i have nine minutes to fill you in because i´m in the ancient public library of salamanca, which was home of one of the world´s four most prestigious universities back in the 13th century and is now home of the usual spanish throng of shoppers and evil children and insanely beautiful gothic cathedrals.
from fes i thought i´d take a stopover in ketama on the way back to tangier, just to look at the mountains, but this turned out to be impossible because the only reason people go to ketama is to become drug couriers. i spent an amusing evening being bought dinner by a man who tried to convince me to become a drug courier and then left. that was funny.
so back to tangier and then the ferryboat to aljeciras from where i decided to hitch (largely because it´s more efficient than andalucian bus system) to the nearest likely beach which turned out to be conil. stayed on the beach for about 72 hours minus brief forays into the white stone village for food and coffee. pretty town, full of middle aged bourgiousie. slept on the beach, blissfully ignored.
from there i headed for cadiz, got a lift with a moroccan truckie who gave me food and pedal pushers (of all things) and reminded me of all the nice things about moroccans. cadiz is okay, a bunch of nice parks with giant eminently climbable fig trees, but the overdeveloped beach thing is not my scene - umbrellas and cafes spread out across the sand like giant brightly coloured marching ants. i stayed in a very strange hostel run by communists where i drank wine with german hippies and protested against the stupid rules about when and where i could drink wine, which resulted in a very funny discussion with the owner and then with a man who i believe was pretending to be a police officer where we both agreed that the hostel owner was crazy and he left. next morning i thanked the hostel owner for being so funny and he evicted me, which was even funnier. scratch that off the list of things to do in europe.
i think getting kicked out had more to do with the fact that in mid-criticism of the silly rules i started in about 1936. serves him right, a sober communist should never pick a fight with a drunk anarchist. we always win cause we´re having more fun.
sometimes you need a holiday from your holiday. i went back to lisbon, which is patently not on the way but close enough. luna and i watched the new star wars movie (no concept of narrative but at least there´s a bit of funny dialogue and watching natalie die and anakin nearly die was a welcome schadenfreude after their terrible performances) and went on little adventures. there was lots of yoga and i think i got all the cricks out of my poorly slept back. but mostly i continued with my policy of beachgoing. lisbon is still on the list of places i like.
after almost a week it was time to stick my thumb out again. salamanca seemed like a good idea. it still does, it´s very pretty and reminds me of italy in that it´s almost too european for its own good. a good hitch, got fed and nicotined to my heart´s content, staring out at an incessantly beautiful landscape with lakes and quaint little villages and old convents and ruins. except after a full day i came within 15km of this place and had to sleep in a field. it was dark, but after half an hour it was full moonlight and when i woke up i realised i was in a field of wild lavender. nice moments like these make me happy to be what one acquaintance described as the littlest hobo. were there any female swaggies? there are now.
i choose to believe that when people say ´where did you learn spanish?´ they mean ´my, your spanish is surprisingly good´ and not ´cornflake packet´. that´s all for now cause the students are glaring at me for going over time in their prestigious historic library
from fes i thought i´d take a stopover in ketama on the way back to tangier, just to look at the mountains, but this turned out to be impossible because the only reason people go to ketama is to become drug couriers. i spent an amusing evening being bought dinner by a man who tried to convince me to become a drug courier and then left. that was funny.
so back to tangier and then the ferryboat to aljeciras from where i decided to hitch (largely because it´s more efficient than andalucian bus system) to the nearest likely beach which turned out to be conil. stayed on the beach for about 72 hours minus brief forays into the white stone village for food and coffee. pretty town, full of middle aged bourgiousie. slept on the beach, blissfully ignored.
from there i headed for cadiz, got a lift with a moroccan truckie who gave me food and pedal pushers (of all things) and reminded me of all the nice things about moroccans. cadiz is okay, a bunch of nice parks with giant eminently climbable fig trees, but the overdeveloped beach thing is not my scene - umbrellas and cafes spread out across the sand like giant brightly coloured marching ants. i stayed in a very strange hostel run by communists where i drank wine with german hippies and protested against the stupid rules about when and where i could drink wine, which resulted in a very funny discussion with the owner and then with a man who i believe was pretending to be a police officer where we both agreed that the hostel owner was crazy and he left. next morning i thanked the hostel owner for being so funny and he evicted me, which was even funnier. scratch that off the list of things to do in europe.
i think getting kicked out had more to do with the fact that in mid-criticism of the silly rules i started in about 1936. serves him right, a sober communist should never pick a fight with a drunk anarchist. we always win cause we´re having more fun.
sometimes you need a holiday from your holiday. i went back to lisbon, which is patently not on the way but close enough. luna and i watched the new star wars movie (no concept of narrative but at least there´s a bit of funny dialogue and watching natalie die and anakin nearly die was a welcome schadenfreude after their terrible performances) and went on little adventures. there was lots of yoga and i think i got all the cricks out of my poorly slept back. but mostly i continued with my policy of beachgoing. lisbon is still on the list of places i like.
after almost a week it was time to stick my thumb out again. salamanca seemed like a good idea. it still does, it´s very pretty and reminds me of italy in that it´s almost too european for its own good. a good hitch, got fed and nicotined to my heart´s content, staring out at an incessantly beautiful landscape with lakes and quaint little villages and old convents and ruins. except after a full day i came within 15km of this place and had to sleep in a field. it was dark, but after half an hour it was full moonlight and when i woke up i realised i was in a field of wild lavender. nice moments like these make me happy to be what one acquaintance described as the littlest hobo. were there any female swaggies? there are now.
i choose to believe that when people say ´where did you learn spanish?´ they mean ´my, your spanish is surprisingly good´ and not ´cornflake packet´. that´s all for now cause the students are glaring at me for going over time in their prestigious historic library
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