Unlike Rob Lowe and George Clooney, night trains don’t get better with time. Granada to Valencia was our third of the trip and probably the most painful. Although I think we all dozed on-and-off, we spent most of it awake and, by the time we arrived at the hostel at 6.00am, we were wrecked. It was still dark outside so we decided to wait in the common room until it was light enough to go out in search of some breakfast. Kaitlyn, India and Chei fell asleep while I FBed, Tweeted and blogged. We decided we’d forgo culture and have a Maccas breakfast but...and wait for it...Spanish McDonald’s don’t do breakfast!! Fo’reals. We ended up going to a place which seemed to be a chain of sorts – it kind of reminded me a bit of Dôme. Between us we ordered four dishes and four beverages. We received seven items altogether, not one of which was actually what we ordered. We spent the rest of the morning and afternoon wandering around the city, before heading back to the hostel so we could shower and sleep. On the way back there, we walked past a 24 hour vending machine place. It was literally a room full of vending machines which sold everything from your typical vending machine fare such as cokes and chocolate bars, to soup, to actual meals. That was something we definitely intended on using before we left.
The hostel had a really great kitchen so, after a siesta (how Spanish are we?), we ventured to the supermercado (unfortunately not a Mercadonnnna-Mercadona) for dinner supplies. In that half an hour we discovered two things: at the supermercado 69¢ bottles of red wine and, in the hostel kitchen, Jaws. By Jaws, I don’t mean a large Lamniform shark, but an American dickhead with the biggest jaw I have ever seen. Honestly, he was like the real-life Mr Incredible.The only thing incredible about him (other than his jowl) was the size of his ego. He struck up a conversation with me while we were both cooking dinner, critiquing everything I was doing – how I sliced the onion, how I poured the water from the faucet into the pot, how I opened the bag of rice. His monologue about how awesome he was quickly went from amusing to mind-numbing. He eventually got into an argument of sorts with India and Chei about Estonian pastries. The girls had been telling Kaitlyn and me about these particular pastries they had tried in Tallinn. Jaws, who had overheard the conversation, butted-in.
‘They weren’t the best pastries in Tallinn.’
‘Didn’t say they were.’
‘The best pastries were from this little shop near the town hall. They...’
‘I didn’t say they were the best, I said they were good.’ He went on and on and on about how much better the ones he had were. Apparently he would know, because he “knows a lot about good cuisine”. Well, move over, Heston – Jaws is in the house. And I must say, that stir-through pasta sauce he’s warming-up here in the hostel kitchen is pretty impressive.
The next day was Free Walking Tour Day and, in a major break from tradition, it wasn’t raining! Not only was it not raining, it was a warm, still day of sun-drenched perfection. India had awoken that morning with a mosquito bite on her eye, leading her to look...well...special. We wandered to the Plaça de la Verge and enjoyed an ice-cream by the fountain while we waited for the tour leader. The serenity of the moment was broken by Kaitlyn who, upon wanting to wash her hands to remove the sticky residue of ice-cream, chucked a mini-tantrum when she couldn’t get the tap to work. ‘The stupid f@#%ing thing is f@#%ing broken. What am I supposed to do, f@#%ing lick my hands clean?’ It wasn’t broken at all, it was just operated by foot, requiring one to push down on a peddle at the side. She stormed across the plaza to give it another go. ‘How f@#%ing retarded.’
As she stamped off, a guy wandered over and approached me. He reeled off something in Spanish, to which I replied that, sorry, I don’t speak Spanish. ‘Ahh, yes. I thought so,’ he replied in an Australian accent. Thought what? ‘I assume you’re here for the free walking tour?’
‘Yes.’
‘I thought so,’ he replied looking incredibly smug. So, you thought that we were tourists here for an English speaking walking tour but, rather than ask us in English, you thought you’d flaunt your amazing Spanish skills? That was evidence enough of what a complete douche he was going to be, but his introduction to us all confirmed it. ‘Hi, I’m Jake *points thumbs toward self*. ‘I’m *points thumbs toward self* here to take you guys *points thumbs toward us* on a free walking tour of Bahl-ehn-thee-ahh.’ That’s a nice greasy high- ponytail you’ve got there, Jake. You’ll want to keep that.
I don’t know what was worse – Jake’s incessant thumb pointing, his constant correction of our pronunciation of Spanish words, his general arrogance, the fact that he smelled as if he hadn’t washed for several days, or the fact that we were the only four people on the walking tour and had to endure him alone. Jake certainly knew his Bahl-ehn-thee-ahhnn history inside and out, his tour actually quite interesting if you looked past his thumbs and pretentious pronunciation However, as the tour wore on, they became harder and harder to disregard. Still, he showed us the sights, eventually attempting to show us some culture. ‘So, tell me’ *points thumbs towards self* guys, have you *points thumbs towards us* tried worthhhheta?’ Ummmm.... ‘Have we tried what?’
‘Worthhhheta.’
‘...’
‘Ahhh....you’ve *points thumbs to us* been in Barcelona. Perhaps you’re more familiar with the Catalan pronunciation: Orrshhaaaaad.’
‘...’
‘The drink?’ He was, it turned out, talking about Horchata or Orxata, a milky Spanish drink made from tigernuts. We hadn’t, in fact, tried worthhhheta so Jake *points fingers away from oneself* took us *points fingers towards self* to a local establishment to try some. It was obviously a regular stop on Jake’s *points fingers away from oneself* tour, as he got his for free. When he asked us if we’d tried “pie-ayyyy-yah”, we pretended we had. Towards the end of the tour he enquired about our evening plans. ‘So, what are you *points to us* girls up to tonight? Do you *points to us* have any plans?’ We told him that we were going to go on the pub crawl. ‘The one through the hostel?’
‘Yep.’
‘Well, it’s your *points to us* lucky day. Guess who’s running the pub crawl tonight?’ He didn’t have to point to himself for us to know it was him. He did anyway. ‘Me!!! *points to self*.’ Maybe with all that Spanish he’d been speaking, he’d started to forget English, because that was most definitely not the definition of “lucky”.
 |
| Yes, this gargoyle is masturbating. |
Back at the hostel and waiting for the pub crawl, we made a few new friends. Jaws had also made a new friend, Connor or, as we called him, C-Dawg. C-Dawg was Canadian and...well let’s just say, if he had been anymore stupid, he would have required watering twice a week. The first new friend we made was Justin. Justin was from Melbourne and, aside from being an Essendon supporter, was a lovely guy. At least, I thought he was. Kaitlyn didn’t seem entirely opposed to him at this point, but at some point she stopped calling him Justin and subsequently referred to him only as “That Douchebag Asshole”. Justin was travelling with his best friend's girlfriend and they were also going on the pub crawl. So too were two other Australian girls whose names I can’t remember. In fact, I don’t remember much about them at all, except for the conversation that followed. We were all sitting around the kitchen having a few beverages, when we got onto the topic of Justin Timberlake – specifically, how attractive we all thought he was. The exchange went a little something like this:
‘Justin Timberlake is the hottest.’
‘So hot.’
‘Mother Lover.’
‘The Golden Rule.’
‘I can’t believe he’s dating Jessica Biel. I’m so much hotter than her but, whatever.’
‘I would definitely go there. Even if Britney has gone there before.’
‘Justin is definitely my “celebrity hall pass”.’
At this point, girl-whose-name-I-can’t-remember joined in. ‘I love Justin! He is sooooooo hot. And so talented!’ She went on and on and on about what a babe he is, mentioning something about “Celine or whatever”, but then focusing her attention back onto Justin. We would have spent at least another three or four minutes talking about Justin and all the things we would do to him if we were to ever get him in a room alone. Then girl-whose-name-I-can’t-remember said, ‘I would definitely sleep with him, but he’s just so innocent....I don’t want to be the one to corrupt him.’
‘Innocent?’
‘Yeah. I mean, he’s obviously a virgin.’
‘What? No he’s not. He slept with Britney. And he’s just generally not innocent.’
‘BRITNEY? He didn’t sleep with Britney!’
‘Yeah...he did.’
‘He did not.’
Then something clicked and I asked her, ‘Who are you talking about?’
‘Justin.’
‘Justin...’
‘Justin Bieber.’
‘Yeah....we’re talking about Justin Timberlake.’ Because, you know, we’re not 12.
Things I remember about the pub crawl: not much. It was not Jake who came and collected us, but a generally disinterested man who led the aforementioned people, plus two French girls, to the first bar where we would meet up with people from the other hostels. On the way there, I recall a loud, very unsubtle discussion about Jaws who heard the entire thing – so, for the remainder of the evening, when we hummed the theme song from Jaws every time he came near us, pretty sure he got it. When we arrived at the bar, we were there maybe...five minutes, before C-Dawg and one of the Frenchies were making-out against the bar like two 15 year olds. While I know C-Dawg had consumed one or two drinks before we left, I didn’t think he was tipsy, let alone drunk. Then again, I didn’t think all the alcohol in the world could make a person drunk enough to make-out with C-Dawg, so I could have been wrong. I mean, gosh guys – get a hallway.
 |
| Jaws and C-Dawg: ladykillers. |
At the second bar, I remember Jake *points away from oneself* turning up and saying he was going to make good on his promise from earlier on in the day of giving me my first ever hangover. He had, fortunately, showered and washed his hair. I remember drinking a lot and I remember someone catching C-Dawg and Frenchie in the bathroom doing more than making-out. I remember walking to the third bar, during which some Serbian guy proposed to Kaitlyn. I remember sitting in the third bar with Jake *points away from oneself* who was buying me shots. What I later found out from Justin was that Jake *points away from oneself* gave Justin money to buy himself a drink and “piss off and leave us alone”.
Jake *points away from oneself*, you may have showered and washed your hair and you have may have toned down the conceited Spanish corrections and I *points to self* may have been the drunkest I had ever been, but that was never going to happen.
I don’t remember going to the fourth bar – I remember throwing up in its toilets though. The next thing I remember is sitting on the floor of the 24 hour vending machine room, watching the girls arguing with Justin. Well, it wasn’t really the girls arguing with him, Kaitlyn was being Kaitlyn, and India seemed to be exchanging a few heated words with him. I had no idea what was going on, but I remember Justin looking really, really angry. He turned to Kaitlyn, Chei and me and, pointing at each of us, ‘It was nice to meet you, nice to meet you, nice to meet you.’ He turned to India, ‘But you – I can’t deal with your shit. I’m leaving.’ I think, maybe, it had something to do with a Snickers bar...but I might be wrong and could have completely invented that. Whatever the problem was, it was forgotten quite quickly because he returned and came back to the hostel with us, carrying me the rest of the way.
I woke up the next morning feeling completely fine physically, but really bad for ruining everyone’s night. While people were still sleeping, I went to the supermercado and bought ingredients to make breakfast for the girls and Justin, as an apology. Until they got up, I had been under the impression that, in peaking so incredibly early in the night, they had all come back to the hostel with me and ended their night prematurely. Despite leaving the crawl before it even got to the club, we apparently didn’t get home until about 5.00am. I still felt bad, especially as I was the only one who wasn’t hungover.
We didn’t do a whole lot that day, the most interesting thing was going to the train station to book tickets for the next leg of our journey. When Kaitlyn and I got to the station, we were told that we had to go to the other station to book tickets for that particular route. Instantly, I had visions of Antequera and having to trek 100 kilometres to get there. However, the man told us there was a free bus going between the two stations.
And thank goodness there was, because I don’t think we ever would have made that fifty metres on foot. Seriously, the two stations were next door to each other. We hopped on the bus, it pulled out, it pulled back in and we hopped off. That night we stayed in, cooking risotto and attempting to watch a movie. The only English movies they had were Notting Hill, which the girls watched in the afternoon, and The Matrix Revolutions. The latter was better than nothing, so we started watching that. The girls, still recovering from the previous night, went to bed before it finished, but Justin, the Belieber, her friend and I watched the whole thing, Justin and I staying up until some ridiculous hour talking about everything from babies, to footy, to religion.
I woke up the next morning feeling completely fine physically, but really bad for ruining everyone’s night. While people were still sleeping, I went to the supermercado and bought ingredients to make breakfast for the girls and Justin, as an apology. Until they got up, I had been under the impression that, in peaking so incredibly early in the night, they had all come back to the hostel with me and ended their night prematurely. Despite leaving the crawl before it even got to the club, we apparently didn’t get home until about 5.00am. I still felt bad, especially as I was the only one who wasn’t hungover.
We didn’t do a whole lot that day, the most interesting thing was going to the train station to book tickets for the next leg of our journey. When Kaitlyn and I got to the station, we were told that we had to go to the other station to book tickets for that particular route. Instantly, I had visions of Antequera and having to trek 100 kilometres to get there. However, the man told us there was a free bus going between the two stations. And thank goodness there was, because I don’t think we ever would have made that fifty metres on foot. Seriously, the two stations were next door to each other. We hopped on the bus, it pulled out, it pulled back in and we hopped off. That night we stayed in, cooking risotto and attempting to watch a movie. The only English movies they had were Notting Hill, which the girls watched in the afternoon, and The Matrix Revolutions. The latter was better than nothing, so we started watching that. The girls, still recovering from the previous night, went to bed before it finished, but Justin, the Belieber, her friend and I watched the whole thing, Justin and I staying up until some ridiculous hour talking about everything from babies, to footy, to religion.
Our last day in Valencia was the last day of CICK (the name we had given to ourselves, an acronym of Cheianne, India, Claire and Kaitlyn). Kaitlyn and I were heading onto the Basque Coast and France the next day, while India and Chei were flying to Italy the day after that. That day turned out to be one of my favourite from the trip so far. We hired bikes and spent the day riding around the city, along the former-river-turned-gardens of Turia to Ciutat de les Arts i les Ciències (the City of Arts and Science) and onto the beach where we had lunch. It was actually really sad knowing it was our last day with the girls because sometime between Flashdance and Jaws, we’d fallen in love with them. Still, it was a brilliant last day to have together. And, with a last supper of vegetarian tacos, CICK’s European Adventure came to an end.
Next time, from Bahl-ehn-thee-ahh to the Basque Coast: Bilbao and San Sebastian.
