Motim nas galeras

Haja alguém com o mínimo de bom senso para parar os Josés Manuéis Fernandes que pululam neste mundo...

Jornalistas revoltam-se no 'El País'

Eurotrip, day 21

Early bird gets the worm. In my case, the parking bill. Ouch. I left the boys sleeping and took on a bigger challenge: another 500 km, this time alone. My trip comes to an end, they have a few more days in Valencia.

Again I must emphasize that Spain is a desert. Unbelievable. I had lunch in Salamanca, crossed the border, felt the difference, and lept riding. Dinner at Claudia's, to deliver another packet, and off to Aveiro. First night in a place I know, first meeting with the locals... I'm almost almost almost there...

Eurotrip, day 20

The tapas are indeed the greatest thing the Spanish thought of, next to leaving Portugal alone. Rafa took us to a place where we payed for two beers and ate like pigs for hours. Great service, I must say. Another nice walk around the center, to get a general idea before the gay crowd hit the streets.

Then the gay crowd hit the streets. Madrid disappeared underneath it. One hour to move 100m with ready elbows and the ass so tight I wouldn't shit for another week. I really felt threatened! Crazy night. Just a bit of calimocho for the way, 'cause my time is almost done...

Eurotrip, day 19

The hardest thing a man can do is to cross half of Spain in a beaten-up old car. That place is a desert. We took 12 hours to get to Madrid, and we were baking for the whole time. Rezna keeps blinking. Her feelings must be hurt.

As we got to Madrid, Rafa managed the hostel and parking, then got us in calimocho mood, with Carlos' help, while talking about the huge party on the streets of the city. There was a huge party alright... EuroPride... They were everywhere...

Anyway, I have to say that the modus operandi of the young Spaniards is quite similar to the Portuguese way: drink outside, piss outside, do whatever you want outside and simply ignore the police. I came back past 6. Home is closer, I can feel it.

Eurotrip, day 18

We almost missed check-out time, but there was a cheaper hostel in the next street, so we left the luggage and started walking around. We beat half of the city, then watched a profesional break-dance group (better than the kids in Krakow) begging for money, and then split. The Slovenians took the hard mission of static observation of weirdos, and Frederic and I went for the hills. Long day, nice places, and a savage destruction night at the hostel. Hooray for the salespersons at La Rambla!

We drank BALTIKA!!

Eurotrip, day 17

Fed up with French prices (it's really an issue) we hit the road to Barcelona. The car started blinking because of overheating. After careful investigation, turns out it's mostly false alarm. Anyway, it gets me worried.

As we hit Spain, I'm the designated speaker, which means I have to speak Spanish. Half of my family won't talk to me ever again, but ok... The climate makes me feel at home, at least. We found good maps and tourist info, so the search for accomodation should be easy. Or at least easier.

The closed parking won't be cheap, but the car is safe. Then the hostal is fancy, but expensive. La Rambla is full of prostitutes, Ziga received an ass compliment with a badly disguised purpose behind it and the whole place is a comic freak show. Lovely.

Ibericozinhos

Por outro lado, se em termos de tráfico de droga e capacidade aeromilitar estes gajos são fracos, em termos de defesa dos seus símbolos nacionais são bastante severos. Um bando de ursos foi dentro por andar a amotinar com bandeiras (que esta cidade está sempre cheia delas, seja por visitas de alto nível ou pelos feriados quinzenais de independência) e pela descrição, acho que foi o mesmo grupo que encontrei no french bar...

A propósito, não tenho nada a ver com o assunto. Estava bem longe nessa altura. Citando um filósofo esloveno:
I didn't do nothing!