Je suis arrivé

It's been 72 days since flight SQ334 touched down at Charles de Gaulle airport and stranded me in a land of francophones. And while there have already been many adventures, I haven't yet found the time to document them. Nor have I finished writing about my previous European sojourn. All in good time, I tell myself. All in good time.

Ceuta

The bus to the port of Algeciras came to stop at yet another concrete terminal and I was left wondering if I had reached my destination. Awkward exchanges with several Spanish passengers only confirmed that I was on the correct bus. My brain had begun to overflow with languages and deliver sentences that were a melange of tongues (and my "gracias" was sounding suspiciously like "grassy-ass"). It was left to Eddie to inform me that the bus was only in Malaga; the British gardener was in his late 30s and had just boarded the bus, gaunt and weathered, head capped with stubble and mouth minus a tooth. Morocco was our shared destination ("Morocco" was the extent of Eddie's plan) and an amicable conversation was our impetus to travel together.

Granada

Madrid is not just the symbolic and political centre of Spain, it is essentially the geographic centre of Spain. It took a long bus ride, endless fields of olive trees passing by in the afternoon sun, to deliver me to the southern town of Granada, located at the foot of the Sierra Nevada mountains and only an hour from the Mediterranean coast. It is here that the Alhambra is found, an ancient Moorish complex in such excellent condition that even in the middle of winter, when the skies are grey and umbrellas are legion, it is necessary to book your ticket a day in advance.

Madrid

In Madrid I discovered the grumpiest hostel staff of my entire trip; I arrived a few hours before check-in, but I couldn't even leave my pack in the luggage room; I was only offered foul glares and curt English. Not the best start to the morning, and I followed it up by deeply confusing a waiter at a local cafe. I ordered churros (fried dough) and porras (same thing, different shape), but my pronunciation was slightly off and the waiter heard me ask for "porros". It was not until the following day that I discovered I had ordered marijuana for breakfast.

San Sebastian

First things first, I apologise for taking so long to write this next instalment of my travel journal. In case you're wondering what I've been doing in the 13 months since I last wrote about my travels, I arrived home in early March of 2009 (much to my disappointment) and lost myself in the routine of day-to-day life. I am relocating to Paris in July, and the prospect of more time overseas has urged me to resume writing. I ended my last entry by boarding an overnight bus from Barcelona to San Sebastian...

Barcelona and Montserrat

Arriving in Barcelona after nightfall, I was overjoyed that it was warm enough to walk around in just a shirt -- it was a balmy 20 degrees. So the locals were rugged up in jackets and scarves, but after the subzero temperatures I had become acclimatised to over the previous weeks this was a minor heatwave. I was not the only one to enjoy the weather so, fellow Australians Matt and Dom were only too happy to sit on the beach as day gave way to night, the three of us in shirts and knocking back cheap Spanish beer.

Vienna

My first night in Vienna was mostly spent sprawled on couches in the hostel lounge, worn out from the long train ride (why is it that sitting down for hours tires you so?) but too awake to try for sleep. I accomplished little on this first night, seeing nothing of the town but at least meeting Maximo and Gerardo, two friendly Argentinians.