Sept 16 04

Blimey - I'm in Spain. And Ow! Ouch! Ooyah! I'm in pain. The pain in Spain falls mainly on the neck. Some sorta trapped nerve or something which no doubt will go away soon. Please.

Anyway - Espana! Another day of uninterrupted blazing sunshine, now with added mountains. Up at 7am (in Bordeaux) with a rough plan to get to Bayonne, which in the event I sailed straight past, in order to have lunch by the sea in Biarritz. Very fancy, but not somewhere you'd want to stay the night without a platinum Amex tucked into your slacks. And Spain was beckoning.

I was expecting some sort of border post; last time I drove this way (in a car) I was practically strip-searched by the side of the road. But there's nothing. Not even a "Bienvenido" sign and a picture of a comedy bull.

Suddenly there's much more traffic and the driving is a whole lot worse. Mine included. I nearly say "Hola" to Senor Tarmac when a gentle right hand bend decides on a whim it would really rather be a hairpin. Otherwise it's all "Wow - the Pyrenees" and "Ow - my perineum", past San Sebastian and on to Zarauta (sp?) and a very nice hotel with CNN.

I really need to get rid of some more weight, either from me or my belongings. There's no way I'm getting rid of my mini-electric guitar though. No way. Do you hear me? Maybe all that camping shit...

Later I'm in the hotel bar. It's me and two impossibly old women, and it's clear they don't fancy me. "Crash" by The Primitives is playing. "Slow down you're gonna..." etc. Wise words. And what a blooming great song.

Where my appalling French is solidly rooted in fine, decent British O-level, my Spanish is built on a foundation of half-truths and misconceptions garnered from
(a) hispanic characters in US cop shows of the 70's and 80's,
(b) Sesame Street, and
(c) an erroneous belief that all European languages apart from German can be conversed in using a home-made, distinctly personal form of Esperanto based on a mixture of the user's mother tongue and some mumbling.
"Donde esta", I believe, means "where is"; unhappily I don't know the word for whatever it is I need to find.

Aaaaaaah! I really need to have a conversation in English, with jokes, soon. I once spent four weeks working in Tokyo, and when I came home I could not only not speak Japanese, but had also forgotten how to speak English. And think it. And, er, write. It.

Tapas! Ain't that just the greatest thing ever? A little bit of mystery food with every beer. And - Oh! sweet Jesus on a penny farthing - that Spanish ham...

Decision time - west, across the Northern coast of Spain, or south-west, into the probably-drier interior? The rain in Spain falls not on the plain. That's exactly where it's least likely to fall. Mountains - bring an umbrella and a kagoule. Coast - better off staying indoors.

Five days into the trip, and a bunch of annoying doubts have finally gone to sit on the back seat of the psychological bus. They're now just staring out of the window, and look as though they may nod off soon, leaving me to get on with the business of doing whatever the hell it is I'm doing. Quiet at the back!