet and pulls out an Italia badge. He's not even German. He's just a big a tourist as we are.

How disappointing.

At this point I find myself sitting across from an Alaskan named Kevin. He's traveling around Europe by himself and he just finished up college at UNR. He studied public relations with my ex-girlfriend.

You've got to be kidding me.

He's a cool guy and we'll try and meet up again in Barcelona. After a few hours and a couple beers we head off to an Australian Bar before returning to the hostel. The Aussies happily drink an Australian beer for the first time in weeks, then we return to the hostel. Again I'm offered a ride to Ljublijana, Slovenia. They're going tomorrow.

I accept.