Not much time on the neterwebs, so here´s a ramble.

Back on the road, sitting in a cafe-bar, waiting for bokadillas. I´ve just been given a beer and some olives. I hope ´bokadillas´isn´t Spanish for olives.

Spain so far has been fairly friendly; no tout aggro, no overt scams and no s*** on the road. Also no conversations that I didn´t initiate, but then Alicante is pretty heavily touristy. Randoms must be sought.

Aha, bokadillas are baguettes filled with cooked yummies. This one contains something halfway between a giant hash brown and an omelette, thick seared bacon, cheese and mayonnaise. A pleasing introduction to food in Spain.

It feels good to finally write a travelogue beyond the airport. Not so much going on there this time, mostly sleeping & dealing with easyIncompetence. Once I´d found a check-in type who could suppress her blind terror at the prospect of my ´bag with straps´, I fled panicking to the departure gate, arriving just in time to wait in line. Behind me, I heard an old man singing:
'Money, so they say, is the root of all evil today.´
A blonde young lady (daughter? lover? care worker?) with ambitious cleavage nodded towards me as I started so wiggle to the tune.
'At least he gets it'
I exchanged a Pink Floyd Fans Under Siege Nod with the old guy, whose yellow check shirt, sleeveless cardigan and designer beard matchedhis Old Money voice.
'Are you camping?' Pointing at my rollmat.
'Yep, I´m hitching to Slovenia once I've seen Alicante.' Hit him with the Bohemia.
'My hitch-hiking days are over. I used to turn up at a junction in France and there would be twenty-five people already waiting with their thumbs out. However, drivers were not scared to pick people up back then, therefore we would all get lifts, one by one. Now I just stay at my holiday villa.'
And the blonde links her arm in his, and they depart.

The barman just poured a scarily strong Gin & Coca Cola for a shifty old man. The radio´s playing the kind of songs that people run away from when they come on in karaoke bars; Heaven is a Place on Earth, Uptown Girl, Michael Jackson. A gambling machine provides anaemic disco lighting.

So yes, the first day has been mainly a wander, but tomorrow I will meet a man called Jean François Queralt, and possibly one called Brian Schmel. With such good names on the horizon, prospects are shiny.