Siesta Festa

Hola amigos,

It has been a busy time. Writing has been near impossible. It still feels so. I am not starting this well. It feels a bit forced and the words cramp in my wrists. Alas. Let me put some places on the page.

We are now in the northern coastal town of San Sebastian, which features quite favorably in Ernst Hemingway´s Fiesta: the sun also rises. It is a very beautiful place, full of old architectural and artistic artefacts, laced with a thirsty drinking culture that flickers one eye around noon and does not dip its beak into the crooked wing until sometime after dawn. It is the sort of romantic and giddy place, heaving with hedonistic consummerism and decorated with top end class, that makes a backpacker feel filthy. There is no way i could stay in a place like this (Spain in general) were it not for the incredible generosity of my brother. And so an homage is due and i consider it paid.

Before we came to this crispy slice of Spanish jamon, we were in the not so sexy city of Madrid - home to the biggeest art gallery in the world and some very typical youth hostels. A very good friend observed recently the importance of trying a few different types of travel, so as we can know what we like and what we don´t: i do not like youth hostels. Not in Europe, and not in Australia either. The gel streaked collar up skiny jeans northern hemisphere kids with their have hair dryer will travel attitude bring with them a rather tedious demand for bad music and bad nightlife. It is no wonder the locals seem a bit aloof around us english speakers. I have not met many people in Spain, which is a little frustrating sometimes. Though it is good to get to know one´s brother again. And what did you like about Madrid benjamin??? We did have a pretty incredible day going to the Sophia Rapheal and the Prado museums - home to some of the most jaw dropping rumble in your guts neck cracking art in the world. Picasso blew me away while Goya blew me apart. Dali is also very cool and very busy. His peers provided some interesting work tambien. And then we had a unique cultural experience. Something that cannot be done in Melbourne. We went to see a bullfight.

And i was on the edge of my seat from the moment that terrific animal stormed out of the gate. The magnificent size and power of the creature, the flow and curve of its thunderous form. And the matador. There is a physical language, a poetic theatricality inherent to the dance of the bullfight. I was horrified, compelled, twisted up inside and exhausted by the spectacle. As per my standards, i was barracking for the bull. The tragedy of watching the slow wearing down and eventual execution of such a beautiful animal made me tremble. It has been an effort to not judge the event, or to delve too deeply into snarling reproach of the human festish for violence and barbarism. I still don´t know how to talk about the bullfight - when i was reading Fiesta the following day, Hemmingway writes about a matador and a series of bullfights: the image of the bull collapsing to its knees, its tongue protruding and blood streaked hide glistening in the sun, made it impossible to read. I stopped, closed my eyes, and shook.

The trip to San Sebastian was a beautiful demonstration of the chaos of decision making. We checked out and walked to a car rental agency. Alex had a bad feeling, so we jumped on the metro and headed to the bus station. There were no buses for several hours to Santander (we were going to go trekking in the north west of the country) so i said we should go to San Sebastian. At that we both smiled and the dread went away and i bought the tickets while Alex got the lunch. The arrival here was a bit anxious as the bok says you should make advance reservations. We had not and were unsure if we would get a room on a Friday night at the beginning of the summer season. The third place turned out to be an excellent accident. We are both happy, but having difficulty settling after travelling so quickly for the past two weeks. Who´d believe we were in Morocco last Saturday? Sipping tea in Kerouac´s old hotel... now we walk on the shores of Fiesta. A literary adventure of sorts, i spose.

I shant dare to discuss what happens next. I don´t bloody well want too. The thought of moving is too seductive and i might just dash again... which is a stupid thing to do. Movement gets addictive, making a sit down unbearable. Lets just exhale a minute... and inhale.

No buses today.