Spain

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.

I made it to the Kabul hostel by about 4pm this afternoon — only to find the hostel staff hopelessly knee-deep in some sort of paperwork (how much paperwork can a hostel have?), and a queue of about 30 people waiting to check-in before me. Bloody Spanish: they really are an inefficient bunch, aren't they? Anyway, at least they're inefficient with a smile. I grabbed a sandwich for lunch, and played a game of pool in the hostel lounge, while I waited to check-in — which I was eventually able to do, about an hour later. My introductory first night in Barcelona wasn't a massive one, but it was good relaxed fun nonetheless.

Kabul is — like Cat's in Madrid — well-known for being one of the best hostels in Barcelona. And as such — also like Cat's — I took no chances, and booked my stay at this hostel well in advance. Kabul may have a rather unfortunate name, but otherwise it's a super-duper place. The bar and lounge / eating area, which takes up the entire first floor of the hostel, is its beating heart: it's packed with a ripper of a crowd every single evening (and buzzing during the day as well); it's filled with extra little attractions such as a pool and a fussball table; and it's where you can take advantage of most of the hostel's numerous freebies, such as the meals and the Internet. If you're able to book ahead for your stay in Barcelona, then take my word: don't even consider staying anywhere else, 'coz it don't get better than Kabul.

The New Year has well and truly arrived, and it's now time to say goodbye to Madrid. Today I took a big but worthwhile splurge, and travelled on the special high-speed Alvia train service from Madrid to Barcelona. The trains are extremely popular, here in Spain: I purchased my Alvia ticket three days ago (as soon as I arrived in Madrid); and even then, they were already sold out of economy-class tickets, and I had to settle for business-class instead. Additionally, I've now used up my Eurail pass — and it didn't cover Spain anyway — so I had to pay for the ticket outright, and at full cost. But still, I enjoyed a fast, pleasant, and bloody luxurious ride today.

This evening, down in the basement bar of Cat's, I ended up sitting down and sharing a few beers with two Moroccan guys, who are immigrants living and working here in Madrid. I've observed (and even met) recent immigrants almost everywhere I've been in Europe: in particular, I've encountered numerous economically impoverished immigrants from North Africa, from the Middle East, and from Eastern Europe. Many, although not all of them, are here illegally. Tonight was the first time I've really sat down with some of the immigrants themselves, and had an in-depth chat about their situation. Few people around here are prepared to admit it, or to objectively discuss it: but this is an enormous issue for Europe, and in my opinion it's one that they're dealing with in an appalling manner at the moment.

Like Madrid itself, we were feeling extremely lazy and tranquilo today: so after our paella lunch, Miguel, Emmanuelle, the Aussie Indian girl (Shomare) and myself cruised over to one of the city's many cinema complexes. We decided to see American Gangster, a new Ridley Scott film starring Denzel Washington and Russell Crowe. Very well-produced movie, although quite violent and a little disturbing. The film was dubbed: and although I've by now seen plenty of Spanish-dubbed movies, the "Spanish Spanish" took quite a while to get used to (all that lisping and rapid-fire talking, it hurts my poor Peruano ears). Miguel obviously had no problem with the dubbing; but Emmanuelle and Shomare didn't understand much of what was happening. They just came along for the ride.