Final days in Alcala

When I was visiting the top half of Europe I thought that perhaps I had visited them too late in the year, as the weather was often rainy, cold of overcast but now that I have really reached the south of Europe I feel that I chose perhaps right or maybe even still a little early as the next few weeks there will be festivals and celebrations all over Spain.

Although I had a few hours of sun in Prague and Vienna, it was not until I reached Toulouse before I was blessed with day after day of solid sun, and since then the weather has been sunny and with clear blue skies solidly throughout and the temperature has barely dropped less than 17 degrees even past midnight.

Being a guy from the UK I am certainly not used to sun consistent sun day after day and as I have been doing a lot of walking to capture the many sights and scenes of Europe I am beginning to get a slight tan on my arms, face and neck.

If I were back home even the coldest of days here would be considered weather nice enough to go out at lunchtime with my friends and just lay on the grass chatting till we had to go back, but here it is just like any other day and in fact I have seen some of the locals with shirts, jumpers and jackets, so they clearly think that 24 degrees is still a mild day.

As my friend works, not being on holiday herself, I had to amuse myself yesterday, but being a Monday a lot of the museums and attractions were closed to the public but I was determined to see as much of Madrid as I could anyway, and I was glad that I did, as I got a few great photographs.

I have seen brochures and leaflets about free guided tours of many of Europe's capital cities, and the one for Madrid started at 11am near the metro station Sol, however after a slight misunderstanding and confusion in getting to the Alcala station I was not able to get into Madrid's city centre until about half past and so I missed my chance, but if you ever get the chance go to one of the meeting points early and get yourself a free treat, though a tip that you find suitable and can easily afford for your guide at the end would always be appreciated.

Similarly, on a side issue if you do spend a lot of time in big airports then you might be interested to know that there is a firm that has agreed a deal with most of the major carriers and so offer for a annual subscription of about £60 the chance to visit and spend your time and use the facilities of the VIP priority lounges regardless of who you are actually flying with or what class your flight ticket you have booked.

As I am trying to travel as much by land this is not something that I can really take advantage of, but I just thought that I would pass it on.

I knew that in Alcala they are proud of Cervantes, but I was not aware how much the rest of Spain felt, but when I rounded a corner and saw a huge fountain overlooked by him and his two most famous characters I knew that he must be loved all over, and also that I must get to know more of him as currently all I know is what was in a song by Nick Kershaw about him tilting at Windmills.

Thankfully this is the perfect time in Alcala to ask about him, as this is his festival time, and so tomorrow I will go inside his small house that is now a museum and possibly even purchase a book or CD. Speaking with my friends later apparently he has wrote at least thirty books, so I will have plenty to chose from.

After I had a bite around to eat I chose to follow down a lead of a place that sounded half interested in Madrid, however despite having a map, a compass, the sun high in the sky, sign posts and a growing sense of direction that I have never possessed or fully able to tap into before, I was still unable to find the place where the internet told me it was, and if it was not for a very recent brochure with the advert in I would have sworn that it did not even exist.

As it is I feel that perhaps it was a hoax or an misprinting error as I searched the area for over an hour, scouring every track and path till my feet were screaming at me and I had to give up and head back.

During my walk back to Madrid's main train station I found myself walking down a shopping street like any other when suddenly as I passed a doorway a woman called out right in my ear "I looooovvvvveeeeee you" and so naturally I took a glance at who was talking to see if I knew them and then realised who, or rather what, they were and continued on my way for about twenty yards before pausing to sit on a bench and reflect.

Looking up and down the street I would have said at first glance that it looked like any normal Saturday afternoon in Gillingham or Chatham, busy but not too much and with teenagers hanging about in shop doorways doing not a lot.

It was only when I took a proper look that I noticed the few subtle sex shops, cheap and grimy looking two star hotels and that the doorway lurkers were all female, well at least in appearance!

Even if the warm afternoon sunlight the women were not overly exposing themselves, some I had mistaken for normal shoppers and I believe I probably would again if I were to pass them in any other town or city, but then others had the tell tale FMB's and make up enough to cover half a city block.

I hadn't even considered trying to find out if Madrid had a red light district and if so where it was, so I certainly wasn't expecting to walk right into it between two of the biggest shopping streets and less than two minutes away from the main central metro station.

I had my camera on me and I was about to take a photo or two when from slightly further down the street I could hear a fight / argument ensue between one of the girls and a passer by, so feeling that probably they felt the same way as the women in Amsterdam, I decided against trying to take any photos and just continued on my way.

By the time I reached Alcala I reckon that, baring a pause for a bite to eat and the train ride into and from Madrid that I had been walking for about 8 hours solid, so instead of meeting my friend in the centre of town I chose to use the map and walk back to her apartment to save time and my feet, which were by now in need or a rest.

However fate had other plans, as no sooner had I reached her place when she sent me a text saying that she was on a bus and wanted to meet me in the centre as she had planned to apply for her Intermediate English course and wanted me to come as a British observer and to testify to her fluency at a basic level should they require it.

So back I trudged to the centre of town, where we then walked to her enrolment office and then further to her parents where a nice meal was already prepared and awaiting for us all, as was her family that were all eager to help me practice my Spanish.

The entire day I had been practicing my rrr's, my thhh's and my hrr's - hard to put into words I know, so despite my feet on meltdown and of tired brain I did my best to engage them in polite conversation till my knowledge gave way and I ended up just smiling and nodding, hoping that they didn't feel I was being rude or impolite.

I was very pleased when they complimented me on my pronunciation of Spanish, saying that I was very clear and understandable despite having a strictly limited vocabulary, and so now I feel that my biggest feat is trying not to get French, Spanish and Portuguese all mixed up as I am about to visit Brazil and do not speak a word of Portuguese, so I will have to get by in pigeon Spanish and English, hoping for the best.

Funnily enough, back when I was in School my French teacher also said that my pronunciation was very clear and was fairly disappointed when I dropped the subject after just three years instead of the full five.

After a nice meal and conversation we headed back and it was not more than ten steps to her door before the sudden knowledge that I hadn't been taking my anti-Malaria pills struck me, so the second we got in I went right up and took the first dose and instantly regretted it and felt a tiny bit tummy ill.

They taste foul and are meant to be eaten with a meal, not an hour or two after, and even a glass of milk was not enough to rid the last of the taste from my mouth as I fell asleep. However as I am going all over South America it is my pain to have to take them for the next two months or run the risk of not being protected, so personally I will chose to take two tiny foul tasting pills each day, keep handy lots of strong boiled sweets and clean my teeth and tongue after each dose.

Tomorrow my friend and her family wanted me to visit the many beautiful sights of their town in the morning and then in the afternoon we could all go for a nice walk, but I feel that my feet would rise up and attempt to strangle me if I did any more of the "W" word until at least the early afternoon, so rather than suffer a foot mutiny I am going to spend the morning in bed typing emails and confirming with the next few hostels that I am schedule and will be visiting them soon.

Day three and four of Alcala

Today was a very quiet day on the touring front as Sundays, and Monday too for that matter, are not largely for visiting places in Madrid except for restaurants and cafe's.

So instead I spent the day with my friends, eating, drinking, chatting and practicing my Spanish and their English.

I was again humbled when my friend must have introduced me to about over a dozen of her close circle of family and friends and every one was better at speaking English than I was at speaking Spanish.

It makes me wonder what would happen if any of my overseas friends was to come to visit me in my hometown of Gillingham how many of them could even introduce themselves in another language, let alone hold a decent and lenghty conversation. However, I do not mean to be cruel to my anyone back in the UK, I am just making an observation that English is very definetly being educated around the world and that in England we are not realy pressed or encourged to do so outside of junior school.

The fact that in every city in Europe that I have visited so far, including the smaller towns, have all had posters up for The Wall Street Institute of English, but not for any other language is a reflection and indication that English is being far more widely advertising and promoted than any other language.

It would be a sinful shame if in another fifty years or so English had become the first language of the entire world, with only the other languages being taught at home or in schools to a basic level, but the way things are going I can see this being a real possibility, unless there is a huge global economic and communication breakdown when no one outside of the UK and the USA would then have a need to know English.

My friend in Alcala has been so very accomodating and friendly throughout my time here, even giving up her bed for me and chosing the sofa for herself, that I cannot thank her enough and I know that I will miss both her and her friends dearly when I fly to Brazil.

As I am now only a few days away I admit to feeling nervous, more than at any time before now, as I feel that this is where the true adventure begins, far from Europe and without any friends that I have already met, relying only on my preparations to get me through and hopefully meeting one or two nice new friends along the way.

It has not helped my nerves that as I booked most of the flights months ago, although none of the airlines have gone bust thankfully, what they have done is had to change the times and even the days of the flights, which is altering my plans and preparations much more than I would have preferred.

I can only speculate what the next few days will have in store for me, but my calm and cool exterior facade is beginning to crack from the inside and only once I have reached there and found myself able to cope will I be able to seal them over again.

A second day in Alcala de Henares

Despite going to bed at a reasonable time, it was well past 9am when I finally woke up and I was kicking myself as I had not yet updated my blog for a few days now and not only would my memory start to confuse things, with all the new things that are happening to me, but of course any readership following that I that gained will quickly get bored and start to read something else if I do not keep at least a little up to date with my entries.

Also gone until Monday was the chance to post home a package of receipts and brochures that I have been carrying around with me for at least a week now.

A quick light breakfast was followed with a nice cool refreshing glass of milk and then we were off to the town to look around a bit before a trip to Madrid, where I wanted to visit the Royal Palace and also we had a previous engagement at a small party for her mothers Peruvian dancing group members.

Alcala de Henares is not famous for that many things, but one thing it is fiercely proud of is the author Cervantes and his creation Don Quijote, and every year to mark the anniversary they hold a series of live street performances, where they all get dressed up and just go out into the main square and act out the play, or parts at least.

I remember that the last time I was here the city, I passed a cafe where there was a cartoon of Don Quijote showing on the television, but it was nowhere near as entertaining as seeing a group of actors actually perform live in front of you and all for free. I could not help but take some photos, and had we not been in a hurry I would have been more than happy to watch them perform al day, despite it being in Spanish. However, just when I was beginning to regret leaving the show my friend made me very happy by informing me that these mini shows would be ongoing for the next three weeks and so far from missing it, I had just given myself a taster of what was to follow and that if I really wanted to watch them perform I would have many more opportunities before heading off to Brazil on Wednesday.

Shortly after we left the show with its growing audience of locals, we passed my friends favourite shop in the city, a nice retro shop where the clothes and joss sticks all hark back to decades ago and I was more than happy to oblige her a quick window shop when I heard some great guitar riffs coming from a speaker somewhere deep in the shop. As luck would have it, we were not in the store more than a minute when the music changed subtly and I realised that we listening to a Jethro Tull concert, recorded live from Italy at least ten years ago, and they were playing some of my most favourite tracks.

With this and the live street performance I had a really hard job of dragging myself away enough to reach the coach station and I doubted that anything else today could top the already impressive morning. I was right, but only just as the walk around Madrid with my friend was very pleasant and offered me plenty of photo opportunities and the mini party was held at the current headquarters of the Spanish Communist Party, or to call it by its proper name the "Partido Comunista de Espana".

The place was very minimal, with only a few posters of Che Guevarra and slogans around, but it was their W.C. that made me laugh as they had done a typical DIY bodge job, installing the base of a corner unit without properly giving it enough room and so they ended up having to cut a slice section out of the toilet seat lid in order them to allow them to lift it up!

All the travelling must have really taken its toll on me, as I was yawning and falling asleep at the very early time of 7pm and I am almost glad that I had nothing else planned for the night, as it gave me a chance to catch up on my blog and get a truly early night so that I will be more fresh for the following week to come.

I am quite lucky in that despite it being only a medium size district of Madrid I have another contact / potential friend who lives in Alcala and I am hoping that we can also meet up in the next few days, especially as up until now we have only been in contact via emails and so it would be our first proper face to face meeting.

Flamenco

When I had arrived at the cafe earlier in the day the metal shutters were down and the only clue as to that I had the correct address was a small painted sign on the outside of the metal shutters to the cafe, but luckily once I arrived after ten at night the shutters were pulled up and the place was already alive with people all coming to see some Flamenco. Up until today I had thought that Flamenco was a style of dancing only, but during the performance I learned that it was not the dancing but the music that was different and distinctive.

The cafe itself had a small bar at one side and the rest of the cafe was cleared of its tables so that only a couple of rows of chairs remained, facing the opposite side and then some space in between the chairs and the bar for yet more people to stand.

I had only been perched on my barstool drinking a vodka and coke for a few minutes when a small group came and sat next to me, and as one of them moved to take the stool next to mine she said excuse me in a very English accent, and as soon as I replied that it was not a problem, she smiled and that was all that it needed to start up the conversation.

My new Flamenco appreciator buddy was from Farnborough and was over here to stay the weekend with her Spanish friends who she met and knew through her university days, but that she was glad that I was there as they all were speaking mostly in Spanish and so it was nice to talk to someone who was willing and eager to speak only in English. Although part of my reasons for heading off to Spain was to improve my Spanish written and oral skills I did not mind the diversion and I admit it was nice to talk to someone else as uncomfortable as I am in Spanish.

I had half as idea that we would continue to quietly chat through the performance, swapping stories and views, but the locals though otherwise and as soon as the performers came out on stage a hiss went up and you got dirty looks and glares from just about everyone in the place if you so much as coughed let alone tried to hold a conversation. So it was that it tiny whispers we occasionally continued to chat, but mostly we had to sit in silence and enjoy the show.

To be fair though, the performers consisted of one acoustic guitar, one singer, one seat-box drummer and four background clappers with not a single microphone or amp in sight, so if more than a few people were to continue to talk then I guess the combined noise level would have drowned out and ruined the performance for everyone. I had hoped that the woman who came on stage would have done the dancing but she was the drummer and didn't actually sing or do anything else except help keep tempo with the drum.

Once the guitarist got going it was easy to be carried away with it all as at several times during the night I found myself swaying and clapping along with the rest of the audience, and according to my new acquaintance, whose friends were all locals to both the city and the cafe, it was not unheard of that by the end of a performance for all the chairs to have been cleared away once the entire audience had joined in and started to dance.

I would not call the singing melodic and certainly there would never win the X-factor or a Eurovision Song Contest, but it appeared that to be applauded and appreciated by the throng of supporters, the songs demanded from its artist only a raw emotion and muted enthusiasm rather than a voice like an angel. Often the gravelly voice of the lead singer would seem to go from a whisper to a controlled shout within a few words, but the audience roared with Ole whenever he did so, even during a song which again ruined another myth as I thought it was a way of saying bravo that was meant to be saved as a final flourish of approval or crescendo.

After half an hour the group, if it is fair to call them, called a break and everyone turned to the bar to grab a drink as quickly as possible before they began playing again anew. It was hard not to notice that shortly before the first set had ended that the place that was busy before had become packed with what I was later informed were gypsies, although by their bling bling jewelry, make up, clothes and haircuts could just as easily be described as almost Chav, and just like a group of Chav's although most of them looked rough and ready, you always seem to find one that manages to carry the look off with a certain style and panache that rises them far above the crowd.

The night continued with more singing and as even more cafe regulars came in it was not long after midnight before you could hardly see or hear the band anymore and you began to appreciate their almost zero tolerance attitude towards talking during the performance.

I am not sure if it was a good or a bad thing but towards the end of the night the lead singer gave up the stage to the lead clapper, then his cousin who was eagerly waiting in the crowd and then finally his nephew who took a turn at not only clapping, but also singing and even did a few Flamenco spins at dancing. Now dancing, to me that is a bit misleading, and I do not want to seem ignorant or belittling his performance in any way, but to my untrained and slightly drunk eyes it appeared more like that he just got on stage, mentally psyched himself up, held his hands up in the air and then suffered a series of controlled spasms or nervous fits.

The spins and twirls were quite interesting to see, and certainly the crowd loved it, but I personally think he was wearing slightly the wrong clothes and shoes as he didn't seem to look like he should be there, dancing in front of the band who were all more traditionally clothed. Whatever he did it took its toll as he was quite out of breath after just a few minutes, but by then it was the close and we all had to call it a night, or an early morning, and head back.

Not wanting to appear too forward I did not invite myself up on my fellow brit and her friends who were all going back for a bit more drinking and chatting, so I just said goodbye and began to head back to my hostel. However it is a shame that I was so drunk as I completely forgot that my map was not north at the top and a quick fifteen minute walk had me at the wrong end of the city after almost half an hour and I had passed a rock nightclub that if it had been earlier I am sure I would have entered, and also past what could possibly be the only strip bar in Valencia.

Certainly I had not seen any other club the whole time I was there, and had I not got lost I doubt I would have spotted that one, but at almost 2am I was far too drunk, tired and exhausted to start thinking about clubbing on my own so I just got my bearing, cursed the map a thousand times, and finally ended up back at my hostel closer to 3am than 1am. On the plus side though, by the time I did get back to my hostel the German party crew who I was sharing a dorm with were all in bed asleep, so I was more than a bit proud of myself for outlasting them and went to sleep a happy man.

A day early arriving in Alcala De Henares

By the time I woke it was almost time to check out of my Valencian hostel and there was no time to attempt a visit to the Science place before I had to catch the midday train and so I just surfed the internet, had a shower, and took a slow plod to the station, which I was surprised I found even without the map very easily, and so I am thinking that perhaps the city was like a reverse maze, hard to find the centre but easy to get to the end.

Again I had to send my rucksack through the security scanners, but being no more a threat or a terrorist than I was coming into Valencia, there was no problems and they let me board the train without further delay.

The train journey from Valencia to Madrid was just over three hours long and although it was far from boring, the route cannot compare in beauty to that of Barcelona to Valencia, as Madrid being a central city, the route does not have the coastline and along with it all the wonderful colours that made that first journey so magical.

However after the first hour they did show a movie to relieve the boredom, a slightly unusual choice being the Christmas of a few years ago, called 'Deck the Halls' and staring Danny Devito, in Castilian and with Castilian subtitles of course. As per usual, I enjoyed the film and still managed to grasp the storyline, only really missing out on the clever wordplay jokes that rely on your being able to understand every word that is being said, when of course I could barley make sense of parts of any individual sentence.

Arriving in Madrid I was not really able to remember much about the city from my last visit, being so many years ago, but I did find that it easy to get to the correct metro stop that I needed to reach my hostel.

At this point I realised that like many other cities in Europe, the reason that their metro system has better ventilation than in London's is for a few reasons. One, their metro coaches themselves are a fraction taller, a fraction wider and are often the bendy design with open ends allowing vastly more space to accommodate more passengers.

Next you have to remember that just in numbers of commuters alone, London tube network has that many more frequent passengers than any other European city and with more bodies there is more heat and thus more is need to be ventilated.

And lastly is that in the rest of the European cities all their stations, tunnels and entrances seem to be again that much bigger, wider and taller than ours, some even with air fans, which greatly increase their ability to regulate the air temperature and all in all it just makes the whole experience that much more bearable than a London tube journey.

I also want to say that I owe a big debt of thanks to Google Earth and to all the folks back at my former work, as between them I have used Google earth to search for the locations of my hostels and then taken a digital image with my camera so that even when I could not get a phone signal, find an internet hotspot or obtain a local map I have been able to have a good idea of where I have needed to go, and it is a method that I strongly advice to anyone who is planning to travel.

I also say that every night the last thing that you should do before bed is to recharge the batteries of any electronic device that you are taking with you, as you never know when you will be without power or in an area when you want to take so many photos that a half charged battery will only run out before the most breathtaking opportunity presents itself, and you will spend the next week cursing yourself for not charging your battery full when you had the chance.

After a minor misunderstanding with the Madrid Metro station that I needed having multiple entrances in different directions and roads, I finally managed to find my hostel in a northern part of Madrid and I was sharing with five other people in a dorm, but at least it had free wifi access.

I booted up my laptop to check messages, as I had been unable to do so since about 9am that morning, and I was pleasantly shocked and surprised to find that my Peruvian friend who now lives in Alcala De Henares was more than happy for me to meet her today and not tomorrow as planned, and not having much to do in Madrid after 4pm I chose to forgo the night there and skip straight to her city without further ado. So after less than an hour of checking in, I had repacked and checked out again and was back on my way to the same train station that I had only recently left in order to catch a train out again.

It is the first time that I have made a change from my preplanned route in terms of what city I am in on what day, and the second change only in terms of where I was meant to be staying, the first being in Prague when the hostel I had booked chose to close its reception for more than three hours during the middle of the day which pissed me off more than a small amount I can tell you.

However this change was good twofold, the first being that it meant that I am now able to spend more time with my friend, and less time alone as I have no friend who lives in Madrid, and the second that it meant that I was able to time and practice my route to and from Alcala de Henares, as my flight to Brazil leaves Madrid airport at a little after 1pm and I would be kicking myself for a month if I messed things up at this stage being the first real test of my advanced planning.

Once I met up with my friend we went back to her house, which she shares with a friend, caught up with a lot of gossip and news that we never thought to share via emails and it was not long before we were as close and chummy as we were all those years ago when I was here last time. Having already met her mother a couple of times in the past, once where I had the opportunity of returning a favour when she came to visit England, she took came to meet me and we all chatted and walked around the city for awhile before we went to have a meal in a nearby restaurant.

With all the travelling I had done I did not have much energy left for staying up late and chatting, so after the meal we just came walked back and both crashed out almost as soon as we got in the front door.

Valencia

Staying in hostels can be both a rewarding and a frustrating time and I had hoped that the energy and liveliness that came across from the website of the Valencian hostel would be a great experience for me but sadly it was a bit of a let down.

The Hostel itself was fine, more than fine even. They had a 24 hour open reception with at lest two members of staff there at all times who spoke a number of languages, English included, and I was kicking myself a bit as I wanted to try and check in using only Spanish but being an international hostel the first thing that they said was hello and like an idiot I forgot where I was or what my plans were and said hello back in English and from that moment on there is really no going back or pretending that I know Spanish.

It is a bit like the old comedy sketch / film with Rik Mayall and Stephen Fry, where they were always going on about the way to trick a spy into giving away their nationality is to punch them in the stomuch, and the language which they use in obsenities as they stuggle for breath is their native language and thus also shows from where they come from.

At the hostel I was given a security card for the doors and a purple business card that had my details on it and I had to show it every time I entered or reentered the building. There was a pool table, a bar, a laundrette { only available form 8am to 10pm after which it is locked up even if it has your clothes, which I found to my cost on the first night }, separate showers and toilets on every floor for the guests and the common room had lots of fliers and brouchers not just about other hostels but also about things to do in the region which was good.

A great idea that I had not really seen much in other places was fliers with perforated tear of mini strips at the bottom which had all the key information on them, the logic being that if you liked the advert you could just take a tear off strip that would give you the name, address, telephone number and email address so you could did not have to try and write it down or worry that you took the information down incorrectly.

It was an idea that has taken off a lot in both Barcelona and Valencia, and often I saw in shop windows the same or fly posters in alleyways and short roads the same style of advertising, so I can see that it really works and I would suggest that it be adopted at least in every good hostel around the world.

No, the only bad thing about my stay in Valencia was that I was in a ten bed dorm and all around me were a bunch of party animal Germans who being a group and clearly speaking only German I could neither understand a word they said nor really intrude or tag along with them. When I went down to the main hangout and chill room there was no one staffing the bar that I could see and the pool table was in poor shape and really could do with having a new cloth as it as frayed in many places, the cushions were unresponsive and also it has not been levelled recently either so there was a slope to one side that prevented soft shots from going down.

Everywhere I looked there seemed to be either big groups or couples, no single person of either sex just sitting there doing not much that I could go up to and start a conversation, so for this reason I did not stay that long in the bar and instead decided to go for a wander down by the beach.

Purchasing a ticket for the metro underground was not a problem, but finding the metro station was as there is not that many stations in Valencia, and the ones that are are in very much the same area so you might have at least a ten minute walk to find one.

My biggest moan, if you can call it that, about Valencia is that although it is very beautiful to look at when you find a great big building, fountain or park but there are also many broken down houses and streets, and more frustrating is that there are so many small streets and sidings that they are not all shown or labelled on the maps, as to do so you would need a double A1 size map. I am so very glad that I took a compass as well as a map as here more than in any other city I noticed other visitors staring blankly at their maps and trying hard to see where they were.

At one stage I managed to travel along five different roads and none of them were considered big enough to include their names on the map, or even on the road index and so for awhile I was totally lost even with a map and compass, and what completed the frustration was that the designers of my map had chosen to have due north being towards the left hand side of the page, not the top like most maps, and so often I would face it correctly to read the names and get my bearings and then forget that I had to reorient it before using it to get a directional heading with my compass.

But all that aside, I did manage to find the metro station, obtain a ten journey card and then head off towards the beach. There are two metro routes that take you to the beach, but only the indirect one does not include a change of trams. Thus it was that I was totally confused when I was asked to leave the bus at its termination in the middle of nowhere, only halfway towards my objective.

After a short delay I made it to the beach and was greated by a long stretch of soft golden sand, sun loungers and the typical round sun shade umbrellas. The temperature had reached about 26 degrees, the waves were lapping gentle and it amazed me that during the middle of the day, with no shops or restaurants open that the place was not packed full of locals and tourists alike. There is an old song and saying that only 'mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun', but here was a beautiful place to go and lounge for a bit, catch a suntan and have no worries for a few hours and the place was almost deserted.

I stayed for awhile soaking up the sun, not being brave enough to take a dip in the sea as I had nowhere and noone to leave my wallet, map and such with, and although they would probably have been safe as there was only a few people about it was still a beach and theives still do operate even when the place is not that packed, before deciding to head on back to the hostel and see where else I could visit.

On my way back I passed through an area that I read somewhere on the internet, whilst buffing up on my local info, was considered to be a 'notorious red light district, especially at night', however I am sure that either times had changed, the author was either incorrect about the location or else they had never been to another red light district in their lives as there was absolutely nothing there or any discernable image to suggest anything at all. Not a single neon signed bar or strip club and not a single hooker standing on a street corner.

Now not that I make it my business to visit every red light district that I can find, but having worked in London and passed through Amsterdam and Zurich I have formed a rough idea of what makes an area red light and this place seemed far from what I have come to expect from such regions.

Arriving back in the hostel I had found that I had missed my change to visit the newly built Science and leisure complex to the south east of the city, as there was no metro station along the way and I would not have enough time to find and walk to the correct bus stop that would take me there before the main attractions closed at around 6pm. However I did notice that there you could visit a cafe that were having a show of Flemenco performers, albeit not until 11:30pm, so I tried to get a bit of rest during the earlu evening in order that I could stay up late enough to enjoy the show.

Life through a window

I have said before that I think that everyone should do a little travelling, that Spain is a nice place to visit, that trains are a great way to travel as you get to see the locations and coasts are good places to view as they have the rolling tides.

So imagine, an early evening trip when the sun is just beginning to dip low in the sky, a comfortable train journey where you have plenty of leg room, a table, a bar / restaurant carriage and even an ontrain movie. Now imagine that on this train journey the heat is enough for you to go around in just a t-shirt and shorts, and finally add to this the wonderful and possibly magical scenery that is Spain's eastern coastline for three hours of absolute travel heaven.

The guy next to me on the train must have thought I was a complete loon, as I was rubber necking and snapping away with my camera every few minutes, but honest If I had a video camera with battery and memory storage enough for a complete three hour trip I would have just set the tripod up and let it run the entire journey.

Barcelona train station is a bit bizarre, as it is all underground so you cannot really guess where it is from the maps, and it was also a bit like an airport in that they have luggage scanners before anyone can go through the barriers to the platforms, although thankfully it is not all glass wall partitioned off or anything that drastic. I was a bit dissapointed that the inspectors there would not let me change to an early train as I had arrived a bit earlier than planne, but then it just gave me a chance to freshen up and prepare for a great journey ahead.

From out of the window I saw a world like never before. This world has every colour you could imagine, spanned time zones across the ages and showed life in both simplistic terms and as complex as you could desire.

Green mountain ranges rose up majestically around you, with idyllic little enclaves on either sides where locals set up homes centuries ago.

High atop the tallest peaks could be seen ramparted battlements, fortifications long since abandoned yet still standing proud and immortal like something out of an epic fantasy novel.

Massive scarred swathes of earth lay all around, partially eaten away by erosion and passing glaciers millenias ago greeting me in a cascade of muddy oranges and terracotta reds.

Golden ellows are the sandy beaches that streched out for miles along coastline too far out to for tourists, yet alone and a king of his own beach laid a single sunbather on a towel, content to be at one and alone with nature.

Shimmering bright blues was the sea with its white foamy wave crests that came crashing against the dull grey rocks, defiant in their halt of the seas approach.

Fields upon fields of neatly alined orchards and chaotic tree groves surrounded the tracks for what seemed like an hour, only broken up by the intervention of man and his towns and hamlets.

Slate roofed bungalows and immensely tall apartment blocks and hotels battled for prime location space when the beach met the town met the train stations and roads.

An wisened farmer beside his aging bicycle leans up against a fence as he admires his harvest and decides his next daily chore.

A modern casino flashes its neon signs at you, beckoning you to enter in and spend some time, and some money, with promises of prizes and fun galore.

This was not just any old train journey, this was a journey that I would gladly take again and again and each time I would spot something new, appreciating it more each time. So my advice is that the best train journey I have ever seen so far is this one, from Barcelona to Valencia, and if you get a change to take it, do so and free yourself from the burden of your day and relax letting the world pass you by for a time.