Montevideo - a city on standyby

Montevideo (Uruguay)
08 OCT - 10 OCT 2010

The Prelude

Imagine now for a moment that 8.4 million Australians lived in our wondrous capital city of Canberra, and imagine now for a moment that most of those inhabitants weren't bored out of their skulls, didn't have excessive porn collections and were as close to normal as a Canberran could possibly be...you see, you can't imagine it, because it's an impossibility. It's like trying to find the answer to one divided by zero, your calculator just goes 'beserker'.

Montevideo is Uruguays' capital. Close to 40% of the population of this little country live in this ramshackled town. This mate/chimarrão/cimarrón swilling society of 1.3 million walk the streets with thermoses at the ready, mate cups in their hands, bomba's in their mouths, caffeinated to the hilt, until the point of their eyeballs exploding, in a town that's equally as boring as Canberra. Why the hell would you deliberately strive for finding the extremes of mental alertness in this town? So, with that said, and therefore not wanting to be 'desperately biased' but of course you know that I will be , I'm going to do Montevideo a favour and take it down with a Tarantino style delivery- 'ok, so first things f*ckin' last' then.

Mr Pink

Ms Blue and Mr Pink making 'contact' in Colonia del Sacramento

There on the cobble stoned streets of Colonia sat Mr Pink, ever so casually, ever so innocently, staring off into the abyss perhaps, in a world that only he could comprehend. Ms Blue and I didn't quite comprehend the impact that Mr Pink would have on our lives but his physical presence, his obvious charm and charisma were unmistakable traits of a man in his prime. Ms Blue was taken by his rugged manliness in a New York minute.

Ever since the Uruguayan immigration episode where Lucy, the portly customs official, batted her blackened eyelashes and grunted for me to move swiftly to the ferry, Ms Blue had not been shy in letting me know that she thought that Lucy could very well be 'the one' for me. Such ferocity and passion, such a smoldering femininity, such a lust for anything with two legs that could possibly be seen to be male in those vacant, 'I've seen things' eyes - could Lucy, the Uruguayan customs  official actually be the one for me? I was  trying to reason with all those things in my small mind and questioned the destiny that actually brought us together when I saw Ms Blue flick her eyes up to a distinguished man sitting ever so casually in the same cafe that we had chosen for an afternoon layover.

I suggested to Ms Blue that this very man could very well be 'the one' for her and hinted that she should display her wares in a timeless, sophisticated manner that would undoubtedly undo this gentleman from his stoic pose. As Ms Blue strutted away and took up a position within striking range I analysed Mr Pink from my own covert position. Who was he really? Was he an old school Marxist terrorist? A member perhaps of the Tupamaros that was sent to make contact with like minded ideologists such as us, OR, was he a love-seeker? A man whose Uruguayan fantasy had taken him to Colonia in search of a little bit of fluff? It wasn't a question that I could answer at that moment but damn, it was a question to which I definitely needed a result on. In any case, Ms Blue with her wily charms did everything but sit on the lap of Mr Pink to absolutely no avail, not even with a hint of any sort of movement from the love below.

Ms Blue

Ms Blue in a reflective repose - on the way to Montevideo

Ms Blue missed her chance in Colonia. As Mr Pink fluttered off into the stillness of a coloured Colonia afternoon Ms Blue was left to lament an opportunity lost, and perhaps also the fact that she was now travelling nearly 3hours south for the sake of a sandwich (Oh yes, the chase for the chivito was still on). Somehow Mr White (aka, me) had convinced Ms Blue that a trip to the Uruguayan capital would be more than worthwhile and that the 'chase for the chivito' was just the icing on what was going to be a cake of unprecedented flavour and colour.

As the hours passed however Ms Blue started pressing me for more answers. What's there to do in Montevideo?, Is there really anything good there? What's the deal with Columbus day?  Oh no, I was starting to wilt under the pressure of my own ignorance. How could I tactfully make the chivito the focal point of our exploration without actually saying so? The questions were mounting and time was running our for me.

The last known whereabouts

Now if you've read up until this point then please be careful with the information that I have provided directly below. These two photos are the ONLY images that I have from Montevideo, the other images that I've disturbingly carried around in my mind for months on end have all but been erased. The images that I now provide for you are the last known whereabouts of Montevideo in the streets of my mind.

 Montevideo - the city that excitement forgot

Montevideo - can it get any better than this? No...no it can't

Mr White

Mr White in the hands of his 'standard' back-up plan

There were obvious problems with Montevideo. The ubiquitous drink of the town, mate, was an ever present reminder that 'we', as outsiders, were not cool enough for the place. Aside from the town being even more boring than bat shit there was this damn kitsch cultural oddity that was flagrantly being waved in our faces every step that we took. I decided at that point that we should get off the streets for a while and that I should chase down a hometown chivito in order to make my Uruguayan culinary dream a reality. Ms Blue and I pulled up a seat in a small cafe on the eastern side of the Cuidad Vieja, an old school barrio of Montevideo and settled in for what we hoped would be a satisfactory lunch.

Ms Blue had ordered a pasta with a three cheese sauce, at least that's what we thought she ordered. What turned up at our table was a globulous, goo like substance that oozed through gelatinous morsels of what looked to be rooster combs. This three cheese liquid ecstasy was obviously 'just the tonic' for Ms Blue who at that point professed her undying and ever enduring love for this town. I on the other hand finally achieved the realisation of my chivito dream, a poxy, paltry two bit meat sandwich that would have disappointed a three year old at their local parish fete had they requested the same meal. Ahh Montevideo, you'd trumped us again.

Our walk through and around Cuidad Vieja had been uninspiring, our quest for food had been a more than forgetful experience, and now the town seemed like it just wanted to mess with our sanity by offering us nothing, literally nothing. Our afternoon and evening in Montevideo had died an 'inglorious bastards' death and now on the morrow, to make matters even that much more appealing, we had to change hostels due to the fact that nearly every place in this town (...yes, read that again, nearly every place in this town) had been booked out due to the Columbus day holiday.

The Columbus day heist

The next day Ms Blue and I made our way to the other side of town in order to take up the only accommodation that we had been able to locate for these given days. Montevideo, up until this point, had not made any sort of positive impression on us up until this point ....and unfortunately it wasn't going to get any better.

We arrived at out new hostel just on noon, with confirmations in hand and with optimism in our hearts, we had actually decided at that moment in time that 'perhaps' Montevideo should be given the benefit of the doubt. As we walked in through to reception and handed in our booking confirmations the conversation went something like this;

'Ms Blue and Mr White, yes, we have your confirmation as listed, but I don't know, we have no room now' - Receptionist dude

Ms Blue - 'Oh, you have no room now, as in, you have no room for the next couple of hours?'

Receptionist Dude - 'No, it's a busy weekend and we have no room tonight!'

Mr White - 'You do know that we have a booking, how is it possible that you don't have room?'

Receptionist Dude (Insert slightly nervous and apologetic laugh)

So the way things 'rolled' after this point was this. We made it clear that 'we' as guests of Montevideo had in fact nowhere to spend the night if this establishment had 'stuffed' our booking. We recommended at this point that he make 'many' calls and hook us up with accommodation (we remained at reception whilst he made the calls).

Judging by the expressions on the man and his exasperated tone, when he came back to us with the result that 'he couldn't find anything',  Ms Blue blatantly said, 'Ok, well it's your responsibility to find something, even if it means that we end up sleeping at your place'. I think for a split second the Receptionist Dude thought this was Ms Blue bluffing but realised in an instant later that her don't f**k with me face meant that he could very well be putting us up for the night. As he got on with the battle of sorting out our digs, Ms Blue and I waited around in the common room.

Sitting in the common room and looking out into the back garden I thought it was kind of surreal that a Chilean karate team was practising their moves not 10 metres from where I was, how the hell did they manage to get accommodation here? Must have been their fists of fury. As I turned around I noticed Ms Blue had jumped onto a computer and was 'netting' something or other whilst chatting with some old dude next to her. I must have sat there for something like 10-15 mins, wondering what the hell our next move was going to be and wondering where Ms Blue was going with this conversation with the elderly gentleman next to here...then it happened, I called Ms Blue over for a little chat.

Mr White: 'So Ms Blue, what's your memory like?'

Ms Blue (slightly exasperated and thinking I was just being a tool): 'What do you mean, what's my memory like? What do you want to tell me?'

Mr White: 'Well, just have a look at these photos, tell me if there's anyone you recognise from the line-up?'

Scrolling back through the Colonia photos we stopped at a cafe scene shot that I'd taken a couple of days earlier, Ms Blue started to beam.

Ms Blue: "Oh, no way'

Mr White: 'Oh yes, that man that you've been chatting to for the last 15 mins is Mr Pink, the man that you couldn't resist and one that destiny could not keep you away from'

Somehow Mr Pink had beaten us to this outpost of Montevideo and it was more than likely he and his cohorts that were going to force Ms Blue and I out onto the dog riddled streets for that evening. That devious bugger had both chased down his prey and had trumped us at the turn, obviously Mr Pink had it in his mind that he was going to 'sharing' a bed that evening! What a smooth criminal!

A few moments later Receptionist Dude walks on over and advises that he's been able to hook us up with accommodation with friends of his that resided relatively close to the hostel, but by that time Montevideo had already had our measure. Ms Blue and I decided that we were splitting back for the otherside of the river that night and the big BA was just going to have to put up with us arriving back home sooner!

The post that follows this is - Buenos Aires - The Quickening

Colonia del Sacramento - riding the red wine and empanada revolution

Colonia del Sacramento (Uruguay)
06 OCT - 08 OCT 2010

This post follows on from - Buenos Aires - The Quickening

 

I can't recall another time in my life when I've specifically wanted to go to a country just because I wanted experience a particular food item of that nation, usually the potential culinary delights of a country are cloaked within its mystique and ethereal beauty. Not so the case for Uruguay however. My sole aim was the pursuit of the fabled chivito, the mother of all sandwiches that I've heard has been able to give the novice a heart attack just on plain viewing. If you don't believe in the  truth  of that statement then just check out the details of the basic chivito al plato recipe as outlined below;

Chivito al plato would usually have the following ingredients: a 1/4 inch steak (such as a fillet mignon), 2 or 3 slices of bacon, an egg, ham, mozzarella cheese, tomato, onion, lettuce, fried potatoes and/or potatoes with carrots and green beans salad, mayonnaise, and salt. 

Add to that as much 'additional' bacon, steak, egg, ham or cheese as you please and then close your eyes and enjoy the ride. Let me just say right now and for the record that I did not acquire the mighty chivito in any of Colonia de Sacramentos' wonderous establishments, so for those waiting to see me downing one in some gluttonous induced fervor, I apologise, this post is chivitoless.

 On the way to Uruguay

 'Ummm H - Colonia is on this map, isn't it?'

Needless to say, the sojourn to Colonia commenced innocently enough. Somehow D and I agreed that a few days to Colonia and then Montevideo would fit nicely into our 'lets experience South America journey', oh and yeah, not that I made it well known  to D but the driving force behind my desire was to acquire that damn sandwich in its homeland. So one early evening down by the docks near La Boca we boarded a ferry and set off for the one hour journey east to Colonia. It has to be said, the brutes at the immigration counter left us both with quite an impression as our passports were possessed for a few moments while the appropriate Argentinian exit and Uruguayan arrivals stamps were provided in one foul swoop. These Chinese weightlifter sized behemoth's with their coarse stubble, tree trunk legs and sweaty shirts just gave us a guttural grunt as we passed on by and made out way to the gangway - and these were the attractive female Uruguayan specimens that we had encountered (I kid...sort of).

 Love the colours in this photo - Colonia del Sacramento - Uruguay

 The plates give you away every time

 Colonia del Sacramento - Uruguay

 Colonia del Sacramento - Uruguay

Colonia del Sacramento - Uruguay

One hour into our watching the Best of Phil Collins via the 'in flight entertainment' and singing one too many versus of 'su-su-sussudio' we arrived on the shores of a new land. Making our way through the dark and desolate streets of Colonia I wondered whether this old colonial town, and more importantly the barrio historico, was going to live up to its UNESCO heritage listing. Cutting through the quite streets of the town all you could hear were the lone and errant barks of Colonia dogs and crickets, lots and lots of crickets. Somehow we didn't get the sense that this place was a tourist mecca for anyone other than beaten Argentines from Buenos Aires that had somehow in their foolhardy or bold reckoning decided that peace could somehow be found on 'the other side of the river'. I convinced myself that daylight was going to bring about a serene and tranquil little town and until that point I was going to have to wait ...and I was going to have to also deal with the fact that my guerrilla Spanish was not of a sufficient standard to bring about even the slightest smile to this Uruguayan posada owner who most have been wondering what the hell a random Australian and New Zealander was doing in his humble little abode.

 Colonia del Sacramento - Uruguay

Colonia del Sacramento - Uruguay

 Colonia del Sacramento - Uruguay

 Colonia del Sacramento - Uruguay

That evening D and I cruised the main street of Colonia and dropped in at a little place named El Porton on Avenida Gral Flores. It looked to be a meat haven! Great for me, not so great for a vegetarian like Dina. Sometimes you need to take one for the team, the team on this  particular evening was nominated as being the 'Elisher meatlover's appreciation union of Colonia'. If that's the team that you end up being on then what the hell else are you suppose to do? Now, I'm not sure how Dina found it in herself to make a 'meat suggestion' on my behalf but she swore that the veal sweetbread had to be the go in a place such as this. Throwing caution to the wind and accepting the reasoning that this would of in fact been her fathers' recommendation (who incidentally is a meat lover), I took on the Uruguayan mystery meat challenge with reckless abandon...and I have to say that it was freakin' sensational! Nearly the best meal that I had on tour, just being pipped by the glorious rib fillet of Chezcharry taste of the meat pulled from the coals, with a healthy serving of chimichurri and several glasses of Argentinian malbec had moulded a sweet symphony of satisfaction in my heart and mind. Colonia through the haze of a blissful food coma was already looking on the up and up.

 El Porton - Avenida Gral Flores -Colonia del Sacramento - Uruguay

 El Porton - Avenida Gral Flores -Colonia del Sacramento - Uruguay

Not El Porton - but this serves as proof that you can get an awesome blue margarita in Uruguay!

The sunrise of the following day brought about a morning of cloud, light drizzle and cool air. Dina was crashed our from her morning of skyping and I decided to head on out in order to see what Colonia could offer the tourist who had turned up on a whim...and yeah, I've got to say, it was alright.  As many a guidebook has put it, Colonia was initially founded by, and existed under Portuguese control for some time since it was settled in 1680 on a small little peninsula jutting out into the Rio de la Plata. In that sense therefore the town is known to be reminiscent of old Lisbon, with its winding cobblestone streets, colourful houses and unique layout that is significantly different to that of typical Spanish colonial towns. As I wondered around in the drizzle of the morning which thankfully cleared up quite quickly, I found the place to be remarkably pretty. In fact I've got to say that for me it was one of the easiest places to take photos. None of them really needed to be thought out at all, it was simply a 'point and shoot' job for the most part and it just seemed that time after time something magnificent manifested. Obviously on my journeys there had been more dramatic places to take photos but Colonia was quaint and charming in that 'old world' sense.

Colonia del Sacramento - Uruguay

Colonia del Sacramento - Uruguay

 Colonia del Sacramento - Uruguay

 Colonia del Sacramento - Uruguay

Later on that day D managed to join me from her slumber and we cruised around the three main streets of the town, taking photos, (drinking of course) and generally enjoying our first day of being in Uruguay. It was an auspicious introduction to Uruguay, or so I thought, but it's big cousin Montevideo had a few tricks waiting for us when we decided to make our way south to the capital the next day.

 Colonia del Sacramento - Uruguay

 Looking out onto the Rio de la plata - Colonia del Sacramento - Uruguay

 Colonia del Sacramento - Uruguay

PS - My quest for the chivito made me push onto Montevideo in unbridled anticipation and what I thought was going to transpire...by some strange design of fate the chivito eluded me in Colonia.

 

Madrid - the Other

Madrid (Spain)

27 SEP - 01 OCT

When the short stories of Jorge Luis Borges clash with the songs of  Shihad , yes seriously, you get 'the Other'

I was sitting in the Puerta del Sol (Gate of the Sun), which is considered to be the centre of Madrid, rather late one evening, actually I think it was the night before that I was meant to fly out to Buenos Aires when somehow  I tracked down a quote in the recesses of my mind regarding the city that had now become somewhat of a favourite, it went something like this, '...[I]f you could distill the city to its essence, it would be this: Madrid is a rebellious ex-convent schoolgirl who grew up, got sophisticated but never forgot how to have a good time'. There was certainly nothing that I'd experienced in either the last few days or my week here three months earlier that would be able to refute the accuracy of that sentiment.

 The Puerta del Sol - Madrid - Spain

 On the Gran Via - Madrid - Spain

Sitting on one of the benches at a rather later hour but perhaps not so late for Spaniards as they commonly head out for dinner at a time approaching 11pm, I noticed someone sidle up to the bench, his back turned to me, living in his own head space. It was fleetingly irritating. Sometimes even in such a public space that has an enormous amount of human traffic  and enough space for everyone to be satisfied you want to be able to occupy an area on your own, to be in your own thoughts and ideas without being distracted by the oddities and quirks of a complete stranger. It's curious as to how trivial things can all of a sudden both demand and be given 100% of your concentration for no apparent reason. This man sitting now not 10 metres away from me at this very point in time had my complete attention. Looking at the way he was hunched over on the edge of the bench, elbows dug into his thighs, arms meeting at an apex where is fingers were interlaced supporting his head, brought out in me a type of visceral, deep-rooted reaction. It was only at that point that I had the rather unsettling feeling of déjà vu. Now there are several explanations for déjà vu ranging from the eyes recording information slightly faster than that which the brain can process it, to the subconscious mind processing information faster than the conscious mind does to that of the simple onset of fatigue. But how was it therefore that this  random guy was wearing a shirt that had 'Kyoto' emblazoned across his back with the number 11, an item of clothing that I swore was identical to one that I had in my bag back at the hostel!?

 

 Madrid - Spain

The Gran Via - Madrid - Spain

Sitting there for an inordinate period of time I rode on that familiar acute wave of anxiety that you generally get just prior to doing something that's uncharacteristic for yourself. I turned to face the guy, in complete anticipation of him turning around, and then said the following, 'Hey, Marrakech is an odd place, you'll learn to love it the farther removed you are'. This guy spun around in an instant and immediately tried to analyse my face in the muted light of the square. It was only at that very moment, when our eyes met that it came to me that this was not an occurrence of déjà vu, this was the exact conversation that I'd had just over two years ago, in the very same spot, only that  on that occasion I had been on the receiving end...and  strangely enough, I'd also been the despatcher. How was two years on I'd forgotten this very moment?


Both dumbfounded and bewildered he never the less decided to answer my statement by saying simply, 'I actually do like the place!'. Somehow his response came out a little defensive, almost like he was offended.

I laughed and responded in kind, 'No, you don't but you will, just give it time, oh and by the way when you get the Paris remember to buy yourself a torch, you'll need it almost immediately'. Then just after I said that I laughed internally as I knew very well that I wouldn't, and in fact that I didn't.

'You know I've only got just over 24hrs in Madrid, it feels like I'm going to be missing out on such an amazing place. How long have you been here? Actually, what are you doing here?' he quizzed.

 Plaza Mayor - Madrid

 Plaza Mayor - Madrid

'This is my second time in Madrid within the last three months. In total I've spent close to 10 days here in that amount of time. Just travelling around I guess, seeing the sights'. At that moment my internal dialogue went gangbusters and I questioned myself as to why the hell it was that I was being so coy, with myself of all people? Other than the fact that I had two years of in depth knowledge on myself in this conversation and already knew how the hell it was that I got to this position what was the exact purpose of not being forthright in this conversation?

'Seriously? I've got under a day here and you're not going to tell me about the place or how it is that you or rather (I) got  to being here?' he responded.

I thought about his questions for a moment as my mind drifted off. I remembered the taxi ride in from the bus station through the city to the top of Calle la Montera just a few nights ago. I recalled that the architecture of the city immediately made an impression on me, as it had done on previous occasions. Distinctly Spanish, classical, intricate and aesthetically appealing. It didn't take me long at all to get absorbed into its cool air of sophistication that somehow was totally unpretentious. Nor did it take me too long to figure out that bar scene in Madrid is  kind of synonymous with its food scene and the more you allow yourself to search through the treasure trove of establishments, the more you'll come to be fascinated by the myriad of food options and opportunities that you'll have presented.
.

In the days that Dina and I spent here prior to making our way down to South America we both commented on just how much of an appealing place Madrid was. Not only due to its food and culture but also because of the great nature of the people, who themselves were quite aesthetically pleasing if I may say, by quite a fair margin actually. Out of any place that I'd travelled to prior to that point in time the lovely ladies of Madrid had it in spades, class, elegance and beauty that put all other pretenders to the throne to shame.

I also had the good fortune of having an art buff accompany me around Madrid which made visits to such places as the Prado, Thyssen-Bornemisza and Reina Sofia museums just that much more informative and inspiring. I spent some time in the Prado museum admiring the black paintings of Goya, marvelling at the intricacies and imagination that must of existed behind a Bosch painting entitled the 'Garden of Earthly Delights' and figuring out that Peter Paul Rubens was not actually the name of some crappy sixties band. In the Reina Sofia museum I even resolved my differences with Picasso when Dina gave me a little bit of a build up and brief history lesson regarding his epic painting entitled Guernica. I had no position to argue after the unveiling, the piece is epic, as masterpieces are usually prone to being. I was also lucky enough to encounter the works of a Valencian painter, Joaquin Sorolla as I was dragged off to an offbeat gallery a little way out of the city centre. No complaints however, the quite often bright, sun-drench beach scenes and landscapes struck a chord with me and I was sold on his brilliance in an instant.

 Picassos' Guernica - Museo de arte Reina Sofia - Madrid

 Maro con Naranjas - J.Sorolla - Sorolla museo - Madrid

 Ninas en al mar - J.Sorolla - Sorolla museo - Madrid

 Sorolla museo - Madrid

Nor was I too displeased when the visit to the Sorolla museo turned into a search for picnic food which in turn ended up being a baguette, combination of soft cheeses, some fine chocolates and a bottle of red wine that we managed to hijack from a restaurant in Parque del Buen Retiro on a sunny Wednesday afternoon. In fact, as the afternoon just sailed on by I was kind of amused as to how such randomness turned into something so amazingly cool. Sometimes planning things can be the death of enjoyment because what you end up deducting is the very aspect of surprise and chance that you searched for to begin with.

 

Alfonso XII monument - Retiro Park - Madrid

Alfonso XII monument - Retiro Park - Madrid

I thought of all those things as I sat there in front of myself. I even contemplated telling myself that I actually considered Madrid as being close to one of the best cities that I had ever been to but then of course, I thought, I'd also be losing out on that irreplaceable feeling of surprise. In that moment I stood up and said to the misfit sitting down, 'No, I think I'm going to let you find out about this place all on your own'.

Without questioning me he just called out when I was a few steps away, 'So, where are you heading off to now?'.
.

'Off to get a drink and then back to the hostel, I have a flight to catch to Buenos Aires tomorrow'

By which he responded, 'Oh, you're kidding me!? I finally get to go to South America!!?'

I just smiled back at him as I turned around and walked away, calling back over my shoulder one final time I yelled out, 'Yeah, you do!'. I know for certain that my final response also put a smile on his face....funny how I knew that.

  The post that follows on from this is - Buenos Aires - The Quickening

San Sebastian - Debt Recovery

This is a continuation of my Year full of Saturdays under the guise Reflections in a stream of consciousness which allows for me to 'catch up' and write on those places that unfortunately escaped my time and effort whilst I was away. The next write up actually steals a bit of a post that I had already part written but not completed.

San Sebastian (Spain)
25 SEP - 26 SEP 2010

The hours of credit that you obtain by trading off your reveller self against your early morning 'seize the day' self are quite often located in those sedate and sobering early afternoon moments when you kind of dare yourself to challenge the notion that time is the only thing that keeps everything from happening at once. You ask yourself whether it's possible that on this day, the afternoon actually commenced before its usual cycle of morning hours. You feel the rays off the sun hitting your face on its downward arc and contemplate time dilation, wondering how exactly the gravitational pull towards the bar actually slowed down your brain function and it's ability to realise that your eventual need for debt recovery in terms of sleep would manifest itself in a day that would eventually be misplaced on the calendar, gone from your mental recollection for all time! Ahh, San Sebastian, you have the ability to treat the Julian calendar with such contempt!

Finding the will to clear out from the apartment somewhere around mid afternoon, we made our way to one of the main squares within Parte Vieja, an area located under the enduring gaze of Monte Urgull and the 12m height statue of Jesus Christ which sits atop the monte. Kind of standing guard as keeper and protector of the Donostiarris, the statue has a an odd type of look that reminded me of those t-shirts that have 'Jesus is my homeboy' emblazoned on the front, although the San Sebastian version just looks as though it's giving the town a 'Who's da man' shout out. Considering that the statue has been around since 1950 I'm a little dismayed that someone hasn't come out with a shirt that says 'Jesus, kicking it with the San B crew for the last 60 yrs'. Regardless, under the watchful gaze of our bro we settled for a few cleansing ales which in turn had me internally recalling a more than familiar saying donated by my wonderful mother, 'You can only take out a needle with a needle' - whilst you sit and digest that one for a second just ask yourself something, what the hell does that really mean!? For years I've tried to decipher it and drew complete blanks, and in much the same manner we as a group were drawing blanks on the locals that were haphazardly performing indiscriminate acts of social etiquette bastardisation. Watching a father hold his son above the metal grate of a gutter in the middle of the square, the trousers of the little whipper snapper around his ankles as his rear end was 'masterfully' angled towards the welcoming breaches of the San Sebastian sewers just brought to me the standard question of, 'certainly this bar had a bathroom inside, doesn't it?'

When you have to go...you go public!

San Sebastian - Spain

View of Monte Urgull and monumento al Sagrado Corazon

As the sun moved west from our immediate vicinity and chased it's own piece of the Atlantic, we settled in for a few hours of watching Basque Jai Lai ( or is it pelota?) before Jay and I decided to head out into the welcoming arms of Parte Vieja for additional 'Dutch courage', because God knew that's exactly what we required. Dina on the other hand decided to stay at home and I'm sure decided to partake in some XXX skyping, but that's neither here nor there within the context of this particular story.

With tapas, cerveza's and senoritas thrown into the mix, Jay and I managed to make our way back to the Bee-Bop for round two in our Donastiarri fantasy land. Not a bad idea on most nights I'm sure but on this evening, the one prior to a massive U2 concert which was going to take place about 5kms down the road, you could kind of figure out who the guest of honour on the play list was going to be. Is there anyway therefore that you thought that I'd be off the dance floor whilst Bono and the boys were being blasted into the porous stone slabs that were keeping the roof on the joint? Just to let you know,he only dancing shoes that I dare hire these days are dependant on if I'm going to be getting my salsa moves on or if U2 are being spun on the discs, and by some sense of divine intervention it happened to be the latter. I think my U2 inspired idiocy also got quite a bit of attention as Jay and I somehow got roped into a Spanish crew that were visiting from Bilbao and the night once again was flung into orbit on an alcohol inspired Spanglish frenzy of natural chemistry. Great fun by the way! Great times and many Spanish lessons were had during the course of those hours.

With Jay at the Bee-Bop - San Sebastian - Spain

Love this shot  - @ the Bee-Bop - San Sebastian - Spain

....which therefore leads to our last day and last evening, the final act of our San Sebastian production. In a somewhat offhanded, kind of flippant manner we decided on our penultimate morning to make our way to the top of Mount Urgull in order to obtain 'the' view of the town. I'm not sure why this happens to me, I often recall undertaking moderately challenging feats when I should be at home in bed recovering from a hang over! Please see,  climbing Mt.Kosciuszko, New Year's Day 2000 for a respectable reference. Needless to say, the walk was inspiring, my sensei Dina convinced me that I would obtain 'best seats' at the U2 concert that evening if I 'believed' in my very own destiny and Jay...well, he gave the 'big man' that owned the Mont his very own 'peace out and peace down' shout out. I mean, I don't even know what that actually means but I'm happy that Jay got a little satisfaction out of it.

San Sebastian - Spain

Coastline from Mont Urgull - San Sebastian - Spain

San Sebastian harbour

San Sebastian from Monte Urgull

 

Now the rest of the San Sebastian story, the part that I remember, takes place post the U2 concert at the Anoeta, which you can check out here - http://hdbc2.blogspot.com/2010/09/u2-anoeta-stadium-san-sebastian-spain.html.

Monumento al Sagrado Corazon - Monte Urgull - San Sebastian

'No, you 'da man'

 

As you can imagine, post U2 I was a little pumped and more than in need of a little company to assist in my  Bono comedown. I ran most of the distance back from the Anoeta stadium to our sweet digs on Avenida Zurriola to find the apartment empty! Those little fockers had flown the coop before I had even had the chance of providing them a blow by blow encounter with His Eminence, how dare they!? My only form of retribution was to play the Joshua Tree at a volume that tread the fine line of insanity and wait for my fellow party people to make it back home...and so I waited...as 'Where the Streets Have No Name' played out, followed by ' I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For', then 'With or Without You, 'then 'Bullet the Blue Sky'...I started to realise that these bastards were probably knee deep in sangria and weren't making their way home anytime soon. My neighbourhood walks also proved fruitless and I only ran into post U2 affected drunken Donastiarri's or post U2 affected drunken Irish - (how the hell was it that so many Irish had actually made it down to San Sebastian in any case?). Hours literally went by and somewhere close to 3:30am I dropped of in a Vertigo induced haze, my U2 high would just need to be relived on another day...and then.....and then it happened. Dina and Jay stumbled through the door at sometime close to 4am, on a scale of 1-10 Jay was probably clocking in at a respectable 8.5 in terms of being off his face and Dina was probably at a 7. Jay, not knowing exactly what country he was in at that point decided to crash out whilst D felt the overwhelming urge to 'make food', you know that urge where you just need to damn make something, not matter what it is...you do the maths on that one. Now, as the story goes, just try and follow this, nearly six university degrees between us, IQ's that allow us to tie our shoelaces in the dark....and then comes this, an inability to figure out how to boil four eggs on this modern stove top. It took us, without a word of a lie, nearly two hours to work out the technicalities of this damn blight on society! Somehow Dina managed to put together a breakfast of eggs, toast, excessive pepper and excessive dried herbs in somewhere close to 120 minutes! Thankfully Gordan Ramsay was nowhere to be seen. Sleep soon came to us all after that little sojourn.

At 8am IT happened! The alarm on my mobile went off on this God awful Monday morning. It could only mean one thing, that I now had the job of trying to wake the other two from their self induced coma's in order to get them 1) Out of the apartment before 9am and 2) To get them wherever the hell it was that they needed to be at that point. For D that meant jumping on a bus with me at 9:30am in order to get back to Madrid and for Jay it meant being sober enough to jump a plane to 'somewhere' where he would be able to catch a connecting flight which would take him on to Thailand. So I started with Dina, already knowing at this point in the game that it would take me 7-8 goes just to get her to acknowledge that it was morning. My first few attempts I thought were quite ingenious in their simplicity, I just turned on and left the light in her until such time that she got out of bed and turned it off, where in turn I would react I and would switch it back off again. Jay on the other hand was  much more of a struggle. When you have a 35 yr old man, fully clothed, stand up and then fall over the edge of their bed cracking their head against the wall, you kind of figure out rather quickly that you're going to be in for a torrid time. Somehow however my persistence with Jay paid off and he was able to accompany me to the lounge room in what could only be regarded as a sweet piece of serendipity as the apartment owner also deduced it was now his prime time to check on the apartment and to obtain his keys. The conversation that ensued between Jay and this elderly, refined Basque man was the stuff of legends. I sat back and enjoyed the discourse between this drunken boy from Oz and this Spanish gentleman almost to the point where I had tears in my eyes when Jay, with all the dignity and sincerity that he could compose at that stage of proceedings actually put it to this man that he should 'come to the Sunshine Coast, pop in and say hello'  ...now if you could imagine the absolute randomness of the situation and the dynamic of the conversation, all you could really do was laugh at that request and suggestion...'Yeah my man, if you ever turn up to Oz and remember little 'ole Jay, just pop in and say hello'...the concept was just hilarious. Well, if you had of been in my mind for those few minutes it would have been a riot.

Several coffee's later and with a moderately disturbed Basque gentleman left in our wake, Dina and I made it to the bus station where we left a still unsteady Jay to find his way to the local airport.....ahhh San Sebastian, not only do you treat the Julian calendar with contempt but man, you were a hell of a lot of fun!