Rouzie has to fly back early so will head off a week before me.

Nice.

• it’s now a new year
• I moved into a new flat
• I now own crystal (thanks parents)
• built a hdmpc from scratch for under £170

However, somethings haven’t.

• still don’t have Internet
• brakes on my black pony bike are still crappy

At any rate, I’ve a list of things to do this year. Many are already in motion and some might take a while to achieve.

• Plan month trip to NZ, Thailand, Australia
• give up drinking for the month of January
• give up smokes
• get rid of Christmas belly
• write an instrumental album
• set up an automated security system
• write an iOS app
• travel to more than 5 different countries
• save

Anyways, all that more and hope to be updating more often, with better content.

Booyaa!

Once again I use my failsafe method of flying with EasyJet. If you’re traveling alone, always wait til the last person has gone through the gate. Try and be the last one on the plane. Because people at the front tend to have a free seat somewhere. Both to and from Porto, I sat 3 rows from the front. We took off at about 6.30pm and sat back, listened to some music, and ate a sandwich I’d prepared for the 2 hour flight.

Just 10 minutes before landing the pilot banked the plane about 60˚ and he put on the thrust (to quickly turn the plane). What I thought he must have missed the flight path. One lady started screaming. Then ALL the ladies started screaming. Jesus of Nazareth, Saint Maria! Then about 10 seconds later he levelled out, and descended to land the plane. Once we touched down everyone started clapping. That really annoyed me. I knew the pilot knew what he was doing. Happens all the time. And there’s no need to clap. That’s like clapping for a bus driver once you get to your stop. Slightly condescending. At any rate, the plane got to the gate and I was pretty much first out the plane since all i had was my rucksack under my seat. Walked swiftly to the customs gate to find hundreds of people waiting to have their passports checked.

I was unfortunately in the slowest queue in the world. Most people in the queue (All other countries) where from Nigeria or parts of Africa some Americans and some stupid English people. The people in front were English so I suggested to them that the EU queue was moving much faster. The man answered me “is that so… Honey, you stay here with the kids, and I’ll go see if the queue, does in fact, move faster…” So i said, “just a suggestion mate, just trying to help you out”. It did in fact move a lot quicker so he beckoned his family over. Not a thanks. Whatever, i was one family closer to the front. My line wasn’t moving at all. Until suddenly the line quickly dissolved into the other All other countries line – now it was twice as long and i had to go to the back.. WTF. I’d already been waiting over an hour.

I noticed the EU line was down to about 10 people and no one else was coming in from arrivals. So i went over to that line. Once I’d go to the front the lady said “you not from EU, you must other line”. I said, “no, i’ve been waiting over an hour and there are no other EU passengers”. A manager or security guard came over and said “this is fine check his passport, he is right”. Feulf. Stamp stamp. I was finally through.

I’d received a text message from Joel saying to get on the train and head for the centre. I’d no idea where the centre was so looked at the train map, and found half way on the line, bought a ticket for that zone and got on the train. I was just about ready to get off when he called me and told me to get off at Camphaña. Ugh, but I’d only bought a ticket for zone 3 – not zone 6 or whatever. I thought I’d risk it and claim ignorance if I got caught.

Luckily when I got off there were no turnstyles, or guards. I called Joel and he told me to catch a taxi to Av. de Gustavo Eiffel. Once the driver had arrived there, he said “which number” – “ugh, i dunno”, “okay, just drop me here por favour”. Turned out by chance he’d dropped me right outside the pub Joel and his mate Rhys were at. Talk about lucky.

Joel and Rhys (member of the Australian under water hockey team) had been celebrating the Aussie international win the whole day so were pretty ratted to say the least. I had to play catch up which was fine by me as the beers were cold, and only €1 each. We mucked around and ended up getting into town and bar hopped for a few hours. We got some food, a traditional Portugese street sandwich, chorizo & ham & cheese, deepfried covered in gravy and then a mountain of chips on the top. Revolting. I then asked for a burger which was quite delicious. Meat patty cooked medium rare, with ham, cheese, lettuce and tomato.

By that point Rhys had, had enough and said he was back off to the hotel. But me and Joel were still thirty so kept on drinking for a bit. Joel didn’t exactly know where the hotel was, and it didn’t have the address written on the keycard. So we walked around to try and locate it. Luckily, after a couple hours of walking about we found the hotel. But realised the keycard was broken and wouldn’t let us into the room.

Then next day i awoke on the pullout sofa, Joel in the bath with a small pillow and two of Rhys’s team mates in beds. We got up, the other guys had breakfast in the hotel – i went out for a look around and to get a coffee. We met up and decided that the best method on getting down to Cascais would be hire car. I had a look online and booked a car for 12.30pm pickup from the airport.

Joel, Rhys and me flagged down a taxi and headed to the airport. We arrived and searched for the hire car place, but then later, in a slight daze, realised that we had booked it through a travel agent – not the actual car hire place. So we called the guy up, and he said that the booking hadn’t yet gone through and that it normally takes two days to go through. Stink. So, now what.

We went to Europcar and asked how much their car was. Expensive, okay – we ask all the other car places. Much more expensive. Okay, we go with Europcar. The cheapest ones there. I show my passport and drivers licence, Joel hands over his credit card and we pickup a nifty 4 door Peugeot 207. Joel said that he’s the most nervous he’s ever been, having a kiwi behind the wheel of a left-hand drive. But we drive onto the motorway with out any troubles.

Bombing it down the Portugese motorway was super easy. 120km/h is top speed, but most cars travel a lot faster. The Pug didn’t do much over 120 anyways so didn’t break the speed limit much ( – didn’t see one police car towards Lisbon or even driving back). On the way towards Cascais, there were many tollgates. Some €1 one a price €22.50 or something. Became kind of annoying.

Our first stop was a little place called Nazaré. On the coast north of Peniché, small cliffside village overlooking a village with beach below. Quite pretty. We drive to a sandy parking lot, walk towards the beach and I bought a gypsy towel on the way. It was gypsy because it was €5 and said something Hotel on it.

There was absolutely no surf on the beach, but enough time for an hour nap and for me to run and jump into the water. We got some sandwiches from a local bakery and drove on to Peniché. It was the same story at Peniché. Waves were flat as a pancake. Beautiful, but flat. I’m sure they must get some decent waves as the little village had surf shops, slow moving people and hippies. The telltale signs of surf.

We motored off down to Cascais where we were staying for the next couple of nights. We arrived at sunset, but had trouble locating the villa for the next hour. We turned up at about 8.30 and met the others staying there. “B” a German girl, “Stuart” & his Colombian girlfriend, and an English couple. We headed to the supermarket before it closed and got some essentials. Beer €6 for a 12 pack, €3 for a nice bottle of wine, some chips and pasta, veges etc.

Next morning we awoke at about 9am, and tried to rally the troops up to go for a surf. Was a beauty of a day and i was excited to get in the water. We drove around the coast at about 11.30am and found a little surf spot with surf hire. However the water was still pretty flat, but had maybe 2-3ft waves, just enough to surf. I hired a mini-mal & wetsuit, although at €25 for four hours, it was pretty expensive. And the condition of the gear was pretty bad. Wetsuit was all tatty and the board had seen better days.

We finished up surfing around 3, got some lunch then back to the villa to chill. GOt stuck into some beers and laying in the sun. Villa was nice, although was affectively just a huge stack of apartments. Not like a traditional villa i had in mind. Still. Pool was refreshing to jump into in the heat.

The night before i left, me and Joel met up with Ana and Ralph (Ana used to work at Steel but lives in Sintra, PT). We drove over at about 7pm as soon as we got into Sintra it started bucketing down. We stopped just down the hill from Uncle Stu’s villa (very beautiful) which is on the hill top with access to the beach below. Had a quick pint while waiting for Ana and Ralph then heading up the winding roads to a local restaurant in the hills. It was a typical village restaurant, made for the locals, and not for tourists.

The restaurant was small but full of locals, and lit by fluorescent lighting. A lady came over and Ana ordered for us. We had a bottle of red wine from the region for €2 which was delicious. Then came the food. We had rabbit, veal, cuttlefish and beans, lemonfish, chips, rice, and salad. Was nice and interesting although not really my type of food. Chicken or fish thanks.

The next morning was a bit hazy over the water, but we went out anyway. The waves were quite rough, and it was really tough getting passed the breakers. There was a strong undertow and a rip to be wary of. Wearing a wetsuit and having a surfboard is a lot safer than having nothing. If you get caught in the rip, trick is to let it take you out rather than battle it. You’ll spend all your energy getting nowhere. It’s safer to be calm and once the rip has dissipated paddle back to shore.

One big wave dumped me, i tumbled over and over hit my head on the sand then had to have a sit down for a bit. Then it started raining which is not a problem when you’re surfing, however our towels and things would get wet so we had to get out and chuck things into the car. We decided that we’ll leave it at that, so had a pizza for lunch on the way back to the villa then chilled out. Sun came back out so i sat next to the pool for a bit before i had to drive all the way back up to Porto.

Said my goodbyes and thanks for having me’s. Started off driving to Lisbon as i needed to get onto the motorway. I realised i had little cash on me, so i needed to get to a cash machine. Uh oh, tollgate. €1 okay that’s doable. Drive drive drive. Tollgate. €2, okay just enough now. Need to find a cash machine. I pull into the next services, park the car and find a cash machine. It had crashed with a Windows disk error. I walked around and found another cash machine, working. Put my card in, and spits it out saying there’s a problem reading my card.

By the way, it seems 50% of cash machines in Portugal actually work.

I drive again, luckily avoiding any more toll gates and find another services with a working cash machine. This time I’m lucky. I get some lunch, petrol, water and snack food. Continuing on, the sky becomes dark and rain starts to splash on the windscreen. Ah, rain time must put on the windscreen wipers… Then suddenly it absolutely gushed down. The heaviest rain I’ve ever seen. It was so heavy that i had to slow right down to about 50km/h. The road had turned into a lake, some keenos were still overtaking me at 100 or so. One guy in a dark green BMW roared past. Geeze i thought to myself. About 10 minutes later, i started hearing sirens and an ambulance raced by. And sure enough there was a dark green BMW upside down on the side of the road. Idiot.

The rain later cleared and i was back on track to the airport. Filled up on gas before turning the car, got some snacks for the plane. Got to the airport right on time, checked in, and headed to the gate. Went though customs and waited for the plane.

Back to sunny London. Got in to Gatwick and caught the train to East Croydon, as trains from London Bridge weren’t going back to Tulse Hill. Caught the 68 bus from East Croydon back to my house which was fine.

All in all, Portugal was fantastic. I need to go back again and or for longer. People were nice, language was confusing, food was tasty, beer was cheap. I could live here.

Spent a good hour getting lost,then crashed at Joel’s mates hotel.

Next morning we booked a car online, caught a taxi to the airport. Couldn’t find the dealer, so called him. He said the car wouldn’t be ready for ay least two days so we ditched that guy and went with Europcar. We managed to get a Peugot 207 for a reasonable price then drove for hours and hours, til we reached Nazar.

Nothing was happening on the beach so we say and relaxed. Had a sandwich from a bakery then continued down to Peniche. Again, nothing was happening. No surf. Flat as the belly of a super model.

Continued driving, towards Lisbon, down past sintra to Cascais.

Today we went out surfing, but wasn’t great. Less than 3 ft and inconsistant waves.

Now we are off for a walk to see what us around.

Gratzi.

But old trusty Australia pulled out a villa in Portugal and invited me on an epic mirrorball suit surf-tour of a trendy tweed and an agressive nutmeg library coat journey… WTF are you talking about marksy?

I’m talking about surfing on the coast of Portugal for 4 days in the late days of summer and possible the final days for this year, man. It’s my last shot of surfing this year, and I thought, I could save my money and mope around in London for a week, whilst girlfriend and friends are busy working. Or live on the edge and take an adventure.

I had rekindled my taste of surfing a month ago with Rouzie down in Cornwall. It was fantastic. My knees are pretty much healed now after 5 years of waiting for an major injury to heal. Pain only comes after excessive pressure or drastic changes in temperature (out of the shower and into the cold rain on the bike).

I’d booked off the week leading up to September a couple months ago, to force myself to take holiday. Luckily, it’s bank holiday weekend this weekend, my birthday on the Friday, so I get two days off, so I’m taking off from work until Monday 5th, returning the day after.

However, I come back to London on the 1st, in time to relax for my 3rd decade celebration.

Joel doesn’t know exactly where the villa is yet, but I’m sure he’ll find it as he’s leaving early tomorrow.

Not taking a suitcase, just a rucksack with a tshirt, pants, trunks, slim towel, toothbrush, passport and waterproof camera.

Yus!

Geography reference: Arrested Developmen

Even thought I’d love a brand new one, with ABS as an optional extra (another £990) is a bit much just for now. Heated grips, another optional extra, £130. And I’d need pannier bags and cellphone/GPS mount) – PLUS protective gear.

So, I’m thinking of a 2007/8 BMW F650gs for around £3000, inc ABS and bags. A bike similar to this:

Anyone had experience with taking these over Europe? Or have any points/tips on the bike?

It was a beautiful old Jewish home, converted into a small backpackers. They had three rooms, which were occupied by a youngish Italian girl, traveling by herself for a couple months, and an older American stoner guy who was retracing his footsteps 30 years later after having misplaced his photos.

It was a lovely place with a shared kitchen and bathroom. The folks who owned it lived upstairs, had two young kids and a dog. They were a nice family. Spoke a little English, and when introducing ourselves… “Hola, mi nombre es Mark – mi amigo es Justin” – “AHhh, like Justin Bieber!!!!” They were very excited. The name ‘Justin’ isn’t very prevalent in Spain you see.

So for the rest of the day I called him Justin Bieber.

We had a look around the town, which was a bit more touristy than I had anticipated. We had a couple beers, and decided to go to the supermarket and cook a feed at home on the cheap. We walked down to the supermarcardo and boy were there deals! A kilogram of fresh strawberries for 1€! Normally in London, it would cost £2.99 for 350g. Bought those, two beef steaks, some potato croquetes, potato salad, and 4 bottles of Rioja for €2 each!

Spain is well know for it’s wine, and especially Rioja. HolyMOLY was it good! Not a single hint of vinegar or that gritty pointy taste you can get with other reds. We cooked our feed up, however they didn’t have an oven so we had to pan fry them. Didn’t turn out well, but the steak was choice! We ate them outside, not realising they had a roof top terrace! We found out about this then next day.

In the morning we headed up to the Alhambra, a beautiful old Moorish palace build by the last Arabs in Spain around 14th century, later inhabited by some Jewish settlers, then taken over by Christians, the the English, now returned back to the Spanish. It is now a World Heritage Site. It’s a really beautiful mix of cultures, intended to be a place of peace, self reflection and love. We arrived around lunch time and the queue to get in was masssssive. Possibly the biggest queue we’d seen since London. While Justin waiting in line, I had a walk around to see if there was any other way to get in. There was! Sort of. Justin was standing in line for cash only sales. There was a Credit Card line which was much shorter. So i went back to Justin and said i’ll try get the tickets on credit card. Got back to the credit card queue, which was about 20 people long and within a minute, came over the PA system “Sorry all tickets have now sold out”

Apparently they have 8,000 tickets to be sold everyday. I really don’t know how, but they manage to sell out very quickly.

So sadly, me and Justin bailed, then went to have a look around the Arabic town. It was so hot, possibly 29˚c. We had a walk around a twisty turning suburban area, stopped and had a beer overlooking a valley. on the other side were houses built into the side of the mountain! They are quite common in this area. Some are really attractive looking on the outside. Plaster, paint and doors which lead into a mountain. Dunno what they’re like inside though. Possibly fascinating.

Afterwards we went on a tapas crawl, and ended up a tapas bar that sold pints for 2€ each WITH FREE TAPAS! Was nice so stayed there for a bit then headed back home to smash the remains of our Rioja! We discussed the Alhambra and thought we should get up early, like well early, and try be there for 8am.

I was up first as usual. I woke up to my work day alarm at 7am. Put some coffee on and tried to get Justin to wake up. We managed to get out the door by around 8:45am and headed straight to the Alhambra. There weren’t a lot of people around which was a good sign. Walking briskly up hill to the ticket sales we got to the gates and then…

NO! The huge line of disappointment was back. We jumped in the queue, of what i roughly guessed 300people. Surely we’d have a chance, right? 9am and 300 people in front of us. Well, unfortunately no. About an hour of waiting we’d moved about half of the way to the machines and the lady announced there were no more tickets. I don’t know how the hell they sell out so quickly. Apparently you can book online, but the service is slow and not well made. They also presell tickets to hotels, tour groups etc. You really have to book at least a week in advance. Also when you book your tickets, you MUST go in that designated time period.

Not to matter, this gives me a reason to come back again!!

We went off, had a coffee and some breakfast then headed back to the hostel. We looked through our guide book to see where we could go on the way back to Valencia. We needed to travel quite far in two days so we settled for a halfway point. That being small town Lorca. We caught the local bus back to the bus station and bought tickets to what we thought was Lorca. Although I noticed on the ticket, which was strangely cheap at 4.20€ for two, that Lorca was spelt Lorja. I asked Justin, what up with that… Perhaps it was a local spelling? I saw a police officer standing around so tried to ask if I had bought the right ticket. He didn’t speak English, but understood our dilemma. He laughed and got his mate over to have a laugh too. His mate spoke a bit more English and said “you have to swap it for LAUR-KAR. Lorja is 10 minutes of here. It is of an area, from Granada”. Great, it’s a suburb of Granada. So, back in the queue and ended up buying a ticket to Murcia, as apparently the way we were saying “Lorca” didn’t make any sense to them.

We waited around 2 hours until our next bus to Murcia was ready to go. Got on the bus, not too full. And headed to Murcia. Were the Murcians ready for us?

Just over half way into the journey me and Justin began to think, ‘what the hell is going on’. Every turn seemed to be in the opposite direction in where we were going, and far from the motorway. We both needed toilets, food, smokes and drinks break. Luckily we got back onto the motorway and the monotonous straight roads put us in a sleep trance – me listening to Beck’s ‘Guero’ and Nacey listening to his own snoring. It seemed as if hours passed and we turned into Cartagen.

Unlike the guide book said, Cartagena was a beautiful little town. Similar to something like Wellington. A port, but with many old fortresses, war enforcements and stone mining areas. The guide booked suggested “if you have to stay here when you’re passing through, there are few places decent.” I’d like to contact the writer who wrote this ridiculous paragraph and let them know what they missed.

We rolled up into town and the sun was blaring down. Walking through the narrow streets, buildings torn down with only their facades remaining. We turned onto the street where our hostel was for the night. After the following two nights in hell, both of us were slightly cautious about our next digs.

We finally found the hostel (which turned out to be a hotel), called La Oriente Pension. The woman who greated us was middle-aged, smiley but couldn’t speak English. She understood that we wanted a double room for the night, and Justin asked if we could see the room first. Si si si, she said. We walked up stairs, and she unlocked the door for us. A gust of refreshing clean, fresh smelling air came from the room. The smell of freshly cleaned room. It was a big room, huge vaulted ceiling, two single beds, a small TV and a sort of indoor balcony (i guess for smoking?). She showed us to the shared bathroom which smelt and looked clean.

Both happy with the 20€ each for the room, we ditched our bags and went outside for a look around. But then suddenly a torrential downpour came down. Almost out of nowhere it was if a fire hydrant spilt open and the streets were quickly turned into raging rivers of sky tears. We stopped under a parasail and got some lunch at a cheap pizzeria. At this stage, it didn’t matter the quality of the food, we were starved so chowed down proper.

The rain started to clear so we walked around to try find an internet cafe. Couldn’t find one, so ended up just going for a walk. We found out that there was an old roman auditorium there. Cartagena has heaps of ruins. Almost every direction you look you can see either a fortress, castles, or roman ruins. We walked up the hill overlooking the auditorium when we came across a whole lot of Peacocks. At work we have a meme (reoccurring joke) of playing peacock noises, so i thought it would be funny to mimic their birdsong back at them. However, one of the peacocks got upset, rustled her feathers violently up behind her, and started chasing me! I shrieked in panic and ran as fast as i could.

Some american tourists had a good laugh and took photos while I ran away in dismay. We walked over the other side of the hill and came down to sea level where conveniently there was a bar. We stopped there and had a few brews before heading in for the night.

I would like to go back to Cartagena, there seems to be quite a bit more to it than what seems on the surface. The people there are very relaxed and friendly, the high street seems a bit like a clean and tidy Manners Mall (Wellington). A great shower before bed and our next adventure was merely hours ahead of us. Next stop Granada… Fact of the day, the name ‘Granada’ mean ‘Pomegranate’.

I couldn’t take any photos as my camera had run out of batteries, hoping Justin has some!

We got on and not longer after the doors closed and we were on our way. Although, the top speed the train got up to was about 158km/h – not really high speed.

We got out of the station in Alicante, got out the map for directions and some dude asked if we need help or directions. He looked a bit dodgy but was actually okay. He pointed out the sights to see, and places to avoid. Gave us a high five then went off. So we walked towards the town centre and tried to find a hostel. The guide book Justin bought said Alicante had very few hostels so we’d probably be better off in a cheap hotel.

We found a place called The Mayor Hotel. Let me start off by saying DON’T EVEN GO THERE GIRLFRIEND!! Stay clear of this horrid shit hole by all means. The landlord looked like a dodgy drug dealer, greasy slicked back hair, painted on smile, eyes that would lie if he wasn’t baked up on what ever.

We tried to ask to see the room, but he “didn’t understand”. We gave him €30 each for two nights, guessing the rooms would be okay. He showed us to our door then darted off. We discovered the stale stench of cigarette smoke, drops of blood on the floor next to my bed, a bit of blood on the bed, blood on the wall in the bathroom, a piss stained toilet seat and toilet that didn’t flush, a shower which was blocked, complementary used toothbrush, opened bar of soap and the water system which took a lot of effort to turn on.

We threw down our bags and GTFO. We headed into the town centre to find a nice place to sit in the sun and enjoy a couple drinks. We found a nice place down a quite road. After a couple beers we went back to change into something a bit warmer as it was getting a bit chilly. We bought a couple 40s (40oz/1.2l bottle of beer) from the local off license and relaxed in our putrid box of a room. We wanted to put some music on but the only thing we could get going was the TV (with crappy Spanish day time TV on) or my little cellphone. The little phone’s speaker wasn’t that loud so i burnt though a water bottle to use the bottle neck as a natural amplifier. Worked pretty well if i may say so myself.

After about 20mins of tolerating the single fluorescent light and stank, we headed out towards the seafront to see what was happening. It was about 9pm and there were few people around. This is quite normal for Spain. Spanish people tend to come out quite late. Bars and clubs are open long hours there, but also don’t open until about 10am. Nothing really is open until around 10.30am. You’d be able to find a cafe open earlier, but not a dairy, smoke shop, clothing shop – but that’s about it.

We found a stupid little American styled bar and had drinks and food there. Smashed out quite a few beers as they were only about 2€ each, and lovely BBQ ribs on the grill. Before heading home we walked around the marina and had a gawk at some of the massive float millions. To be honest, I’d never want one of those big stink boats. They look stupid and cost a stupid amount. Just don’t appeal to me. I’d rather a small wooden sail boat if i had to.

We bumped into an older English couple, probably in there mid fifties to sixties, and wanted us to take a picture of them. Had a nice chat to them, they seemed quite down to earth. They had kids about our age, can’t remember doing what..

The next morning our hangovers demanded a coffee, and a pastry. I attempted a shower, but that vile turd box was so skank i ended up just wetting my hair, and deodorised to the maxx. We went across the road to have some coffees and snacks. I had a Cafe Solo (espresso) and an Americano – with two bits of toast bread and freshly pulped tomatoes on top. YUM! Justin just had Cappuccinos.

Afterwards, we had a walk around town, then up the side of the mountain to a fortress. Was quite a nice day, sunny with a few clouds. However a storm was brewing on the horizon. We had a look around the old buildings – built by Arabs to keep out early invaders, the Romans occupied it, then the English occupied for a bit, now it is resting as a historical site. All of a sudden, it began to get windy and then started raining. We went inside one of the fortress houses, down a tunnel which led to a lift. The lift went right down to sea level, a stones throw from the beach. Next we headed to the nearest pub to have something thirsty.

The storm cleared, so we walked around the coast and found some funny markets. Lots of guys from North Africa selling (really good) fake copies of big brand glasses. I was tempted to get some fake Ray Bans – but I only had a 50€ note so couldn’t haggle with him. I did manage to find a couple euro for a ridiculous lenticular 3D picture of kittens. I gotta bring that into work.

For dinner we went to a tapas which was good, apart from the mussels which smelt of human sewerage. We both weren’t game to test our immune systems at this stage of our trip so sent them back. The waiter was cool – young chap who spoke a little English. We tried our hardest to talk in Spanish, and he in English. Was a fun night, of what we remember. Photos don’t lie – at one point i remember trying to eat a rose. The owner of the restaurant wanted us to take photos of one of us, and her – holding up the menu. Don’t really know why – perhaps she thought we were reviewers from Lonely Planet or something. However little does she know, she’s only going on this lonely blog (18 viewers!! think that’s probably just mum refreshing it lots though).

In the morning we got packed up and left towards Granada, to a little place called Cartagena. The guide book says there wasn’t much to the town and that if you have to stop there, it’s not pretty and there’s not much to see. How wrong were they, and what an awesome surprise we had…

We caught the tube to London Bridge early, to get the 7.20 am train to Gatwick. We headed to the South Terminal and went to check in. The lady said “hmm, that’s strange – it’s not coming up. I think there’s a problem with your booking sir”. Ohhhh ffffffff, i thought. But quickly her manager said that it was just that we were in the wrong terminal. Feeeulf! Checked into the North Terminal and got on the plane and got the hell out of London.

As soon as we got into Valencia we got on the Metro (Subway) into Colón where the hostels etc all are. Awesome Metro system they have there. At first it was a bit confusing, but then everything became logical. The train has a powered overhead rail, to stop people electrocuting themselves. It is continuous (like bendy buses). The trains only have parallel seating, giving lots of standing room. And the trains are also autonomous.

We got off and wandered around and found a hostel, but they were fully booked, but suggested another one around the corner. That turned out to be fine so we put down the bag and headed out for a tasty cold beverage.

We had a look around the town saw some cool old buildings and churches. Had dinner of tapas at some place in the outskirts of the city, locals were wondering what these two ninnies were doing. Trying to figure out what to order, or even what there was on the menu. However, Spanish is similar to French so i was able to find chicken, fish, beef, chips, veges, and mussels. We got some tasty tapas, but then one came we weren’t sure about. Two large ball things, in gravy. We both thought they were bull testicles. A neighbouring diner, leaned over and said in broken english, “they is a potatas and fish bowls, not a penis bowls”. Got to chat with them for a bit which was good, then headed back of for sleep.

However after about 2 hours of sleep, a couple of loud obnoxious russians came into the room, turned on the lights and were having a conversation at street level volume. Other people were sleeping in there two and we were all woken up. I had to shout at them to turn the lights off and to STFU. Even if they couldn’t understand English, they got the message. Justin was snickering away thinking that I handled the situation like a boss.

The next morning we went downstairs to ask if we could stay another night as we wanted to see more of Valencia. It was fully booked out, so we decided to get on the road towards Granada. The Russians looked pretty sheepish in the morning and apologised. Too bloody right.

We asked the lady in reception which was the best way to Alicante. She suggested to catch the train as it would be more comfortable, quicker, and only slightly more than the bus. So we headed for the train station, however the train left from a different station. We were told it was a 10min walk, but got lost and ended up being close to 30mins.

We arrived at the correct station, bought our tickets, had a beer in the sun, waited and got on the ‘high speed train’. Hasta mañana!