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| From left to freak: Yohei, Rebecca, Turtle, Penelope & Kelley |
I consider myself a well traveled man, or at least something starting to resemble a well-traveled man, yet in the hours before our 9-day journey across Spain, a fundamental question burned in my mind like the fag-end of a cigarette butt against flesh. How many pairs of underwear should one pack to accommodate such an expedition? A complex issue considering the variables of time, space, facility and resource. Armed only with carry-on capacity, a shrewdness is required and every bit of cargo is precious. I decided to consult various members of our touring party.
"4 pairs!" Rebecca exclaimed with confidence, scratching herself whilst doing so. I decided to use this as my lower limit threshold.
"5. Coz you can turn them inside out aow!"...standard practice for Kelley.
"9 if you wanna be sitting next to me in the car!" said Penelope delivered in a tone like a death sentence.
Turtle's response was a queer look of bemusement, with one eye squinting at the enlargement of the other. This is a common Turtle reaction. It means something, somewhere hasn't computed along the way and produced an error, like a bad bit of code. I wasn't about to reprogram the problem for his sake, so I took heed of Penelope's suggestion/direct order, and packed for 9, with an accompanying bagging system to avoid cross contamination (Kelley's suggestion was the sniff test). It was the first challenge beat, in a trip that would end up having, a bit of everything, and all.
Waking up early to go to Stansted was our first exercise. Penelope (Team Leader), made us get up at 4:30am for the taxi, to catch an 8:00am flight. When first told of this, Turtle thought it must be a joke.
"It must be a joke" he said.
Penelope isn't one to joke. That's not the role of a Team Leader so 4:30am it was, and it was just as well. By the time we got to Stansted, a complete blockade of weary souls had formed at the airport. Ryan Air check-in took a good part of an hour before security dribbled us through, one at a time. We eventually appeared on the right side of freedom in a daze, but with just enough clarity to find ourselves a bite to eat and sit down.
I decided to use this time to take Turtle aside and give him the honest low-down on Rebecca. He hadn't traveled with her yet and as a brother, I felt he deserved at least some warning. What triggered this thought was the fact that we were right outside the spot where the 'Tarmac Travesty' occurred, a now well documented tragedy in the chronicles of Fez. I retold the story to Turtle, and how I was abandoned at a time of self-sacrifice, just off yonder, on the same tarmac about to be crossed. I took my time, telling the tale with some veracity (the devils in the detail), as he listened attentively. I wanted him to understand what he was up against, so that he would not suffer the crippling anguish that I had. I built up the finale, maximising the horror of Rebecca's desertion that day. I concluded with all my storytelling effectiveness, capturing all the emotion in a lonely teardrop, before turning to Turtle in anticipation of his reaction of outrage and disgust. He looked back at me blankly.
"... What's a tarmac?..."
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| Its a Turtle! |
For the record, Rebecca is the worst plane-boarding individual ever. When she isn't ditching you on the runway, she's scheming plots of treachery elsewhere. This time was no different. Leading the way down the aisles of the plane, she managed to pick the only seats where the 2 overhead cabin stows were out of order. She said she didn't need them coz her bag was going under her seat which was good for her, but not so good for the rest of us standing there with bags bulging, only just considered carry-on size. Even Kelley gave her a look like she was half on the crack, which is a damn hard look to get from Kelley (means you've done something stupid even by his standards). Following this example I realised it would be every man for himself and picked the next closest seat to the exit with a free space. The others did likewise finding seats further down. Even though its always nicer to sit next to your friends, it didn't bother me as we were all in the same situation, separated in 3 groups. Next minute, I see Rebecca trucking it down the aisle, bag clutched preciously to her chest, clearing her way through the fat, weak and elderly to join the others, leaving me the only one isolated and on my own. Unbelievable. Not once did she take a look back to see who was left behind. Not once...
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| Waiting for a train |
Thankfully the hotel we were staying at, the 'High-Tech Hotel' (yes, that was its actual name), was not far from the airport, and from there we were in the subway and on our way to central Madrid. Whenever I see a city for the first time in Europe it seems my immediate reaction is always about the similarities they share with other cities I've visited. This bit's like Paris or this bit's like Berlin. Madrid I decided was a bit like Rome, without the intensity of people and stress, which was good. What wasn't good was the weather that had followed us from London. Grey and cold... pretty farken shit really. We felt a bit cheated shivering away as we attempted to walk through the streets. How are the Spanish all tanned? Drinking the Olive Oil?... only explanation. After a bit of a stroll we decided we were hungry and went to find a restaurant Penelope had been recommended. It was called the Calle De Cuchilleros and boasted a claim that it was the oldest restaurant in the world established in 1725, which didn't seem that old to me. Did it really take mankind till 1725 before they figured they could put out a spread and sell it? A fact best kept to ourselves I think. It was a fine establishment which had a quaintness about it (if you're old you got to be quaint). The menu was a bit of an illusion. There were lots of options, but only one was legible in print. 'The Suckling Pig'. A Spanish specialty. If you're as ignorant as me (lets face it, if you reading this shit you are), a suckling pig is what they call an infant pig aged 2-6 weeks, served slowly roasted. I'm not sure how they got to be called sucklings. Presumably coz all they do is suck milk from the mum pig. Seemed a bit of an immature & insecure dig to me. All human babies do is poo but we don't call them shitlings. It should go both ways with us and nature.
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| Lining up to get in |
Spent the rest of the day just wandering in and around the bursts of treacherous rain, flogging the city. Walked past some gardens and museums, imagined what they were like from the outside. Rebecca's currently on an all-icecream diet which meant we had to regularly stop for treats throughout the afternoon (even though we'd already had dessert at the restaurant). Achieving nothing but saturation we decided to pack it in, back to the hotel. At some point I did my Russel Crowe impersonation which made Turtle giggle like a school girl. I think its the funniest thing he'd ever heard. Its pretty average impression in truth, but it seemed to strike a Bornean chord. What a great culture. Having splashed out on lunch we decided to get some supplies at the Supermicado for an easy dinner. We ate in Penelope, Kelley and Rebecca's room and just before Turtle and I retired to ours Penelope set the wake-up time for 8:30am the next day. Turtle and I thought this quite early but Penelope laid it out and said we had a lot to cover in a busy schedule.
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| This little piggy went to oven, this little piggy also went to oven... |
Day 2: Tap-ass in Toledo
Getting ready for 8:30am on our first morning in Spain was not easy. What it really meant was getting up at 7:30am for a shower and spruce up. Somehow, Turtle and I managed it and arrived at the others' room as instructed. What did we find? 2 x Gins and 1 x Kelley wrapped up, still in their jammies, snuggled in bed like bears in sweet hibernation. How rested they did look and refreshed, all smiley and relaxed, not a care in the world. They spent the next 90 mins having a good dilly-dally before they were finally ready to leave. My whipping hand was twitching the entire time.
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| One man's junk is another man's... junk... |
Segovia is one of those places that hits you impressively as you approach from around the corner of a mountainous bend. This is because of the structure it has which is what it is famous for. A big massive Roman aqueduct. It was huge! I don't know heights and measurements and things, but it was well large. The largest one I had ever seen, easily. Aqueducts are funny things. They seem like so much effort, for such little reward. Thousands of stone slabs for a trickle of water. Nowadays we just turn a tap.
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| Kelley protecting Penelope from birds of prey |
You know how people say "Holy Toledo". This place is the reason why. Apparently one of the Kings there kicked all the Moors out of Toledo in the 9th/10th century which in turn made it one of the centres for Christian culture in the world. No one ever thought a "Moor-encrusted" place could become so holy which birthed the ironic phrase "Holy Toledo"... Okay so I just wiki-ed that shit but still, interesting fact. Toledo itself is a genuine fortress city with walls, gates and everything. Be a great place to own, so you could fly a flag of your face from a mast, for all to see. We arrived in the evening so after checking-in, managed to enjoy some of lookout points with the lights in full effect. It was quite a pretty sight. The others soon got hungus however, so we found an eatery to sample our first Tapas (pronounced "Tap-ass" by Turtle).
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| Three states of being that thankfully worsen with focus |
We indulged ourselves appropriately and went back to the hotel for sleep. Penelope set another early wake-up and assured us that they would adhere to it. Didn't believe them for a second, but nodded in agreement and went to sleep.
Day 3: A girl called Minge
To my surprise they actually managed it. I'm not sure how. There must have been some serious finger-pulling going on but they were "up and adam" and ready to go. We put our stuff in the car and decided to have a bit more of a walk around Toledo. The weather had cleared up and it was now quite pleasant. Toledo was just as nice during the day as it was during the night. You really do feel like you're in one of those 'Kingdom of Heaven' like fortifications, part of some crusade. Would've loved to have been involved in a great battle there. Born of the wrong time.
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| Waving |
"Minge!!!" a voice called out.
'What the deuce?' I thought to myself. Surely I imagined that. I have been without for quite a whi...
"Minge!!!" again was the shout, emanating above all else, causing heads to turn.
I quickly pinpointed the call and saw it was Penelope yelling out arms waving to Rebecca, with Kelley desperately trying to cover her mouth. Penelope was confused and could not understand why he was trying to silence her, outside this place of holy worship, on god's ground.
Now, I have to personally take some responsibility for this act of vile sacrilege, as it was I who first coined the use of the word in description of Rebecca. This came about through my professional diagnosis that Rebecca indeed suffers from the Mingingitis (pronounced "Minge-gin-gitis") and Mingingoccocal (pronounced "Minge-gin-goccocal"). The accuracy of this diagnosis amongst our populous, meant these terms had become regularity, not just for me, but for everyone that knows her, Penelope included. What Penelope apparently didn't know, was the meaning behind the origin of the word "Minge". This was unfathomable to me. At nearly 30 years of age, she had somehow followed such a sheltered and innocent path that she had never come across the word before, in a contextual sense to understand its definition. A smart girl, raised in a progressive society, completely mingeless. I remember flopping that one and about at primary school, as common as you like. Her younger sister knew all about it and worse, often using it in ways beyond print on this blog, but Penelope was somehow completely oblivious. She later confessed that she thought it was some sort of affectionate, endearing term that we created for Rebecca. For these reasons Penelope called it out with love and enthusiasm in trying to get her sister's attention, much to the horror of us all. I mean there's a time and place for everything, sure, but outside a church on a Monday morning? It shattered several layers of shock for all around.
In her defense it was not out of malice (she isn't that type of girl), and for anyone else, you wouldn't believe it were possible to be without minge, which in many ways I think reflects well on her... shear embarrassment of calling it out loud in public aside.
We stopped for lunch in order to calm ourselves down. We had managed to lose most of the angry locals that had been chasing us, and found a quiet little eatery to dine. Everything in Spain we had figured by this stage was pretty casual. This place for example was casually empty, staffed by one casual waiter/cook, with a few casual tables and chairs. We were in no rush, so ordered and waited amiably enough for our meal. Rebecca grew restless and demanded her nails be painted by a member of the crew. I'm more man than shes ever met in her life, so she knew I wasn't going to do it. Kelley isn't allowed near flammables which ruled him out. Penelope was still shaking from minging out the entire city centre, which left only Turtle to apply the paint. This had disaster written all over it as I envisioned Rebecca's fingertips covered in blotchy blue, resulting in a feral like response. To our surprise, Turtles application of the product was near impeccable. He handled the brush with such finesse, such grace, like a seasoned artist. His effeminate strokes found a finished gloss, polished glistening. It was a mesmerising act to watch. He claimed he had never done it before. Either he was lying, or this was his god-given gift. One that would make all the girls and boy-girls of this world jealous with envy. I promised him the world would know. He resisted, but I declared that this talent could not go unheralded. Turtle, born of Borneo, would be known as the best man nail-polisher in the world.
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| A master at work. |
Spotting them was quite easy. As you approach the area, many of the hills have indeed these windmills, but we wanted Don Quixote's windmills. Kelley had it on Sat nav which took us thereabouts, but also required a bit of intrepid driving as the place isn't exactly signposted to the top. We finally did find them, and felt well achieved by our success. The windmills themselves were good, but not in operation which I found a little disappointing. The whole point of a windmill is to see it milling. Its not supposed to be a static object. Someone mentioned it might have been a safety concern. Do we really need to protect people from the windmill dangers of this world? How many people were ending up in the rotors back in the day? Just a bit of spin-spin is all we want. Rebecca started making her excited noises again as she came up with an idea to recreate the scene from Don Quixote. She began casting, awarding roles to the team. Being the only leading man in the group, I was the only real choice for 'Don Quixote' so got that part. Turtle was then chosen to be the fat little companion 'Sancho', and Rebecca nominated herself to be 'Rocinante', the Don's loyal stallion. My response to this I believe was "What the fark!?!" My objection was fair play I thought. The Queen wouldn't sit on mule, I shouldn't have to mount Rebecca. I also didn't think her twig like frame could support my superstructure, and didn't want to get injured in any incident of collapse. She insisted and insisted saying that she had the strength, and that she had also washed herself everywhere with an emphasis on everywhere.
"Ride me Yohei, I want you to ride me."
Those words sounded a bit strange not coming from Andrew, but being a team player I finally reneged and prepared to saddle myself upon Rebecca, to help bring the scene to life. Setting myself atop, I knew straight away from her legged wobble that she would struggle with my dimensions and mass. My only chance was to quickly assess and control the situation. Having studied extensively on spinal pressures after Inge broke 3 of my vertebrae in Stockholm, I knew my best bet was to alleviate the pressure off Rebecca as best I could. I fastened my thighs with inward pressure around her hips, which I knew could absorb a generous helping of the load. I could tell by her tense grip of my rump that she was feeling the strain. I called out "Easy Rochi!" gently resting my wrists on her shoulders, tilting her forwards and backwards to steady the balance. She wasn't really moving at that point, so I began kicking her in the rear to get a gallop on. I remembered that's how they did it in the Westerns. She responded with more of her noises of excitement (a little weird) but steamed forward with increasing momentum, towards the towering windmill giants. Turtle, slightly offended at being cast as little fat Sancho followed reluctantly behind. I geed him on.
"Follow me my brother in arms! Follow me to the bowels of death!"
I decided it was a mode of transport I could easily get used to. Rebecca got tired after about 15 minutes though, by which time the hijinks were over so we hit the road to Cordoba.
A Spanish colleague of mine had vouched for Cordoba before our trip abroad. Wasn't why we were going as Team Leader Penelope had devised the itinerary, but a vouch is a vouch so my hopes were high. Arriving in the evening, Cordoba had a completely different feel to it than the other cities we had visited. There had a sweat in the air, a buzz from the fluorescent lights, scooters and traffic noise, and a tropic energy. The place felt more like a Spanish Malaysia and I liked it.
We found our hostel and went to our rooms and encountered what is an all too increasingly common problem in our travels. A double room booked for Turtle and I, instead of a twin. I've become pretty accustomed to this so didn't really give it a second thought, but Turtle was having none of it. He kept saying "Nah, that's a gay!" and got quite worked up about it. I found it interesting with regards to people's sensibilities. For me, sharing a bed with another man (out of necessity not choice), isn't gay and doesn't probably become so until you're naked, rolling around, and listening to ABBA. For Turtle, just sharing a bed was too much. I wondered if my sensibilities had been numbed in this respect? I thought about my other male friends. I knew Wilson was on a wavelength similar to mine, Andrew's all over it any chance he gets, Kelley can't tell the difference, and Chris prefers to watch. With regard to female interactions, I know my sensibilities are much more sensitive. A look from a girl, that's first base. Chit-chat is a score, and body contact however fortuitous or unintentional is wedding bells. It's all about relativity. Turtle had his full business face on and in a bit of a strop marched down to the office and demanded extra bedding so he could put himself on the couch. Later, after he had cooled down, he asked if I had been offended by his vehement protestations. I denied this outright but in truth, I think part of me was a bit bloody insulted. Its a privilege to lie next to me, I don't care who you are. Many, many single digit number of girls will testify to this, and Wilson too. Turtle then tried to restore some faith saying he wouldn't have wanted to share a bed with a girl either. This statement made no sense to me at all. The hope in my life revolves around the slim possibility that a girl may be forced into a situation where she has to share a bed with me, but here was Turtle rejecting this notion. Just when you thought you understood the man.
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| It be Snails, little snails. |
"Don't touch the toothpick with your mouth!!!"
In all my young days I've never been so... ... the complete gall of the... I mean I'd just got over Turtle's insult to be followed up with "Don't touch the toothpick with your mouth!!!"... What did she think I had?.. I would to like to have known. Her sister doesn't care about such things. I once chewed a grape, spat it back out for Rebecca to then gobble it down. She said it was bloody dee-lish. But here, her sister was telling the godfather to her unborn children "Don't touch the toothpick with your mouth!!!" I thought we were family. Not when it comes down to toothpicks it seems. I mean I'm a big man so it was water under the bridge in a snap, but that's not the point. The point is that Rebecca loves the tastes of my grapes and Penelope should too.
The snails didn't have a chance of tasting good after that. Nothing did. We retreated to bed soon thereafter where Penelope set another wake-up time but I didn't really care. I still had her voice yelling "Toothpick Nooo!!! Minge!!!!" ringing in my ears.
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| Cordoba, street, night! |
Tuesday morning was a morning of rebellion. Whatever the wake-up time set was, it was not adhered too. I'm not sure if rebellion was the right word actually coz we wouldn't purposely endanger our lives for so weak a cause, but regardless, we were stumbling. Turtle wasn't especially motivated this particular morning having woken up early on previous mornings. There was a bit of impetus required though as Penelope wanted us to visit the Mezquita-Catedral (Mosque/Cathedral) of Cordoba. This was the reason you came to Cordoba she said. It was a World Heritage site and had lots of history and stuff. The problem was they had a bizarre pricing structure where entry was free up until 10am, after which it cost €18! Spanish Economics for you. Turtle finally emerged ready to go and we took off.
It was fairly quiet on the street. There was a sleepy hush in contrast to the activity the night before. The Spanish really did appreciate their sleep-ins. Maybe that's why the Cathedral was free before 10am. Because no one was up by then! The weather had gradually improved over the course of the trip, and now it was proper hot. Turtle, who had wanted a hat ever since we landed was baking, as the sun burnt down on his black head of hair. We had tried to find a hat for him in Segovia but he had rejected our stylish selections every time. We told him he would be a legend, but he refused to become that legend.
We approached the famous mosque-cathedral in good time, at least 10 mins before 10am. Unfortunately, they had already closed their gates for entry into the building itself. Penelope was not pleased. Penelope's anger doesn't manifest itself physically or emotionally. You can't really tell she is angry by looking at her at all. All you notice is your own breath in frost form. Luckily, we were in Cordoba for another night and decided that we would try again the following day. The atmosphere returned to normal and we decided to make use of the beautiful trees and fountains that made up the centre courtyard. Penelope asked me to take a photo of her and her sister. Kelley wanted to be in it as well, but wasn't allowed as every photo he's in he pulls a special-needs face. I sat the girls in front of the large fountain, composing the shot. Kelley's jealousy started to get the better of him and he leapt up and began running around to the other side of the fountain in an attempt to sabotage the shot. I could see what his plan was so I quickly tried to direct the girls into position. With Kelley sprinting towards frame, I knew it was going to be touch and go and snapped just as I got the shot perfect... well, almost perfect.
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| Almost perfect when (bottom right), an idiot appears. |
Cordoba is cool because you can walk around and the landscape can change dramatically within blocks. We soon found ourselves in what seemed old-town where there was this community patio garden competition going on. This was where people had decorated their enclosed courtyards with hundreds of pot plants hanging off the walls. Would be a bit of a mess in an earthquake but was very flowery as it was.
Stopping for lunch we were then a bit stumped with what to do next. We remembered a mini-castle and garden place we had passed earlier so decided to give that a go. At €4.50 entry we found the price a bit of a stickler. We're pretty cheap if you hadn't realised so it took some debate. In quite ridiculous fashion, we went up to the ticket counter about 3 times to ask about the price, to see if it really was €4.50. Turtle got a bit confused because they had different prices for night and day and wanted to know if the daytime tickets could get you in if you left before the night for the night, or if you could stay through the daytime into the night, or if the gardens were made out of light and if so how they worked in the day and whether they knew what a pixies were. It all got a bit much. Then Kelley saw there were student prices and thought he could get us cheap tickets, so tried but got rejected and we were shamed. We eventually paid full price and were let in.
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| ... bags-not watering... |
The 'Walla Walla Walla' is the gift I brought to the trip through experiences in my own childhood. Its a bit hard to explain what it is, but I'll try. The 'Walla Walla Walla' is something my cousins and I used to do at Western Springs (a park in Auckland) beside the train tracks as the trams passed by. It involves taking a hunched position, a shaking of the knees, and a swaying the arms in front of the knees with an optional "Walla Walla Walla" monkey call. This is traditionally done as the commuters pass by. The layering of movement and multiple senses it hits has a hypnotic effect on all within its vicinity. It transfixes, born from a derision of making no sense at all. I'm not sure where it came from, but it is damn fun and completely liberating, like streaking through a monastery. Having been dormant for so many years, I decided it was something long overdue for a return. Rebecca was the only one that initially got into it. Being all arms and legs, it was right down her alley. Kelley was attracted to its moronic undertones, but struggled with the routine consisting of 2 simultaneous actions. Penelope thought it was far too common and turned her nose up at it, and Turtle made that face of his. Unperturbed, Rebecca and I started doing it everywhere. We did it on the ledge, we did it in the garden, we did it in front of the school kids. It was exhilarating and the nostalgia of it all charged me. The others eventually saw how much fun it was and started doing it too. The 'Walla Walla Walla' had drawn them in.
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| Behold the Walla Walla Walla |
Ruins! Granada! Sangria! Davies! Derek! Discotecha! Heartbreak! J-Lo! Caves! DD's in real life! Sea! Padder Tennis! Valencia! Paella, and Kelley's long lost family and more, all still to come in The Spanish Odyssey Part II!
