So my journey atlast starts its humble beginnings in the capital city of Madrid. I don´t speak a word of Spanish which is making everything more challenging then I had expected. The flight was long and anxious and I arrived on the other side to find a Spain overcast in constant rain.
Strapped to my back are 16 kilo´s of belongings as I walk the streets of Madrid. Walking for hours with a heavy backpack is a stark change for my body which has been lounging languidly for the past three months, finding my only excercise on the dance floors of Jozi bars. Eina, my muscles hurt and I feel clumsy amongst the provocative Spanish fashionistas. Their sense of style is not as aenimic as Chanel chic but just as elegant with a touch of bright green, red or purple. Expressive Individuality seems to be the measure of fashion here although contained within obvious euro cenric trends like boots over the jeans. The streets of Old Madrid are narow and have a striking regal antiquity. The majestic architecture is unbroken by modern modern anomalies which makes me feel like I am walking through a postcard ( despite the fact that my shoes and halfway up my jeans are soaked).
I arrived unuaware that Spain and the surrounding countries are taking a one week vacation coupled with the May Day long weekend. Therefore the hostels are almost fully booked. Luckily a bed opened up in the charming and unusual Cat´s Hostel filled with not so charming and noisy Spanish tennagers on a group tour. I accidentally find myself in the Plaza Mayor while trying to locate my hostel. It is just infront of the the Puerta del Sol and marks one of the main tourist attractions in Madrid with an statue of Felipe II.
I walked the streets for a few hours trying to get orientated in the massive city. I overheard a Scottish girl speaking English on the telephone and felt keen to greet her considering I hadn´t spoken to anyone all day. As it turns out were room mates and ended up wondering around the city together in search of a good, cheap place to eat. We then met with a girl from Las Vegas from the couch surfing project who has been staying in Madrid for the past year to study Spanish. She explained that the Spaniards only have dinner around 10 so their nightlife is somewhat delayed by South African standards. The bars are open from eleven till two and the clubs and night life only start up at 2.ooam. She claims that anyone who leaves before 7.00am is scorned for leaving early, and somehow the Spaniards seem to maintain this hard core party life with their regular 9.00 - 14.00 and 17.00- 20. 00 again jobs with the a modest siesta in between. It is 1.30am on a tuesday night and I am exhausted, sleep deprived and unwilling to experiment with new cultural bio-rhythms tonight.
