Blog

This evening, Deanna and I went to see a Flamenco show here in Barcelona. Flamenco is that most famous of Spanish dancing: you know the one, with the Riverdance-like foot-tapping, and the women in long flowing dresses, and the hairy guys twiddling cheesily on their guitars. It was very convenient — it's right next door to the Kabul hostel — and what's more, the show is free for all Kabul guests! The performance was beautiful, dramatic, stern, and yet fun — a combination that nobody can pull off quite like the Spanish can. The jug of sangria that we ordered wasn't bad, either. We caught the 9:30pm show, which was just as well: because the 10:30pm one was totally packed-out.

Facebook: the great online social networking success story of 2007. A few years ago, Facebook was a small and elite little community of American college students, largely unheard-of by the Net at large. Today, it boasts over 60 million users worldwide, and it seems that nobody is free from its ever-expanding influence. I joined Facebook during this trip, in March last year — a mere one month into the voyage — and since then, it's become an ever-more important part of my online life, as well as (surprisingly) an indispensable aid to travelling. It's now reached the point where Facebook has become quite a significant element in the story of this trip. Which is why I feel that the time has finally come to blog about it.

For my third foray into the delicious world of Spanish tapas, today I decided to try a dish called Pimientos del Padron. It's quite a simple one, really: just baby green peppers (i.e. capsicum) lightly pan-fried, and served with a sprinkling of salt. Reasonably filling, and quite tasty; although not the best value-for-money I've ever come across. But then again, value is a rare find indeed, here in Barcelona.

It's downright impossible to believe, but as of today, my life as a 21-year-old has officially come to a close. Today was the big day, Jan Third: happy 22^nd birthday to me! I didn't do all that much to celebrate: just the usual hanging out, grabbing dinner, and shmoozing down in the Kabul lounge and bar. I didn't even partake in any birthday drinking: seeing as I was still recovering from an unfortunate lunch, I elected to just sip on water all evening instead. Birthdays are always good: but I must say that as birthdays go, 22 really is something of an anticlimax after the feistiness of 21.

There aren't nearly as many Aussies here at Kabul as there are Brazilians, but there are still quite a few. The two that I got to know the best were Deanna and Jenny, two Brisbane girls with whom I'm sharing my dorm room. Deanna and Jenny both have a biting sense of humour, and they're both here for a short vacation, before they do "that Aussie thing" and head over to England in search of some long-term work. There are also a few other random Aussie guys staying here, and I've seen them down at the bar on most nights. There are some nationalities where no matter where you go, you're never alone — and mine is sure as hell one of them.

I've been eating plenty of kebabs here in Europe, and I've been doing so with generally good results. They're cheap, they're filling, they're everywhere, and most of the time they leave you feeling fine. But today, I pushed my luck too far: the kebab platter that I had for lunch clearly contained some questionable meat; because for the rest of the afternoon, I was either asleep in bed or sitting on the toilet. Seems that I've had one kebab too many. Gotta keep a discerning eye on those incredibly dodgy-looking spit-roasts that they use.

My plan for today was to get through a good chunk of ye 'ol obligatory city exploration for Barcelona. At breakfast this morning (at Kabul), I got chatting with a Brazilian guy at the hostel — one of the many Brazilians staying there — and we agreed that since we had similar plans, we should go exploring together. The guy speaks barely any English: but his Spanish is (sort-of) passable enough for me to have a conversation with him en Español. Made for an interesting travelling companion, if a bit frustrating language barrier-wise.

There are an awful lot of Brazilians staying here at Kabul with me. There are four of them that I'm sharing my dorm room with. There's the guy that I went exploring Barcelona this morning. And there are countless other little groups of them, that can be found hanging out in the bar on most evenings, or chatting in odd corners and in the hallways. They talk to each other in Portuguese, but most of them also speak excellent English (plus a little bit of dodgy Spanish). And all of them, without exception, have made it their personal mission to show even Barcelona how to party — because no-one parties like a Brasilero.

Along with the smoking Finns, two other great people that I met this evening at Kabul were the Chilean boys down in the bar. These guys — from Santiago, of course — are here in Europe for a quick holiday, before heading back home to their work and their studies. I haven't met all that many South American fellow travellers here in Europe, and it was a pleasant surprise to find these guys here. Sadly, being from Chile and all, they speak Español Chileno — which is officially the world's worst dialect of Spanish, and which I understand about as well as Mongolian.

No, they're not an ageing 80s Euro-trash punk-rock band. They're just three guys from the cold and Nokia-abundant nation of Finland, who are staying here at the Kabul hostel with me. I bumped into the Finnish boys down in the bar this evening, and I ended up chatting and playing pool with them for half the night, over several glasses of the hostel's very cheap beer. The boys are very friendly — but much to my discomfort, they chain-smoke like you wouldn't believe, and as such being around them for too long can pose something of a respiratory challenge.