Spain, Morocco, and Portugal

So I thought it might be time to bring you folks up to speed on my goings-on here over the drink. In the interest of most people not wanting to read for an hour right now, I hereby present you with my condensed, abridged and dehydrated-for-shipping version of where I’ve been. Last we spoke, I ran away to Scotland. Since then, I finished classes in mid-March and decided it was adventure time.

I left my apartment on the morning of March 19 with a full rucksack, a plane ticket to Barcelona and not much else other than ideas and a Spanish rail pass. I spent my first two days in the city wandering around the modern and gothic neighborhoods, remembering that it was warm and sunny in this part of the world, as opposed to rather dreary London, to which I have become a little jaded. On my second night, I was offered hospitality with a local guy who lives a little ways outside the city, so I went to stay with him for two nights. Sam lives in a little village by the sea, San Pol de Mar, with his basset hound, Boston. He had another traveler staying with him, Aletta, who comes from Christchurch, NZ. Aletta and I hung out for a few days and went hiking in the hills above San Pol and could see straight down to the Mediterranean. The night before Easter, Sam took us into the village center to see one of the Holy Week processions that are so common in all Spanish towns and cities. The next day, Sam, Aletta and I went into Barcelona and saw La Sagrada Familia, Barcelona’s famous cathedral, designed by Antoni Gaudi, and has been under continuous construction for the past 100 years, expected to be completed around 2020. That night, I said my good byes and hopped on a sleeper train to Seville.

I arrived in Seville on Easter morning to find the city, not surprisingly, very quiet. I wandered around the neighborhood and toured the royal palace as well as the city’s cathedral, apparently the largest gothic building in world, according to its literature, although I’d believe it, that thing was BIG. I remember noticing that the entire city smelled like jasmine. Either that or I was really over-tired from not sleeping on the train. I’ll go with the former. I ended up relaxing on the beachfront for a while, working on my tan and my Spanish. It was the first day of the bull-fighting season, although long, drawn out animal murders for show are not really my thing. I took a bus that evening to the town of Cabra, where I would be staying for the next few nights with a couple of American girls who had agreed to put me up.

I spent a few days in Cabra and the surrounding region. The two girls hosting me, Jen and Michelle, were a lot of fun. Michelle, her friend David, and I made a trip to a nearby village of Priego to see what was to be seen, which turned out to be a castle, rolling hills of olive trees, and a cute little village. No complaints. The next day, I took a day trip on my own north to Cordoba. The city was the capital of the country when the majority of what is now Spain and Portugal was under Arab control for hundreds of years and therefore has a very heavy Arab and Moorish influence. I got severely lost wandering the Old City and found myself in the Jewish quarter in front of Maimonedes’ house and up the street from his synagogue. Cool. If I had planned my trip better, I would have made reservations for the Arab bathhouse in the city, a trip to which gets you a chance to bathe in the traditional, communal baths, warm, hot and cool, in that order, followed by a massage and some green tea on the roof of the building. I made my way back to Cabra, and in the morning bid my farewells to my hosts. Next stop, Morocco.

I spent the majority of the following day on the road, needing to take a bus to Malaga, followed by two trains to get to the port city at the bottom of Spain, Algeciras. I took the earliest boat I could find out the next morning to ferry myself to Africa. On the boat to Morocco, I ended up meeting a family from New Jersey, we hit it off and I ended up spending most of that day with them in Morocco’s gateway city to Europe, Tangier. A private tour guide offered to show us around as soon as we got off the boat, which we accepted and he took us for a few hours into the winding streets of the old city. He took us to many shops (designed for tourists, of course, but I dealt with it) selling an incredible variety of things: silk rugs, oil lamps, jewelry, decorative gun powder cases, and more spices than I’ve ever seen. We ended at a restaurant that offered some of the most delicious vegan food I’ve ever come across, whoo! In the evening, the family went back to the port to go back to Spain and I made my way to the train station to make my way to Marrakech, the capital of the south.

On the train that night, I met a number of Brits who had been hitchhiking for charity from Manchester, UK to either Prague or Marrakech. I ended up spending most of my first day in Marrakech with this lively bunch. We came into the city, dropped our bags and went exploring. The city center, Djar al Fna, is a massive square packed with more characters than I could explain. There were snake charmers, fortune tellers, tarot card readers, monkeys on leashes, men selling fresh fruit and spices, a hot sun, and a general aura of magic. We walked through the sprawling market place, winding through streets with no names, until we were certain we were far from where we wanted to be (not that we knew where that was, either) but we knew we were very lost. The fact that the streets were so narrow and the walls that rose so high from them meant we couldn’t find the tower of the city mosque, our one orientating landmark. We ended up being offered help by a local man who would, for a fee of course, show us the way back to Djar al Fna. He kept his word, without first walking us all over the place and showing us the Berber camel skin tannery operation, which, although smelly, was still pretty cool to see first hand. We finally got back to the main square, and my new friends went to their hostel and I went out to find the man who had agreed to host me in his village outside the city. After some odd circumstances involving my phone getting stolen, I was fortunately able to find Adil, my host, and we made our way by taxi from Marrakech to his village of Sidi Rahal.

Sidi Rahal is a small, poor village about an hour east of Marrakech, in the foothills of the Atlas Mountains. I stayed with Adil in his parents’ home with one of his sisters and one of his brothers. Adil is 26 and had worked teaching English at a nearby school but his contract had run out, so now he has plenty of time on his hands. None of his family speaks English. We spent time walking around the village and he introduced me to some of his friends, who wanted very much to talk to me, although only some of them spoke English. There was not another tourist for many, many miles and many of the villagers often would not leave the area very frequently, as they had little need to; their life was simple there. We went to the edge of the village where some of Adil’s friends played some traditional music that is said to be very trance-like. They play the gambe (GOM-beh), a guitar-like instrument, made of a wooden box with camel skin stretched over the top and a rod coming out one side which holds the ends of the 3 camel skin strings, and the krikshat (creek-SHOT), large brass finger cymbals that can be tapped with sticks or struck together. Adil’s friend Abdullah loved to hear me talk English, as he was learning English in high school and insisted I tell him as many jokes and proverbs as I could remember. I did my best.

The next day, Adil, a number of his friends, and I went hiking through a beautiful valley beyond Sidi Rahal. On the way, we passed an ancient and abandoned Jewish neighborhood, with a walled cemetery still standing on the hilltop. We went over to scout around and Adil said there was a caretaker who lived here to keep people from vandalizing the area or stealing headstones. On our way back down the hill, we spotted the caretaker and some other men sitting on the ground, and they invited us over for tea. Some of the men had pickaxes and hammers and they told Adil they were prospectors looking in the area for gold or gems. Back at the bottom of the hill Adil told me they may have just been prospectors or they may have paid the caretaker to let them dig in the cemetery, as some people believe that where you can find Jewish bones, you can find gold or, slightly more creepy, some people believe you actually need Jewish bones themselves for certain superstitious practices. We met up with his friends and continued hiking, until we stopped in a small grassy knoll and set up camp were we would stay for the afternoon. There were seven of us camping, Chelid, Bougama, Lahsen, Abdallali, Heshem, Adil and myself. We spent the whole afternoon there, climbing the rocky hills and playing music. For a long time, half of us had an operation going of preparing the meal, and the other half of the boys prepared the kif. A number of the guys had brought tons of food, which we washed in the river and prepared and cooked over an open fire, to finally make a huge portion of traditional tagine (tah-ZHEEN) to feed all seven of us. By the time it all came together, there was plenty to eat and plenty to smoke. So we feasted on tagine (I did my best to dodge the chicken), and the boys all got high. When the sun went down, we packed it in and made our way back to the village.

On my third and final day in Sidi Rahal, Adil and I went walking to a nearby Berber village and he showed me where the Berbers come into the hills to mine by hand for amethyst and other gems which are common in the earth here. We went into the village and man brought us into his house where his children were sorting stones he had pulled from the hills, and he showed me precious stones he wanted to sell to me. I ended up buying a fossil from him that he had pulled from the rock. I make for a nice souvenir/paperweight and plus, it has a cool back story. That afternoon, we went back to Marrakech, with six passengers stuffed into a 1980 Mercedes with pink fuzzy dice on the rear-view, so that the trip would be economical and worthwhile for the driver. Adil and I were walking together through a garden and were stopped by the notably corrupt police who began questioning Adil for guiding me, a tourist, around the city without proper guide papers. Our waterproof story and the fact that Adil was most certainly not a scam artist trying to steal my money did not matter to them, as once they had reason to have stopped us, they weren’t going to let him go unless “something could be worked out” a.k.a. cash-money. Adil unsuccessfully argued his case, and I yelled at the one cop who spoke Spanish, following threats that “when the city police arrived, Adil could go to jail for 3 days for not having guide papers”. Of course the city police weren’t coming and they just wanted the two of us to sweat it out in their little holding area in the middle of a park. After a while, we gave up and, Adil having no money, I shoved at the cop in charge whatever money I had (which wasn’t much, but fortunately was enough) we stormed out and they didn’t stop us. Once we were about 100 feet away, I turned around and saw the cop pleasantly smiling and waving good-bye to us, wishing me a good day in broken English. The fact that I no longer had any cash to bribe myself out of further trouble was the only thing stopping me from returning his greeting in a less-than-friendly manner. In other news, we continued on to the train station where I was to make for Tangier for the following morning. I went to pay for my journey, for which the ticket man responded “cash payment only”. You have GOT to be kidding me. Fortunately for me, the nearest cash machine was actually working this time, as opposed to when I arrived here days earlier, and I was able to hop on board.

Over the next 33 hours I took three trains, a taxi, a boat and a bus, through six cities (Marrakesh, Tangier, Tarifa, Seville, Madrid, Lisbon) in an effort to make it to Portugal’s capital, which I did after my made dash through three countries and stopping once in a while to breathe.

If I wasn’t weary enough by this point, ALL of Lisbon is on a hill, I tell ya. I spent two days trekking around the city, admiring the Atlantic for the first time from the other side, and laying in the sun and climbing hills and trees. My flight left from Madrid in two days, so I took my fifth overnight train back to Madrid after two days in Lisbon, and arrived so exhausted, I didn’t want to do a thing. I didn’t. All I remember of my one day in Madrid is that I fell asleep in a park and woke up at one point without a clue in the world where I was. I couldn’t pull city names, country names, dates, or anything from my memory as I just sat in the grass for a few minutes in wonder. The next morning, I packed my bag and dragged myself to the airport and flew back to London.

Okay so it has occurred to me that this is nowhere near as condensed as I thought it would be, but now you’re here so, good job. Maybe another time, I’ll remember to tell you that after only 2 days back in London I went to Italy for a week with my dad and one of my sister’s. So now I’m in jolly old England and NOT GOING ANYWHERE…for the next 4 weeks. I’ve got a whole pile of enormous final exams coming up that I don’t really want anything to do with, although I think I deserved it after almost a month on the road.

Next time: Belgium and Germany! (But seriously, I’m going next month) All for now.

Hasta luego, Salaam Alekuum, Adeus, Ciao and lots of love,

Dan

p.s. I’ll be writing this story in full this summer if any of you want the really really long and juicy version.

Scotland on a whim...

Sometimes I just need to shake things up. Okay, well I feel the need to shake things up pretty much all the time, I am just stuck in this facade thing called "normalcy" and have to suppress my urges for the sake of "routine". Blech. Sometimes, though, its just worth it to throw it all to the wind and run away for a little while. So I ran away, straight out of the country last weekend.

Somehow not realizing until it was almost too late, that if I skipped one hour of class at the beginning of the coming week, I would have a lovely 4-day weekend to do with as I wish. This was Wednesday night. I had a most-massive project due in one week, which could potentially put a damper on my weekend-until-Tuesday. It took me all of 20 minutes of thinking and figuring how to make my whims a reality that I committed myself to pretty much working on this project for as many of the next 48 hours as needed to finish it, as I bought myself a train ticket to Edinburgh for Saturday morning. Scotland it was!

Okay, now what am I going to do with 4 days in Scotland? I searched frantically online for a (hopefully free) place to stay, and very fortunately heard back from a lovely, vegan Scottish lass the day before I was planning to leave, who offered to let me crash on her couch for the nights I was in town. A free roof and no longer the potential for starvation! What more could I ask for?

Enough with planning, onto the trip...

Saturday:
I left from King's Cross Station in London around noon on Saturday and spent half of the next 5 hours glued to the window watching the sunny English countryside go by, and the other half reading Jack Kerouac's On The Road. (Possibly the best book ever to read when you are, in fact, on the road.) I got into the city around 5 and took some time to gawk at the Gothic architecture lit by the setting sun, which was absolutely stunning. I followed the instructions left for me by my host, Tabi, on getting to her flat. I arrived a little while later, to find that she was also hosting another person for the weekend in addition to myself. Eric is a 23 year old American with an engineering degree. (I run as far as I can and still can't get away from my kind. Guess I just need to run a bit farther...) Tabi tells me when I arrive that, while she has to leave to work a night shift, Eric and I are going out for a night on the town, whether we liked it or not. No complaints here.
We went back to the city center and when to an old bank-turned-pub and met Tabi's flatmate, Jotas. Jotas is living for a few months in Edinburgh before he goes back to his native Spain. There was a big get-together among the traveler's community in Edinburgh at this pub that night, of which I am a member of back in London, hence the being-able-to-find -someone-to-travel-and-stay-for-free-with. So in a short few hours I met people from Spain, Portugal, Canada, Latvia, Finland, New Zealand and oh yeah, Scotland, to name a few. When the pub shut at around midnight, I had to call it a night from my fatigue, but the rest of the party-people were going to a late-night bar, so Jotas gave me the key to his flat and away I went to deal with Tabi's insane cat and eventually to sleep.

Sunday:
I had told Tabi the night before to slap me awake when she came back from work at around 7:30 the next morning. I woke up on my own, and quite refreshed only to realize it was 10:30 am, and Tabi thought I just looked to peaceful in my slumber that she couldn't smack my to consciousness. I was a little grateful and a little annoyed, as I had wanted to get an early start. Oh well, onward! After some hot food and a hot shower, the four of us, Tabi, Jotas, Eric and myself went to the city center, as there was a free improv comedy club get together as an extension of the previous night's festivities. The show was great and the pub, much to my pleasant surprise, had some vegan eats, hurray! After the show, a bunch of the people went their separate ways and a number of other went to another pub to catch the tail end of a rugby match. Eric and I decided to act like the tourists we were and do a little sight-seeing, despite the heavy fog that was now laying across the city like a blanket. We walked back to the city center, and ambled along the Royal Mile. The Royal Mile is, yes, a length of old cobbled street a mile long running gradually uphill to Edinburgh Castle, which is actually sitting on top of an extinct volcano. Given that the volcano drops steeply and jaggedly off in every direction except for the road leading to the castle, the view from the city below was one of seeing a great stone structure atop an angry looking black rock spire a hundred feet tall. That the fog settled heavily in the small valley surrounding the base of the volcano, obscuring its base, made the overbearing castle quite imposing, almost terrifying. It was beautiful. The whole of the Royal Mile runs through the heart of Edinburgh's "Old Town", the architecture and magic of which (in my humble opinion) kicks the crap out of that of London. That old Edinburgh had seen more than its share of strife, war, and all sorts of death in the days of old, it is told that it is the most haunted city in all of Britain. (Ooooohh...) That said, Eric and I decided to shell a few pounds sterling to take the "Haunted Underground Tour" through the hundreds years old merchant's vaults underneath the ancient streets. It was a good, moderately creepy time. We were told of all the weird and eerie happenings that are said to have happened right where we were standing. There is even a working Wiccan temple in one of the vaults, that is still used several times a year, the location of which was chosen because of the site's strong psychic energies. The tour was wrapped up with a trip to the torture room where we looked at all the lovely instruments of pain used back in the day, all of which were heated red-hot prior to use, yum! We were advised to consume the complimentary whisky (there's no 'e' in whisky when it is made in Scotland) and shortbread before hearing how all these lovely devices were used. After we left the vaults, I kept feeling a little warm and fuzzy and turning about, a bit concerned. Was there indeed a poltergeist still in my presence from the vault? Or was it that nip of whisky? We may never know...
Eric and I wandered around the city for a while longer before heading back to casa de Tabi y Jotas. Eric was going up north to St. Andrews to see some friends and had found a cheap train fare for that evening, so we got back to the house, Eric packed up and left, and Tabi went to work a night shift again. So now it was just Jotas and I. ...and that evil cat. I wanted to get out of the city and into the country, wherever I could end up, so I did a bit of research and decided to make a day trip the next day to Loch Lomond. That's where things got interesting...

Monday:
I woke up at 6, long before sunrise, packed my camera and what food I had left laying around from the train ride a few days before in my pack and took off. Loch Lomond is about 60 miles west of Edinburgh, but with no direct bus route, I swung through Glasgow and from there took a bus north and got dropped off on the side of the highway, about a half mile outside the town of Balloch. I wandered into town at around 10, looking for a map and some information. I walked into what I though was a hostel, but was apparently a small local pub (I'm still not sure how I mixed that one up) in which I found 4 old men sitting around the bar with their morning whisky. Lovely and Scottish. I eventually found some information and took off out of town on foot to see where I might end up. It was still early and the sun had yet to burn off the morning's fog from the lake, but it was still beautiful through the haze. Around Loch Lomond is where the Lowlands meet the Highlands, so most of the land in the area is just large rolling hills, which I was more than eager to climb. I followed easy park trails along the Loch for a while and found a castle on top of a hill. (Oh look, a castle!) From there I found what I can only describe as the road less traveled, or more accurately, the trail less tramped. Especially given the season's traditionally crappy weather, it looked as if the trail had not seen human feet in weeks. I walked over hills and through what I imagine was expanses of privately owned land, although I'll never be sure. By the time I got to the highest point I could find, I could see back to the Loch and the fog was still sleeping on the surface of the water. I cut through more fields and eventually discovered I had come back to a crossroads I came upon a little while earlier. So I either had the option of doing the loop again (unfavorable) or going back on the trail from which I originally came (also unfavorable). Fortunately for me, I remembered seeing a small trail that was gated off a while back, so I turned around, hopped the fence and trekked on. I ended up on a dirt service road behind a water treatment plant which took we back to a paved road. I recognized the road from the maps I had looked at the day before as running south back to town. I went north.
It was early-afternoon as I continued along the road, which conveniently had stunning views of some real Scottish countryside, full of rolling hills, fields of sheep and other assortments of visual treats. I found the only general store for miles (thankfully, as I was out of food) and chatted up the lady running the shop as I asked for some bread and jam. When she realized I was just going to make sandwiches for my day's wanderings, she insisted I need not buy the jam, as she had an open container right here. She swiftly whipped me up 3 or 4 jam sandwiches wrapped in a little paper bag and sold me the remainder of the loaf. Thank you dearly, sweet old lady, whoever you are. I continued north and explored a broken down and abandoned farm house I found along the road. I saw a bus coming at me, switched directions and flagged it down, as I knew it only runs along this road 3 or 4 times a day. Shortly after 3 pm I was back in Balloch, where Mr. Sun had finally taken over and lit up the whole Loch and surrounding forests.
So now what? A bus back to Glasgow sounded oh so boring at this point, but my knees were complaining and there wasn't much going on in this quiet town. Time to shake things up again, I suppose. I wandered to the edge of town to where the road splits and I knew all these cars were headed, if not to Glasgow, at least south, and started hitching for a ride. It only took a few minutes and a cargo van pulled up with a young looking guy driving and two girls in the seat next to him. The exchange went something like this:
Driver: "Where you going?"
Me: "Glasgow"
Driver: "I'm going to Irvine"
Me: "Where's that?"
Driver: "It's...[lost in translation of the accent and noise of passing traffic]"
My brain: "Where the hell is Irvine?"
My mouth: "Sure, I'm in."
Driver: "Alright, hop in."

Over the next hour or so of driving, I learned that my three companions, Alex (the guy, and driver), and Victoria and Tine, were traveling gypsies who were making their way across Scotland. None of them had ever gone more than a month in their lives without moving. They and their family, friends and others in their community live in trailers (or caravans, as they call them) wandering from one place to another. Alex tells me his family has been travelers in Scotland for 6 or 7 generations, at least. They were on their way to Irvine to see Alex's older sister who just had a baby girl. Alex told me that if I would come with them and hang around the caravans for an hour or so, he was going along to Glasgow and I could continue along with him. Why not? I further learned that Alex and Victoria were both 17 and had married each other just 5 months ago.
We came to Irvine (I still have no idea where it is) to the end of a road tucked behind a few small industrial buildings where 2 large trailers were parked. Whoever was living here, this was their home for the time being. Alex told me they generally stay in one place until they are delivered a court order to leave, at which point they do. I suppose one's initial thought on people who do not have a permanent address must be hard off for money, although seeing the inside of the trailer I learned it was quite the contrary. Not to say that who lived there was "wealthy" by whatever standard you wish to compare that to, but what I saw of the inside of the caravan had oak counter tops and cabinets, crystal candle holders and a small flat-screen television. I didn't want to intrude in there, also my boots were very muddy, so for the most part I stayed outside on the pavement and wondered where I was. Two men arrived while I was sitting outside alone and gave me strange looks. Alex came out to introduce us; they were the husbands of the women who were in each respective caravan. Apparently, Alex had just purchased his van that day and one of the men wanted to take it for a spin, so he, Alex and myself piled back in as the man (whose name I didn't catch) took the box van for an exhilarating/terrifying spin through what I realized was a small industrial park and came screeching back to the caravans 10 minutes later, at which point the van got the man's gruff nod of approval.
Before leaving Irvine, Alex and I had another interesting moment, when I told him I ultimately was aiming to get back to Edinburgh by the end of the night, which went something like this:
Alex: Do you know to play football? (Remember, Americans, we're talking about soccer, here)
Me: Yeah sure I can play. I'm pretty terrible, but I know how, why?
Alex: I live in Edinburgh, but I'm playing football with some pals this evening before I go home.
Me: Okay, so?
Alex: I'll tell you what. If you come with us and play some football with my mates, I'll take you wherever you want to go.
My brain: [hesitation] What on earth is going on? Could this get any stranger? [enlightenment] Yes! Yes it could! Why would I miss something like this for being completely strange? Bring on the strange!
My mouth: [hesitation] Umm, I'm not really sure, I am REALLY bad and... [enlightenment] well, forget it. Sure I'll play.

So we were getting ready to leave Irvine for wherever we were headed next, and I had no idea where, and I couldn't have cared less, and Alex shouted out the van if William wants to come to Edinburgh with us. About 15 seconds later the 5-year-old boy who I was playing with earlier (apparently his name is William) comes running out of the caravan and hops in the van. And why not? Child on board. Just a completely different way of life and that's just fine with me. We left Irvine and William happily bounced around in the back of the van, playing with his torch (flashlight) and assorted other things he could turn into toys that he found in the back, only bumping his head once or twice when Alex flew around the turns.
Our next stop was Falkirk, another place whose location to me is unknown other than that it is somewhere in Scotland, and that's how I like it. Victoria's parents lived in Falkirk and we were going to see them. When we arrived, the girls and William hopped out of the van and Alex took off with me to see some of his pals before we would go inside to see his in-laws. We drove to another campsite with 4 or 5 caravans, went inside one and I met Jim-boy and Big William. Off the 4 of us went to a local pub. The boys, 17 and 21, were just as interested in the fact that I was American as I was in the fact that they were traveling gypsies. When I asked Jim-boy if he had always traveled all he could say was "It's the only way I've ever known." So be it. The boys bought me a few drinks and we each played a few games of pool before bringing them back to their caravans. To my amusement, as Alex had made me prove this to him in Irvine, it came up again that I could trick and flip, which the two other guys didn't believe and made me perform for them in the light of Alex's headlights once we got back. And again, I was asked for one more as Jim-boy's wife, who couldn't have been older than myself, came outside to see what the commotion was about.
Back we went, Alex and I to Victoria's parents house. While they still have the traveling tradition in their family, they now only travel a few months of the year, so have a house of their own. The father was enthused by my presence, telling me how beautiful America was and that he wanted to see the Great West some day. He got a grand kick out of the fact that I had driven cross-country with my sister just this summer. The mother was a bit more wary, understandably, as who was this muddy American hitch hiker in their home?
We didn't stay too long, stopped in for a quick visit at one more gypsy home, I don't even know whose, before taking the rest of the road into Edinburgh. As I learned on the way in Edinburgh, Alex runs his own tree cutting service, trimming branches and cutting up fallen trees and the like, and makes enough money to support himself and Victoria, who doesn't work. Alex never went to school, and can therefore neither read nor write. Amazingly, through all of his travels in the country, he had learned the roads so well that I realized that in the 8 hours I spent driving with him, he hadn't read a single road sign. Crazy, eh? We finally arrived near enough to the city center for me to catch a bus back to the flat. I snapped one quick photo of the four of them, Alex, Victoria, Tina and little William, which later turned out to be blurry, hopped out of the van, they sped off and I'll never see them again.

Tuesday:
Still in awe of everything I had experienced the day before, I got up early to find the weather was in my favor today. Lucky, as this was the time I had reserved for seeing all the touristy things in the city that I had yet to see in fog-free daylight. Tabi's sister and her new-born daughter, and Tabi's mother came over while I was packing up. Her sister was a bit wary of the fact that Tabi lets travelers she has never met before stay in her home, although I think saw me in a new light when I cooked and cleaned up for breakfast for myself and Tabi. Jotas was out at work, so I didn't get to say goodbye to him, but I took off before noon with everything on my back, as I planned to take a train out of the city that evening after finishing my tourist stuff.
I walked through the city, paid for entrance to Edinburgh Castle, which had been closed the past two times I had been by it, and got some stunning panoramic views of the city and surrounding areas. I walked and I walked. Aside from pretty pictures and seeing the "mandatory" sights of this city, Tuesday pretty much pales in comparison to the previous day's adventures. I went to the train station only to find out, to my dismay, that the cheapest train back to London today was 100 British pounds, also known as 200 American dollars. Needless, I was not too happy, although that's what I get for not booking in advance. I went to the bus station, found quite a cheap fare for a bus and went for it even though it was a 9 hour overnight journey, not like I had many choices in the matter. I spent my last hours in Scotland in a quiet pub enjoying some authentic ales and exchanging Chuck Norris facts with the barkeep and a few of the locals. By 10 o'clock I was on the bus and on my way back to rainy old London.

Sometimes I just need to shake things up.

2007 Thus Far: A Recap - Part 7, Dublin

Weekend in Dublin with Scotty, Kristian, and Zach.

2007 Thus Far: A Recap - Part 6, Off to London!

Left for London 14 September.

2007 Thus Far: A Recap - Part 5, Rangley Lakes, USA

5 days with C-2!

2007 Thus Far: A Recap - Part 4, Cross-USA Road Trip

7 days driving with Alissa from Cincinnati to San Jose. Plenty of adventures along the way.

2007 Thus Far: A Recap - Part 3, Israel

Israel for 3 weeks