Okay so I haven´t written one for a really long time!!!

I know, I know, I said that I would write a blog at least once a week and now it has been nearly 3 months since my last one that I wrote. It´s not that I haven´t done anything and so have nothing to write about, the complete opposite exactly.

To summarize, this is what I did in a nutshell:

After my roadtrip through Portugal I set out on my own. I stayed in Sevilla for about 4 or 5 days where I spent my time walking hours upon hours around the city seeing all of the old buildings and structures, quite beautiful I must say. It is Sevilla that I visited the largest gothic cathedral in the world as well as experience my first flamenco show. Sevilla is gorgeously old and colourful with a strong arabic influence. Before the Christians arrived Sevilla was inhabited by Muslims which can still be seen by a lot of the architecture and tile work. Now that I have beene to Morocco (almost a purely Muslim country) I can see the similarities in the designs and the achitecture.

It felt good to be by myself again and control my own moves so I continued by myself to Arcos de la Frontera (a small ´white´town on the side of a cliff), Jerez de Frontera (the birth city of sherry - very tasty), and then Cadiz. Cadiz is a city on a penisula situated in the Atlantic Ocean. After being away from the ocean for a whole week and a bit I was in huge withdrawal and so ended up staying there for a week.

Being iN Cadiz for a week allowed me to settle my mind, body, and eating habits. After eating so well whilst camping with the boys I was in some serious need of a cleanse of meat, alcohol, and grease. I spent my days in Cadiz laying on the beach, reading, walking a lot, and I even got myself out for 3 or 4 runs!!! I was feeling amazing after this week of normality and began to realize that I don´t really like travelling all that much.

Don´t get me wrong I love visiting new places and meet new people, but this whole jumping from one place to another every 2 or 3 days is not my idea of travelling. I like staying in a place long enough to get to know the streets, the usual characters that walk the street, and to have a special spot I like to go to calm my mind.

Though Cadiz is not that pretty it would be a great place to live and play, but I had done that in San Sebastian and was really craving for something different; this is when I decided to make my way down to Morocco.

Morocco. Africa. It felt exciting, scary, and invigorating thinking of going there. But there was a lot I didn´t know about Morocco, about visiting a Muslim society, about the language, and about a lot, lot more. So I started asking people what they knew. Some people stated that Morocco was a bad place for a women to travel alone because Western women are seen as infidels and therefore up for the grabs. They said that the men would touch me all the time and that the shopkeepers would draw me up to their shops and give me tea then charge me exhorberant amounts.

Others said that Morocco was one of the most beautiful, awe-inspiring, friendly, and colourful place they had ever been to. Which one should I believe? I decided to take the advice of both but lean to the side of caution when it came to my interactions.

I left the majority of my belongings at the hostel I was staying at and my laptop with a girl I had befriended (bad idea!! Ít´s been 2 months and I am still waiting for her to give it back to me! Actually that´s why I have the time to do this right now. I´m sitting in an internet cafe in Cadiz hoping to god that she will return from wherever to meet up like we planned, before my bus heads back to Seville. Long story.) Anyways, from Cadiz I headed down to a town called Tarifa which is where I was to take a ferry to Tangier, Morocco.

Tarifa sits on the boundary between the Pacific and the Mediteranean and is known for its wind and kite-surfing. This too was place that I could have spent a great deal of time wandering around, or living, and was actually a bit disappointed that I had only planned to stay there one night.

That evening I tried to get as much information out of the people staying at the hostel as possible and also to see if anybody else was heading that way the following day, so that I could at least enter the country with somebody else. That is when I met Ben.

Ben was an Australian fellow, who had an amazing pair of mint green pants that he wore all the time, and who was also travelling to Morocco the following day. We decided that we would start our trip together and from there see how it went. The next day we departed on the noon ferry to such an adventure and an experience that I could have had no way of predicting.

And that is how it all began.

The End of a Beautiful Trip

The road trip is over. The boys are gone. Looking back at the time we spent together and the places that we say I really had an amazing time, and I definitely learnt a lot, both about myself and about guys.

Final Part of the Itinerary:

Day 13 Lisboa to Setubal
Day 14 Setubal to Vila Nova de Milfontes
Day 15 Milfontes to Sagres
Day 16 Sagres
Day 17 Sagres
Day 18 Sagres to Sevilla


I left off talking about arriving in Lisboa. That night Brett’s friend (with whom we were staying the night) drove us into the center and showed us around the town. It was a Monday night and yet there were so many people still out and about drinking, talking, and generally enjoying life. He took us to the Barrio Alta, where he said that on a Friday or Saturday night the small side streets are so packed with people that you have to force your way through the crowds. For this I was quite happy that we were going out on a Monday night. We bought beers at a local bar and then left, beers in hand, to wander the streets. Nowhere in Vancouver, nor Canada, can you calmly walk around with a beer; it actually felt very civilized. There weren’t people stumbling or throwing up everywhere, but were gathered in groups, talking and laughing, generally having a good, respectful, time.



The next morning we had a bit of a late start, but eventually made it onto the bus and back to the center, to discover it in the light of day. Like many cities in Portugal and Spain small streets and alleyways split off one way or the next, giving you the option to take the same general route in a variety of ways. I was quite impressed with how long the guys actually did continue sightseeing, as they have made it very clear many times before that they are not interested in seeing big cities. Surprisingly enough I actually got them to take a tourist tram car up to a view point of the city.



The visit to Lisboa ended that evening at around 10pm, as we once again set off to a new destination. Why we didn’t just stay the night and go the next morning, I’m not quite sure, probably due to the fact that they were badly itching to get out of the city and closer to a beach. That night was spent in a natural park just outside of Setubal, and situated right on the ocean. That being said we didn’t even enjoy the park as we left early the next morning to travel to South Portugal to a small town called Vila Nova de Milfontes.

Vila Nova de Milfontes was supposedly known for having good waves and you could see the guys excitement as we drew closer and closer to the waves. Once again Brett had a contact there and so after getting the general direction of an obscure surfing beach we went off in search for the waves. Due to the misunderstanding of the directions we ended up going for a bit of an off-roading experience in the sand dunces, which was quite stressful due to the fact that we definitely did not have a 4X4 vehicle. Luckily we never got too stuck and in the meantime found some beautiful spots where we thought it would be great to camp. But like everything on this trip, things changed, and instead of having a rustic night on the beach we ended up meeting with Brett’s friend, Hena, and having a big dinner and party at the surf camp that she worked at.

Though we had been drinking wine and beer every night since we left San Sebastian we had rarely gone out with the attention to drink and party, therefore the guys definitely took this opportunity to let loose and have a good time. Walking back to the campgrounds in the pitch black with only a hand-drawn map in hand, proved to be an experience of its own. Enough said.

The next day was spent entirely on the beach (as per usual), but this time I actually went surfing. Brett’s friend had an extra board and wetsuit that she lent me and so I finally took the opportunity to do what I’ve been meaning to do the whole trip, and went surfing. I had such a good time that I started to regret that I hadn’t been surfing the whole time, but then again if I had gone surfing the whole time I wouldn’t have had the opportunities to explore all the little towns along the way.

This seems to have turned out to be quite the boring blog. I guess though we did see a lot, we didn’t actually do all that much. We spent a lot of time on the beach. It really has been a fun and wonderful time and I guess it’s difficult to describe the sights and views from the cliffs that tend to tower over the little beaches; better to see for yourself in the pictures.

Our final destination ended up being the town of Sagres, which I believe is the most southwestern point in Europe (we have down many ‘points’ along this journey.) We didn’t actually end up seeing much of the town but did visit el Cabo de San Vincente, which is where the actual point is located, and a beach about 10km north of the town.

Spent the days on the beach, nights eating and drinking a lot, blah, blah, blah.

The last day we were going to hang out on the beach during the day and then move on to another town to sleep. That didn’t end up happening. The guys got word of a surf party on the beach and were really excited about spending their last night hanging out with surf girls, drinking lots, and sleeping on the beach. And so that’s what we did. Well, we hung out more together than with surf girls and ended up setting up our tent at 2am right next to our car in the parking lot, but that was right next to the beach so I believe that it counted.



We woke up the next day (the boys feeling a bit sore and hungover) and I drove us to Sevilla and our separation point. It’s sad to think that I probably won’t see them ever again. After having spent the past 19 continuous days I had become quite used to, and attached, to them I was a bit nervous to set out on my own once again. But I suppose that is life and I know that I now am much more prepared to travel alone then I was at the beginning of the journey. The next post will be exactly this, talking about my experience traveling by myself and the difference from when I first started out 4 months ago, in June.

Day 13 of the Spain/Portugal Trip

It has been 13 days since we’ve been on the road and we have covered A LOT of land and at the beginning barely stopped. We were staying somewhere different every night and driving 4-6 hours every day. That being said we have seen a lot. We’ve discovered hidden towns and beaches along the way and have gone through some large and famous cities such as Santiago de Compostela in Galacia in Spain and Porto in Portugal.

Here’s what the itinerary looks like so far:

Day 1: San Sebastian to Mundaka
Day 2: Mundaka; lunch in Bermeo; Sopelana
Day 3: Sopelana; lunch in San Vincente de Burques; Cudillero
Day 4: Cudillero to Fisterre
Day 5: Fisterre; lunch and walk in Santiago de Compostela; Viana do Castelo (Portugal)
Day 6: Viana do Castelo; lunch and walk in Porto; Figuera do Foz; Pedrogao
Day 7: Pedrogao to Peniche
Day 8: Visit to Ilhas de Berlenga (islands off of Peniche)
Day 9: Peniche
Day 10/11: Peniche to Ericeira
Day 12: Ericeira; lunch and walk in Sintra; Lisboa

I had been to Mundaka before so that wasn’t anything to exciting and Sopelana was really close by and just a beach and a modern town nearby, so again not that interesting. It was when we arrived in Cudillero that it got really exciting for me.

Cudillero is this small picturesque town that is described as being ‘airlifted out of Greek Island. ’ It hugs the cliffs as these incredibly small streets wind their way down to the coast. There the street turns and you can see a cascade of coloured houses coming down a steep hill. Unfortunately we didn’t stay long there at all as the guys were itching to get to the beach to surf and I only got one blurry photo as we drove through the town.


Fisterre is an ugly town that seems quite confused about what it is trying to look like. It has both modern and old parts but they don’t meld in any way. Translated it is called ‘the end of the world because when it was discovered the explorer walked to the end of a point and from the tip could not see any land on any side; this is the western most point of Spain. It was true, at the tip you couldn’t see any land straight ahead or to your right, but when there was no fog, you could see the beginning of Portugal on your left.



There is a trek/pilgrimage that starts as far north as Paris down the coast of Spain, almost to the top of Portugal. This passes through Santiago de Compostela in southern Spain which is filled with churches and religious icons. There is one very famous cathedral there which on the outside looks like it’s been standing there since the 1200 as it has a bit of a dark green tinge to it. Inside all there is really is the place in front of the pews which looks like it is made of solid gold.

After passing Santiago de Compostela the pilgrims trek to their last destination, Fisterre (the end of the world.) We did it in reverse and first went to Fisterre and then passed by Santiago de Compostela on the way down to Portugal. The pilgrims end their trek here and supposedly burn their clothes as a symbol of the termination. I didn’t see any burning clothes but instead clothes and shoes hung all over a metal radio tower.

Unfortunately I slept through the crossing between Spain and Portugal but about 20km south of the border I could already see the vast difference in the architecture and style of the Portuguese. We stopped at a small fishing town called Viana do Caminho. Again I fell in love with it, but again we didn’t stay long. Throughout Portugal, but moreso, it seems, in the North, the houses are decorated with a full wall of patterned tiles. This gives the towns a lot of colour and a stunning uniqueness. From there we went on to Viana do Castelo, which unfortunately was not as beautiful, but the guys got some waves which made them very happy.

Once again we were on the move the next day but I forced them to stop in Porto to have lunch and see the sights. At first they were not that interested, but as per usual they ended up liking walking around the small streets and taking photos. Besides from being surfers two are graphic designers and photographers; the other is a chef.

Porto was beautiful and I really wish that I could have spent a lot more time there, but it was time to move on to a very hidden and small resort town called Pedrogao. We thought that it was going to be a remote place on the beach, but when we came out from the woods there was quite an ugly ghost town standing in front of us. It had obviously been built in the last 10-15 years and it was obvious that it tended to only be inhabited during the summer. There was nobody around. And what was worse, there was no good surf. We left the next day for Peniche.

We stayed three nights in Peniche, which felt so good to do. Again, not the prettiest of cities, but it had some history and the beaches were nice. While the guys surfed I visited the old part, the beaches, and the local island, Ilha do Berlenga. The island had been turned into a protected park 15 years ago, but I’m not quite sure why. Perhaps if my sister were there she could tell me, but the only things that I saw were seagulls, lizards, and a LOT more seagulls. That being said the island had beautiful roughness to it and looked a bit like scorched earth. It had red rocks and cliffs which fell into a bright blue ocean.


From Peniche we moved on to Ericeira (which is the western most point of Europe) where we stayed for 2 nights. This was a beautiful town. It didn’t seem like it had much from the outside of the town, but once in the old town you found small shops, cobbled streets, and houses and churches painted white with blue trim. The guys found some great waves here and it was hard to get them to leave, but eventually we did, once again.



Yesterday we left Ericeira for a short drive inland to Sintra, which is an old medieval town that has a beautiful morrish influence on its architecture. We stopped there for lunch and walk around. As the guys sat in the car and either slept or read I paid to enter the palace grounds and see the architecture up front. It was incredible and I could have easily spent a whole day just walking around the trails looking at all the different ancient ruins.


Now we are in Lisboa. It supposed to be just a one night stay, but currently we have no plans on where we will be going next, so who knows.

Traveling with 3 guys is definitely a challenge on the patience and my slight OCD with organization. Either none of them want to make a decision or else they have one idea/desire and nothing else matters. They take absolutely ages in the grocery store trying to decide what to purchase, and usually return with just meat and beer if I don’t go along. The running joke now is that they wouldn’t be able to survive without me as they never know where they have put any of the food, utensils, etc, where they are going, or what things are essential to buy. Sometimes it’s like I’m traveling with a bunch of children, but honestly they are really good guys, and they go out of their way sometimes to make sure that I’m happy.

On the Road Again

So, here I go again. I have finally left San Sebastian, after two and half months of working, laying on the beach, and way too much partying; after all of this my body really needs a break.

I had an amazing time in San Sebastian and have some very fond memories to look back on, most of which are depicted by photos that have been uploaded onto Facebook of course. The memories that come to mind the most is my first week there as I got to know the people and the town, and the party scene. It was all such a new experience for me that I absorbed every minute of the day and experienced it to the fullest. This first week gave me the confidence to put myself out there and the reassurance that I was going to be okay, in which ever situation that I land.

My next memory would probably not that interesting to most of you, but it is of playing volleyball on the beach day in and day out for about 3 weeks. It became an obsession for some friends of mine and myself and we would wait patiently at the beach for our group of Spanish guy friends to arrive so that we could play a number of rounds in the scorching sun and then cool off in the water. From this and the hours and hours spent in a bikini and watching other women of all different sizes walk around topless, I have learnt to become more comfortable in my own body and with my own shape. This was also improved by the general amount of attention that myself and the rest of the female population got from men as the ratio is about 1 female : 4 men (the opposite of Vancouver.)

Pamplona. Pamplona and the Running of the Bulls is definitely an experience that I will never forget. The energy that filled the air and the general tone of everybody was harmonic. Never in Vancouver could you peacefully have some many drunken idiots in the same place at the same time without some serious issues. But there, I didn’t see one fight, I didn’t see one angry face, only thousands of happy people wearing white clothes with red scarfs. This may have been due to the drunken glasses that I was wearing, but I still stand strong on my belief that it was a remarkably happy and festive event. Here I stepped out of my safety net as I got into the camper van with group of strangers, save one. Here I didn’t sit in the background and watched but was out on the street like the rest of the idiots, dancing, cheering, and laughing. It was perhaps one of the most cheerful moments I’ve been in.

Continuing down the river of memories would take me to my two bike trips down the coast into the next towns, one 20km south and the other 26km. I think that these come to mind so strongly because it was when I was getting to the point when I felt I was tiring of the lifestyle there and being able to get away from the city and into more rural and rugged coast made me feel so free and jovial. It also came at a time when I hadn’t been doing regular exercise so being on a bike for 4 hours made me physically feel wonderful. It reminded me how much I love being active and enjoy doing things other than drinking, dancing, and being hung-over and overly tired.

There are so many other memories that I have from my time there and I leave this beautiful city with a lot more knowledge and love for myself and off to a new and very different experience.

I’m currently sitting in a car in a small surfing town 100km south of where I have just been, called Mundaka. My backaches and my eyes are shutting from the terrible night of ‘sleep’ that I have just had staying in a tent, without a mattress and without a sleeping bad, but I’m excited.

About two weeks ago I decided to hitch a ride with a friend of mine who was traveling with his friend from Uruguay down the west coast of Spain and Portugal, on a surfing expedition. I figured that it would be something totally different and a great way to see parts of Europe, whilst still being with some friends and not alone. And I still have no question that it will be amazing, but we first need to find somewhere to buy a bit more equipment and not just what we found at the hostel from the tourists who had left it behind.

Life in San Sebastian and the Next Move

So I´v been in San Sebastian for 2 and a half months now and have really been able to get to know the city (especially the beaches) and the culture. My days are spent working in the morning and early afternoon, cleaning the hostel and checking-in the new arrivals, and usually going to the beach or for walks around the city in the afternoon. I return to work again at 10:30pm to do a final clean of the kitchen and bathrooms and then if I have the energy I head out on the town for 1,2,3, etc drinks and a bit of dancing at the bars.

I started to get a bit bored of this routine a few weeks ago and so I have been taking an advanced Spanish class twice a week and travelling to different towns and cities every day off that I have. For the last two weeks I have committed myself to doing one new thing every day. It can be something as simple as going to a different restaurant or bar or something such as doing a hike along the coast to the next town or visiting a different city.

Yesterday I cycled 20km south along the very hilly coast to a town called Orio. That in itself was a new thing for me, but I also did something that I have wanted to do for such a long and have never had the nerve to do so.

I´ve always been so impressed by the confidence that the women have here in that they seem to be so proud and comfortable in their bodies, whether they are big, small, wrinkly, old, young, etc. They walk with their heads high and, on the beach, topless, without a care of what the other people think. For me, it has always been a difficult thing not to worry about what other people are or are not thinking about me, and this tends to make me very stressed and nervous.

To make a long story short, yesterday I went to Orio and bathed topless like the rest of Spain! And I am so proud of myself for doing so. At first it was a bit awkward, especially whilst I was walking to and from the ocean, but I quickly became used to it and actually started to really enjoy it. The Spanish women have really taught me a thing or two about the value of appreciating your body for what it is.

This is another of my goals whilst I am here: Learn to appreciate my body for what I have and stop constantly comparing it to that of other women.

Since I have been travelling I have learnt a lot about myself, both good things and bad. I have created a list for myself on points that I would like to work on, and these do not include anything to do with making myself look better, but instead feel better.

Though I will be sad to leave San Sebastian the travel bug has once again taken a firm grip on me and starting September 1st I will be on the move again. This time I believe that I am going to join a friend of mine, Jose, on a car trip down the west coast of Spain and Portugal. Jose is a big surfer from Uruguay who has been working in San Sebastian for the summer as well. Whilst he and his friend play in the big waves, at all the different coastal towns, I plan to surf the small and kinder waves and discover the local streets, towns, and cultre.

This will take me to the 20th of September at which point I may continue along the coast of Spain up into Seville and the countrysides, or I may make my way to Italy for a change of scenery; I´m not quite sure yet.

I have a few visitors hopefully coming in the next little while. Next week my aunt, uncle, and cousins from England will be visiting a town just north of here and I hope to either go up to see them in Biarritz or have them come down here. As well, in October my dad will be in Europe on business and has said that he is going to come visit me wherever I am. Finally, Kate is turning 30 this year and is badly in need of a vacation and so may come out here at the end of October, early November. She has said that if she does she wants to do something active and do it somewhere warm, so I´m looking into the possibility of hiking the length of Corsica (an island off of Italy), doing island hopping in Greece, or hiking along the coast in southern Spain.

Anybody else interested in coming to Europe for a bit?

Running of the Bulls and the Fifa World Cup Finals

I wasn´t going to go to Pamplona last Sunday. The night before I had gone out dancing until the wee hours of the morning and had only gotten about one or two hours of sleep. To say the least, I was a wreck. I had a friend who was coming down from France with her brother and his friends and who had invited me to go to Pamplona with them. That Sunday morning she had come round to my work and asked if I was still up to going, at which I had at first responded, `no.´ After a morning of cleaning bathrooms and changing beds I lay down in my own bed for a short siesta. As I lay there I came to the realization that it would be completely idiotic to give up such an opportunity. There would always be other times to sleep.

Quickly, I rounded up as much white clothing as I could find, a few cans of red bull and was out the door to find my friend and go to Pamplona. I found them slowly moving around their camper van, looking just as rough as I did. From that moment on I knew it was going to be an interesting day.

We arrived in Pamplona at around 3pm and everywhere I looked there were people wearing white shirts and pants with red bandanas around their necks and sashes around their waists. People driving in cars, people at work, tourists; everybody was wearing the traditional clothing and everybody was in the festive mood. I felt quite out of place with my jeans and white tank top and so was determined to go and buy some white pants and a red sash, knowing full well that in a couple of hours they would be stained red with sangria.

As we walked towards the center of town and the main streets of the fiesta we saw people sleeping everywhere: on the grass in the parks, on benches, in the bus stops and stations, absolutely everywhere. As we got closer we could hear music coming from every direction, and as we entered the center 2, 3, 4 bands came out of nowhere, walking through the streets with banners held high, playing music. Alongside them people were dancing, drinking, and overall loving life.

So as not to look out of place we quickly got ourselves some cheap champagne and beers and joined in the festivities. We followed the bands up and down the streets until we found ourselves in the main plaza where we settled down, with some local cider, to wait for the World Cup Finals to begin.

A huge screen was set up at the front of the plaza and in a short while it was packed with hundreds, perhaps a thousand, people, all in white and red and all having drunk a bit too much. The guys that I was with started to get rowdier and rowdier and sangria, beer, and cider started spray to everywhere; so much for my white clothes.

The game dragged on and on with no score. When Spain finally scored the crowd went bezerk; shouting, singing, and dancing! It was an amazing sight to see. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't sitting back watching the whole thing take place, I was right in there with the rest, singing and dancing with whomever was nearby.

The night didn't end there, it was filled with dancing salsa, merangue, and who knows what else, with my new found friend and dance partner, all over the streets. There were still bands playing in the small side streets at 3-4am which provided the perfect atmosphere. I finally crashed at around 5am and was able to sleep for 2 hours in the park, at which point I went off to watch a friend participate in the Running of the Bulls.

This in itself was intense to watch. 6 large bulls and 6 smaller ones raced through the streets after a large number of people; mainly men as it is culturally inappropriate for women to run. People struggled to get past each other and out of the way of the bulls as they tore through the narrow streets and into the arena.

Once in the arena all but one bull was guided out and into a holding pen. The one that remained was taunted and provoked by the men waving red bandanas, until they got it running around the arena chasing whatever red it could see. Everybody wanted to touch the bull and everybody wanted it to chase them. Men went flying in the air everywhere as the bull picked them up and threw them aside. It sounds dangerous and as though it would hurt, but after being hit the men just picked themselves up again and bowed to the crowd, proud to have been the one hurtled into the air.

What was amazing was the respect that the locals had for the bull. No one could hold onto its horns, head, tail, etc. or else they would recieve a full-on thwack to the head and a earful of profanities from the other runners and the crowd.

In the evening a number of the bulls are put in the arena once again, but this time with a matador whose sole job is to spear the bull and do his best not to get gored himself. It is said that the bulls that get killed by the matador (which I believe they always do) are slaughtered and the meat given to a local charity for the homeless.

I didn't stay to see the bull fight but headed back to San Sebastian to relax and sleep. As I walked through the streets back to my apartment I felt myself fill with an amazing sense of satisfaction and excitment, one that arose from having been able to have experienced not only the Running of the Bulls but the win for Spain in the World Cup Finals. I was glad that I had made the decision not to pass up this opportunity for a few lousy hours of sleep, and now I know that if such an event occurs again I am more than able to run on 4 hours of sleep in 48 hours.

I think I may stay awhile

The Tapas (pintxos) in San Sebastian. Supposably the best in Spain!

So as I have stated in previous postings, I have fallen quite badly for San Sebastian and because of this I have decided to stay here for just a bit longer. Actually, at the moment I will be staying here for the month of July as I have gotten myself and job and a place to live!

It all started when another traveler wanted to stay a bit longer at the hostel as well and so ask if she could work for her living expenses there. At this point I was looking madly for a nice, small hostel to stay at in Bilbao (my next destination), with no avail. One day I jokingly said that I too wanted a job, and they gave me one.

The only problem that they had was that they had no free spaces for me to stay at the hostel, for the month. July is their craziest month due to the San Fermin festival in Pamplona, otherwise known as the Running of the Bulls. Many people come to stay in San Sebastian and than travel each day to Pamplona, which is just an hour away.

So I started scanning newspapers and their equivalent of craigslist for a shared apartment. I send out tons of messages and only heard back from one person who turned out not to be too keen on having somebody just for one month. I started to think that this was not going to work out and that I would have to move on. At that point I decided just to let whatever happens happen. I decided that if nothing came about in regards to somewhere to live than I would move on, and that that would be just as good as staying in San Sebastian.

After making this decision, whilst lying on the beach sun tanning myself, I returned to the hostel to let the owner, Paul, know that this may not be possible. When we started talking he said that if nothing turns up that I could always sleeping in his camper van which was parked about 25minutes away from the hostel. This idea actually excited me; only the idea of having to walk such a far way home after the bar at 4:00am (usually time here) made me not jump at the idea. We decided that if nothing showed up before the 1st of July I would go live in the van until a bed came available at one of the two hostels.

That evening Paul contacted me and told me that he knew somebody who was looking for somebody to rent a room in his apartment with him in the old part of the city, where the hostels are both located. At 11:30 that night I went to have a look. The apartment was beautiful and newly renovated, and above all it was quiet and not filled with a bunch of drunk and rowdy people. I was home.

So now I have been in San Sebastian for the past 2 weeks and working for the last 4. I have become a bit lazy and have not done as much surfing as I once did and do tend to end up on the beach every single afternoon after work, and in a bar every single night, but I’m having fun. I have made some friends, especially Pame, who is the sister of the owner of the hostel and my coworker. She is a very sweet and kind-hearted Argentinean who can become quite feisty whilst watching Argentina play in the World Cup as well as when she feels that a guy is acting inappropriately at a bar. I have had to hold her back a few times from getting up to much in the face of somebody who has stepped over the line, in her opinion. But besides that she is honestly probably one of the sweetest persons I have ever met and would, and has, bend over backwards to help a friend out.

And so life continues here: working, sun tanning, partying, and trying to get a grasp of the Castilian Spanish they speak here. Life in all is good.

My Apartment

And I still haven't left

I have definitely fallen in love with this city.

My days have been spent walking around the city, up the hill to hang out with Jesus, sunbathing on the beach and playing in the waves, surfing, and going out with others from the hostel. I'm actually slightly worried that my travelling has come to a bit of a stand still for a while. I was initially supposed to be spending only 2 days here but since then I have extended my stay twice and am currently staying here until Monday.

Two days ago was the Fiesta de San Juan (which I believe coincides with Summer Soltice - the longest day of the year.) The celebration of this day begins by the burning of a tree in the town hall and then afterwards the peeling and distribution of the bark to everybody huddled around. What they do with the bark I'm not sure. At first I thought that the ate it, but now I'm not quite sure. This is then followed by everybody making bonfires on the beach and throwing in pieces of paper with their wishes and dreams written on them. The ages of the people who get involved in this ranges from young children to older men and women.

What was even better was that night I went surfing from 9pm to 11pm and so I saw the sunset out on the horizon and the bonfires on the beaches, from the water, and it was absolutely gorgeous. I found a new respect for life out there on the water, it's hard to explain.

I have been hanging out with many of the sole travellers at the hostel but mainly two girls, Jemma from Australia, who has also seemingly taken up residence here, and Pam, who runs the hostel and is from Argentina. They are both very much free-spirited women and we get along very well. During the day we go to the beach and in the nights we go out on the town.

Here the night life begins at around 11pm - midnight and goes until 4am (at the earliest). I have had two 4:30- 5am nights and really don't see how the locals here can keep this up (but perhaps the siesta in the middle of the day is a key part of it. The nightly ritual/custom here in Spain is to begin your night with some tapas which you choose from a wide selection displayed on the bar, and then continue to bar hop from anywhere between 3 and 5 bars. Luckily there is no cover here and you don't feel like you have to have many drinks at each bar.

Tonight is another night of celebration, so I have heard, with a large outdoor concert on the beach. What tonight will bring, only time will tell.

My first stop in Spain and I don't think I want to leave

At first sight of San Sebastian, on the Atlantic coast of Spain, I was in love. There are old, gothic buildings lining the river that spills into the ocean and hills spiking up around the outskirts of the city. When we arrived it was a dark and rainy day but out on the water surfers were scattered everywhere. There were people running and biking aroung the city and people strolling, chatting, and enjoying themselves everywhere.

Under each sign in Spanish was written a funny looking word which could be none other than Basque, a language which its origins are supposably unknown (though one person here stated that it was from the Celts who at one time had inhabited this area.) It feels good to be back in a language that I understand, more-or-less, but I must say that these Spaniards do speak Spanish in a weird way; they all sound like they have a speech impediment.

I had arrived by car, with my mum and Pedro, from Agen. On our way we stopped in a city called Biarritz, in France, which was once a very popular and expensive vacation destination for the rich English. The architecture and large buildings showed just that, as well as the cost of a very small amount of goat cheese and tomatoes. But it was beautiful and I became excited was again about the idea of discovering new places and having my own little adventure.

After leaving Biarritz we discovered that our GPS no longer recieved any satellite reception and we had no maps to tell us how to get to and around San Sebastian, and Pamplona, where she and Pedro were headed that night. Using a saved map I found on the GPS we made our way into San Sebastian and to a place where we thought that my hostel may be located. Not wanting to drive around one way streets any more I got out of the car and started walking. I located my hostel in a side street that was filled with bars and postings all of the walls. It had no sign. I started to get worried that this place was going to be a complete shit-hole and actually asked some people nearby if this was a decent part of time. After ensuring me that it was I proceed to ring the bell and be led up the stairs.

The hostel is great. It is small, yet has everything, and cosy, yet has many activities and events that they organize for the visitors. Within 30mins of arriving at the hostel I was back out the door, but this time with two other guests and we were on our way to a surfing class. Within 1 hour of arriving in San Sebastian I was out on the water surfing! What more could I possible ask for.

Tomorrow, the world is my oyster and I have plans to do it all. I will go back for some more surfing, hike up the hill to stand next to the local Jesus statue, and maybe even go shopping for a pair of jeans to replace the old ones I riped a hole in the crotch in whilst biking, just before I left. Tomorrow will be a great day!!

A LOT of time spent with family

After having been by myself in Nice for a number of days I was very much looking forward to having people I know around to do activities with. I quickly found out that I very much like my independence and being able to decide what I am going to do and when. Not to say that I haven't enjoyed visiting with my family, I definitely have, but it was good feeling to know that I also really enjoy being by myself, which is something I will be doing more and more of throughout this trip.

Here I have spent my days travelling around the countryside visiting medieval villages, churches, and casteles, as well as eating, drinking, and debating an exorbitant amount. The food has been delicious beyond belief, the wine has been flowing more than ever, the discussion have been more intense and ongoing, and the medieval villages have been far older than I have ever seen, and becoming more similar to one another each time I see a new one.

The lack of physical activity has been quite difficult for me, as most of you know, I'm quite obsessively active and enjoy my daily bike rides, yoga practices, etc, etc. Riding in cars has not been the most enjoyable part for me and I have had to get myself up and going on runs a couple of times since I've been here.

Two major reasons why we have done so much car rides and less walking and hiking is, one, because the weather has had a turn for the worst and has been rainy and miserable, and two, my Grandpa can no longer go for the long hikes and walks like he used to.

For 84 he is actually doing quite well, but the knees are starting to hurt after a bit of walking around and his gout tends to act up due to all the drinking and eating that we do throughout the day. As well, a year ago or so he was diagnosed with Alzheimer's which I notice that it has taken quite a strong grip on his independence and short-term memory.

That being said we have gone to see cave paintings in Lascoux from the time of cavemen, which was very interesting, though a bit disappointing seeing that we found out that they were actually (very well done) replicas and that the floor of the cave was covered in a plastic flooring. The cave was found in the late 1800s by two boys who fell into it whilst looking for their dog. It was then closed to the public in 1963 due to the decompensation of the wall paintings because of the increased carbon dioxide and moisture in the air from the number of people entering the caves.

Another very interesting site that we visited was Lourdes. This is a city where catholics from all over France and Europe do pilgrimages to. In the mid 1800s a young girl had a number of appirations of Mary in a nearby cave which directed her to a a water source that she said had healing qualities. She then brought this news to the fellow towns people who came and drank from the spring. It was said that the miracles occured from the sick and injured people drinking and bathing in these waters. To this day people still come from miles and miles away to do the same and still believe that the waters have healing powers. It is amazing the strength of belief and the powers of religion. I'm not saying that these miracles have not happened, because there are old letters all over the place that thank St. Bernadette for curing their ailments showing the evidence that soemthing did happen, it is just amazing to see the number of people who flock here every day.

All-in-all I have had an amazing time here, but I think that it is time to move on. I fear that if I keep up all this eating, drinking, and car riding I am going to need to buy the cojoining seat for my plane ride back in December.

From beaches to country-side

About a week or so ago I left Nice, and its beautiful beaches, to travel to Agen, and its beautiful countrysides, via a short stay in Carcassone. I took the train from Nice to Montpellier where I missed my next train, due to the delay of my first train, but managed to rearrange my ticket and got on the next train to Carcassone where my Mum and Pedro were waiting for me.

When I arrived we drove through Carcassone, which we would visit more in-depth the next day and continued on to Malvies, a small village in the country where we were going to reside for the, following two nights. Upon arrival in the village we had a very difficult time trying to find the hotel, as it turns out that it was actually somebody's second house that they were renting out. Thankfully, a nosey old woman stuck her head out the door and asked what we were doing, and with my broken French we found our way to the 'hotel.'

It was a very old house with a patio outside, swimming pool, and enough space for us to spread our things all around. The owner's were a bit peculiar though. The woman, who was originally from Canada and had moved to England when she was young, was a very friendly yet aggressive woman who pointed out very quickly that if we broke anything or did anything wrong than we would be paying for it. She even went as far as to mention that she had my VISA number on file! All-in-all it was a pleasant stay though.

The first (and only) full day that we were there we went in to Carcassone to see one of the most well-kept and well-preserved castles in the region. There are bits and pieces of ancient walls all around the south of France which they proudly call castles, and any village with a bit of old wall around it is called a Bastide. The castle, and surrounding walled village where people still live, in Carcassone was very impressive indeed and we spent the majority of the day walking around. Unfortunately my camera was either stolen or lost in Nice, and so I was unable to take any photos of the structure, but luckily my mum had her camera so we weren't completely at loss.

It is fascinating to see so much history spewed about everywhere. You can't help but envy the richness and antiquity of all the small, and large, buildings, of the bridges, and of the cobble-stone pavements. Of course you have the McDonalds and H&Ms mixed in with it all, but even they have been designed in a very respectful way. Well perhaps not the McDonalds, but the street stores have been.

The day after we were back in the car and on the Dunes, a small village near Agen where my Grandpa and his wife have a beautiful house (with pool!)

History - what Vancouver seems to lack

Today I took the train and visited a nearby city called Antibes. It is an old walled city, south of Nice, on the seaside where Picasso spent a bit of time working in an old castle there, which has now been turned into a museum of his works.

I have found that the way I like to discover a new place is just to walk, with no set plans or directions, and so that is what I did. I found the 'old city' which is located inside the walls and peaked into all the narrow streets and open windows. As always the buildings and streets reeked of history and times past. The window shutters had been chipped away and repainted so many times that they have an ancient textured look to them.

Unfortunately there not too many of Picasso famous paintings, but I found that this one in particular spoke to me. To me it looks like a person huddled up in a ball and resembles fear and a feeling of inadequacy. Even though there weren't many of his finest pieces it was amazing to thing of being in that building and working away in front of his canvases.

Do you recognize this guy? Unfortunately, it seems his brother in the West End of Vancouver is not a one-of-its-kind. But the one in France is bigger. The both actually originated from a Spanish artist from Barcelona.