Epic Journey Part 1

I haven't said much since I've been away - here goes:

I finished my contract in Perth on September 22.

After more than a month of travelling, I've finally arrived in Spain, specifically its capital Madrid.

It's been a long journey from Perth.

I spent two weekends in Melbourne, the highlight attending the AFL grand final.

(Doesn't every backpacker dream of flying in to attend their only match of the year at the Melbourne Cricket Ground with 97430 fellow spectators enthralled by a nailbiting one point result?!!!)

Then followed "endless night" ( a term from William Blake) through Sydney, Kuala Lumpur and Wien airports.

I spent 5 nights in Barcelona. After which I have spent nearly 3 weeks in Donostia, including 2 weeks at a language school.

These last two international cities are located in Catalunya and Gipuzkoa respectively. In both cities Spanish, or castellano is heard - a language imposed upon them by a centralist government who, while granting limited autonomy, does not recognise their independence.

Both regions of Iberia have their own distinct histories and languages.

Barcelona is a large Meditteranean city famous for its art. Much of the city's architecture was designed by Antoni Gaudí whose unfinished cathedral, La Sagrada Familia, decorates the skyline. Other artists to have resided in the city during the twentieth century include Salvador Dalí, Jean Miro and Pablo Ruiz Picasso.

Accommodation was in two places. The first, a traditional hostel with nice staff and friendly people who I hope will email one day! Unfortunately they do all bookings over the internet meaning they turfed out up to a dozen people who, well in advance, requested extra nights.

So the next nights were spent in a shared apartment. I shared a bunk with an American-French lady named Lynne who having raised multiple children then tried her hand at backpacking. She wasn't sure what to expect but coped admirably considering the over excited Italian chicks yelling at the top of their voices at 3am!

Despite all the arty attractions and a trip to the top of the mountain Tibidabo overlooking Barcelona, somehow after 11 nights in the city, spread over two trips, I haven't really gotten it. Perhaps it's the language distinction (Catalan) and a desire to connect with the 'Spanish' - I don't know. For a third attempt, perhaps I just need to avoid Barcelona all together and visit the rest of Catalonia. Perhaps the city is too cosmopolitan and international. Not Spanish, not French but unable to assert any lasting impression of Catalan identity, for me at least.

Hmmm, everyone I meet raves about Barcelona. Perhaps they're in the same class of tourist that rave about the Sydney Harbour Bridge and the opera house - all the glamorous parts and then moan that Melbourne was too cold and rainy!

So, on to San Seb... I spent a total of 2 days in Pais Vasco last trip. One mornng in Bilbao for a visit to the Guggenheim, one glorious Saturday night at the fiesta of the Virgen Blanca in Vitoria.

I felt I owed it to the Basques to scratch the surface a bit deeper. They are, after all, the European Aborigines, surviving more than 2000 years of coexistence with Phonecians, Carthaginians, Romans, Goths, Moors and present day Spanish.

San Sebastián is a sleepy surfie town with a picturesque coast, a bay nestled between two large hillsides. The peak of one features a timeless themepark, the other an enormous Jesus keeping watch over the townsfolk. If you ever get lost here the good Lord will guide you home!

The town is well known internationally for its annual film festival.

There's not much to do in the place but surf and climb each 'monte'. Perfect for learning Spanish!

So the basques: a fiercely proud group. Two strands of thought on identity: genetics and language. Ideally both but the language was suppressed under Franco for nearly 40 years. So, really old people speak it and the youths schooled today.

Their flag looks suspiciously like a red, green and white union jack. Like other people in northern Spain they brew cider. The local beer, Keler is the second nicest in Spain after Estrella Galicia. Old men wear berets which the French adopted. Music is a weird piano accordion. For some reason, mullets are in fashion!

On politics, most are proud of their Basque identity but not strongly separatist if that means violence or potential economic ruin. Would the Basque country consisting of the 4 provinces in Spain and 3 in France survive as a nation in Europe without the support of Madrid and France? Perhaps little would change given trade transcends borders; it's a huge gamble.

While I was there I believe the guardia civil raided apartments in San Sebastián and Bilbao of suspected ETA collaborators. At the same time a think-tank of basque leaders in France voted for peaceful separation. Time will tell.

On language, I now know a few Basque words: Katxi - a gigantic plastic beverage container, Kalea - street, Eskerrik Asko - thank you, Pintxo - a tasty bar snack, Agur - see you later.

My Spanish has hopefully improved too! The first week there were 2 older German women in my class, the second only Swedes.

For the first few nights I stayed in a hostel near the beach with lots of Sydney and American people. A couple of nights out with people I'd never see again.

Then an apartment in the old part of town, organised by the language school. I think this is the way. Cheaper than a hostel and your own room!

In this apartment were Igor, a local owner who didn't say much, Fabio, Brazilan surfing god albeit with a stuffed knee and Pete the occassional student (thanks for the DVDs) whose sister Marisa is married to a local, Jan (spelling?). Marisa has a lovely old dog named Frosty with whom she cycles in an adorably cute basket attached to the back.

Fabio and Felipe, a fellow Brazilian, are your typical cool Latinos. Well educated, perfect English and an ability to effortlessly assimilate Spanish through their native Portuguese. Of course the ladies just adore them!

After 2 weeks I felt I needed a break and back to civilisation. Perhaps I'll return next year after my good friend Linton has taught me how to surf!