When is a man on holiday but not on holiday?

When is a man on holiday but not on holiday?


Who cares! Pass me another vino tinto! Such is life here in the holiday town at the holiday school with the holiday people. Life is condensed into disposable packages of two or three weeks. Once opened it must be consumed quickly and it is. Relationships form blossom and decay to be replaced by others. Perspectives transform from innocence to experience as the wine bottle is drained giving weeks the feeling of years and fortnights lifetimes. Already I have experienced the passing of old friends and the birth of new ones. I am as an immortal amongst the mayflies – but can immortals keep pace with the doomed?

The first chapter of my Spanish experience is about to come to a close – not such a bad thing for my liver at least. I have spent the last month being fiesta'd (its something that happens to you rather than by you) in a shared flat with other students, socialising with other students and their tourist friends, amongst a sea of tourists from all over the world. By Monday I will be in a new flat, living with locals, two weeks after that all the friends I have so far made (and one I made earlier) will have left and all that now is will no longer be. It's anything but boring.

Before the end of the beginning begins the start of the now. No I haven't been smoking weed (although you can here in the street and in the bars – and yet its not endemic and the sky hasn't fallen in....) but I am looking forward to three weeks off school and to do some exploring with Andrew (who is visiting from Oz). We will see wild places and places that are wild. No doubt there will be picture and so I will share them with you all, also tales, and some of those too will find their way to these pages. But just now I am contemplating tonight's coming adventures and wondering who I will be tomorrow, and with whom....

Running of the cows

I saw the running of the cows last week. Some of you may be familiar with the more famous and, some would say more impressive but what do they know, Running of the Bulls during the San Fermin festival in Pamplona. Well i was not in Pamplona but in Laguardia a tiny pueblo in the foothills of the Pyrenees. I was not there to see the running of the cows but rather to taste some wine because Lagaurdia is wine country (actually most of Spain is wine country which is why its cheaper than water here). Nevertheless, it happened and I saw it.

It may not have been the highlight of my first two weeks indeed I doubt it was anyones highlight of anything but it was a first for me. Let me paint the picture for you. I emerge into the sunlight, along with a bus load of other spanish language students, from the cellar tour of a local winery. The tour had left 90% of the students none the wiser about the niceties of the wine making process of the Basque Country as most of them are beginners and our guide was incapable or simply unwilling to dumb his lifes work down to one clause sentences in the present tense, but it had left them with a raging thirst and so we headed to the local bars.

The first sign that something was UP was the installation of crash barriers along the narrow streets and the local crowd eagerly peering at an empty street. Wine in hand we decided to wait and see what was to happen and before long, much to my bemusement, some of the least impressive heffers i've ever seen scurried up the street to screams of excitement (that the heffers met with streams of excrement). No sign of drunken youths running from their dubious threat nor matadors waiting to dispatch them, in tight pants - just cows and poo. You couldn't help but be enchanted.

I now sit on my balcony waiting to go out and see off the first of my fellow students to leave. Within three weeks almost everyone I have befriended here will have gone home, holidays over leaving me with some happy memories of the first hectic three weeks and a mission to make friends with the none-too-friendly locals...I like a challenge. Ad

Pillow talk

I was going a bit stir crazy last night waiting for my flatmates to arrive (actually one just arrived now as I type this - she seems sane, phew) and so I made this crap video to show you my flat - hmm gotta work on those camera skills..

I blame the pillow too for my inability to get a good nights rest yet and maybe that too has added to the weirdness of the last few days...

I am in a three bedroom flat that is totally occupied by students at the Spanish school I am enrolled at. That means there is a lot of turn over in people and I have already (in six days) met eight students who either were leaving or have just arrived.

Oh dear - my last flatemates have arrived and would you know it - young enough to be my daughters! Oh well they are only two weeks then maybe I'll get someone who can talk about something other than their A-Levels (they're English). The guys who just left were surfers from Holland (shurfers froom de Nederlandsch) they were Schooper cool ya..

Right - anyway San Sebastian. It's right nice. You should all come here - actually you can't cos its full. Its August and the entirety of southern Europe thinks its a great idea to have holidays at the same time, and that time is now. Today being a weekend day by the afternoon it was hard to see the beach for flesh and these Europeans like to show as much flesh are humanly possible (was that a leathery speedo clad man with his mouth open trying to get a tongue tan?).

Full though it may be it still contrives to be lovely - like Goldilocks preferred sleeping arrangements (or was it breakfasting options?) its not too big, not to small, and not too hot and not too cold - I wonder when the bears are coming home?

Here are some photos for your edification... And then I must go and talk to the children....

Left - Old town

Right - not so old big building which I haven't been brave enough to enter lest i be transported to the mother ship and assimilated....

Those Gauls are crazy!!!

I like a party as much as the next man - unless that man's name is Yassin. I met Yass for the first time about 15 years ago, I met him again this weekend and I think he has been partying ever since our first encounter. meet yass

Yassin is a crazy Gaul. I just spent the last weekend with about 15 crazy Gauls and Richard my yorkshireman friend who lives in France and, to quote same, we 'made ourselves 'ave it!' It was not weekend for the faint hearted or the amateur party animal Only those with a blithe disregard for their own safety and sanity were welcome - I passed - just.The man in the picture (msr Frou Frou) passed easily.

I wont go into the seedier details suffice it to say that it was the Tempo Latino festival in Vic Fezensac a small rural town which annually plays host to this orgy or drinking and merriment thinly disguised as a latin music festival. There was latin music - but there was also Pernod for breakfast 6 hours sleep over two nights and men in binkinis at the public swimmng pool (the sane patrons saw the funny side and actually applauded when we arrived).

Lunch on day two was something - well quite something actually - perhaps assisted by my party muddled brain and the fact that I don't speak very good French it was like having lunch in an Hieronimous Bosch (sorry about spelling but you know who I mean) painting. Luckily my fellow demons were friendly and the bull stew was delicious washed down with neat Almanac!


Well after lunch we went to the pool with the orchestrator of the whole debauchery (who n fact is a serving French Policewoman!) and so it went on. A fabulous weekend of revelry French style, lets see how the Basques shape up

Caravans Dogs and Mini Golf

What links caravans, large dogs, and Mini-Golf? This blog dummy! Actually, I would have accepted incompatibility with a rainy climate - but hey if every rain-shy activity were off limits to the British we'd be left with drinking and darts and we've all seen what that can lead to....



So lets not dwell on the weather (just see the pic of the day for a taste) let me invite you to share the view of British summer I have had this week via the prism of my familial visitations.

Mother likes caravans. Don't ask me why (its something to do with the ingenious storage solutions I think) so much so she has two．　Ｅａｒｌｉｅｒ　ｔｈｉｓ　ｗｅｅｋ　ｓｈｅ　ｓｈｏｗｅｄ　ｍｅ　ｔｈｅ　ｓｍａｌｌｅｒ　ｏｎｅ　ｗｈｉｃｈ　Ｉ　ｆａｌｅｄ　ｔｏ　ｐｈｏｔｏｇｒａｐｈ　－　ｐｏｓｓｉｂｌｙ　ｂｅｃａｕｓｅ　Ｉ was too busy trying to avoid hyperthermia in the windy caravan parking area in North Wales by shivering and jigging up and down like some kind of caravaning ice addict. Suffice it to say that caravans have come on a lot in the 30 years since I last spent a week in a tinfoil chariot sheltering from the summer in a cow field in Cornwall - they even have satelite TV in case you get bored with the sunshine outside - ahem.

Father likes big dogs. Deerhounds actually which have the benefit of being almost impossible to walk, massively hairy and partial to the odd sheep. Ideal you might think for breeding in Wales - well spotted because that's exactly what he's done．　Ｈｅｙ　Ｉ　ｌｉｋｅ　ａ　ｂｉｇ　ｓｈａｇｇｙ　ｄｏｇ　ａｓ　ｍｕｃｈ　ａｓ　ｔｈｅ　ｎｅｘｔ　ｃｒｕｆｔｓ　ｎｕｔ　ｂｕｔ　ｔｈｅｓｅ　ｂａｂｉｅｓ　ａｒｅ　ｅｎｏｒｍｏｕｓ．．

Ａｌｓｏ　ｅｎｏｒｍｏｕｓ　－　ｍｙ　ｂｒｏｔｈｅｒｓ　ａｎｄ　ｓｉｓｔｅｒｓ　ｉｎ　Ｅａｓｔｂｏｕｒｎｅ　－　ｗｈｏｍ　Ｉ　ｈａｖｅｎ’ｔ　ｓｅｅｎ　ｉｎ　ｙｅａｒｓ．　Ｗｏｗ　ｈａｖｅｎ’ｔ　ｔｈｅｙ　ｇｒｏｗｎ，　Ｉ　ｄｏｎ’ｔ　ｈｅａｒ　ｙｏｕ　ｓａｙ，　ｗｅｌｌ　ｙｅｓ　ｔｈｅｙ　ｈａｖｅ　ａｎｄ　Ｉ　ｔｈｉｎｋ　ｉｔｓ　ａ　ｌｏｔ　ａｎｄ　ｉｔｓ　ｍｙ　ｂｌｏｇ　ｓｏ　ｊｕｓｔ　ｔａｋｅ　ｍｙ　ｗｏｒｄ　ｆｏｒ　ｉｔ．Ｉｎ　ｏｔｈｅｒ　ｎｅｗｓ　Ｉ　ｌｏｖｅ　ｅｍ　ａｎｄ　ｗｈｅｎ　ｔｈｅ　ｓｕｎ　ｆｉｎａｌｌｙ　ｃａｍｅ　ｏｕｔ．

My brother has an Alpha Romeo Spider. Not so much a boast as a fact that explains this video...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6dY8MTU_gNM

As you can see the weather - ahem - lovely. Unfortunately you can't really hear the sound of the engine in that video but take it from me it is a fast car and since my brother had just completed a day of racing driving instruction at a local race track he was driving pretty fast. Which is of course really not very sensible - but may have been a little fun too.

I now find myself in the heart of Southern Englishness where there are no poor people, everyone is white and the houses are thatched - its all a bit surreal. Later today I am taking a train to the North where reality will resume its grip and the accents will be less silly.

Oh - and just in case anyone was in any doubt as to how much fun you can have in the West Country here's a pic of me at the biggest Tank Museum in the world! (I know you're jealous Andrew and KB)

Juanathan

Cured!

When does one consider oneself cured of an affliction? Is pure absence of symptoms enough? Can we say that the epileptic, asthmatic, or liberal voter is cured simply because they haven't experienced their defining characteristics for a while? I don't know, but what I do know is that I just spent over 24 hours in the air without the slightest twitch, shake or stifled gasp of weak kneedness - CURED!

In fact, I really enjoyed it! I enjoyed the fact that I had two seats to myself from Syd to Tokyo. I enjoyed the faux Japanese food. I loved the Britishy types working on the BA flight, I loved it that the films on offer included All the Presidents Men and The Candidate (surely one of the best political campaign movies ever made - or only...) and I loved the space age beauty of the environmentally destructive Terminal 5 - phew

But I'm getting ahead of myself lets start at the start. I didn't leave Sydney on Tuesday night. Yes I was dropped at the Airport by Mr Bolwell stiffling our tears in manly fashion I waved adieu and strode through the doors to my new life - six hours later I joined 150 other grumpy passengers for an unscheduled night at the Novotel Brighton (nice beds) due to maintenance problems. I was less than chuffed as you can see here ...


As you can see I remained positive and in fact it was only 5 hours before we were all back on the bus heading for the airport and were processed in record time and were soon airborne.

Having missed my connection in Tokyo I got the treat of a night in Narita Nikko Airport hotel the highlight of which was my first experience of wearing a nightshirt..

I now find myself 24 hours later typing this entry watching the clouds trundle low over the slate roofs of North London whilst the dulcet tones of Test Match Special describe the 'action' at Lords as 'splendid' and 'quite marvelous' - and I am happy.

Tonight I go to Brighton to meet old friends and maybe have a pint or two - marvelous!