After 6 weeks of being back in the UK, the constant rain, cold weather, bad food and lack of latin fun began to take its toll on me so one random morning at the end of August I decided to call up Ben and Phil, two of the gappers I had travelled with in Recife, to invite them to come to Spain with me!

Three and a half days later we were lodged outside the high-tech, multi-terminal airport of Bournmouth which somewhat resembled a portacabin with a check in desk and a strip of tarmac. Security was obviously at a height judging from the perimeter fence which looked like it could hardly keep an inquisitive stray sheep out let alone a determined terrorist! Obviously seating was too much of a luxury for the Dorset-folk that usually chose to fly from this glorious location so that the boys and I were forced to sit on our bags whilst watching the WHSmith being built (this required an extension to the portacabin which required a level of planning on par with the building of terminal 4 at Heathrow!)! Quick to get into the holiday mode, Ben already had his camera out and was busy snapping pictures of us pulling faces and making mock videos of us praising the fantastic facilities on offer. Seconds later, not one but five large men appeared, seemingly from no where, and asked Ben to delete the photos from his camera! Apparantly, Dorset is on the hitlist for every trainee emerging from Afganistan and the pale, blonde Ben could have been a potential scout photographing the small dinky check-in room to aid future bombers. Whilst we struggled with the idea that anyone would want to destroy Bournemouth airport other than a demolition firm, we accepted their requests after they offered to relief Ben of his camera if he continued to refuse. We then picked up our bags and went through to the departure lounge.

The Ryanair plane reminded me of a childrens toy: small and plastic and controlled by people who obviously didnt have a clue about what they were doing other than to get from A to B. Worringly, on asking one of the groundstaff responsible for taxying the aircraft to safety, to take a photo she responded saying 'oh dont trust me with anything valuable, i'm a girl i break everything'. Whilst this provided a great deal of reassurance as we took off and bid fairwell to the green fields of Dorset it went to the back of our minds as we dreamed of the sunny beaches and beautiful archetecture of Spain.

Arrival in Madrid was simple and fast and the fact that we arrived at the main airport meant that we could quickly and briskly get down to the Metro and be speeding into central Madrid in no time. On emerging in Tirso de Molina, the plaza where our hostel was, we were dazzled by the heat and the beauty of the square - a far cry from the greyness and coldness of London. We got a bit lost trying to find the hostel but eventually found it and were escorted to our small little three bed room by a rather kind woman with halting English. Not satisfied to merely rest, we immediately followed one of our more primal instincts and set out in search of food. This actually took somewhat longer than would be expected as all the local places were quite expensive (and we kept stupidly thinking of euros like Brasilian Real at 4 to 1 pound rather than 1.4 to the pound!)! Finally we found a place where me and Ben enjoyed a perfect tasting beer and a steak and chips. Sadly, maybe because of his vegetarianism or because he exudes some sub-concious please-dont-serve-me aura, Phil didnt get served. The waitress managed to remember to bring me and Ben our food but it was only after we had finished that a rather mangy looking vegy pizza arrived for Phil with no accompanying beer. We decided to leave rather than wait for Phil's nonexistent San Miguel! The woman didnt even come to collect our money and it was still there on the tray several minutes later when we walked past the same restaurant!

Madrid was gorgeous, and there was that lovely warmth in the air that one gets as the sun lingers for a while before setting. Unlike Brasil there was still daylight until at least nine o'clock which enabled us to do a bit of evening exploration. We found our way to Plaza Mayor and marvelled at what it would be like to own an apartment there, walked the major shopping streets and weaved our way through a maze backstreets to end up in yet several other plazas of which I forget their names! After a good hour and a bit we ended up at the hostel and rested for an hour or two until Ben's primal alcoholic urge led him to lead us on a hunt for a watering hole. This actually took longer than expected as, being central Madrid, prices were on par with those of London if not more at around 3 euros for barely half a pint (in Brasil it was the equivelent of 1 euro for a litre!)! We managed to get aimlessly lost, wander into plenty of bars speaking an extremly dubious mix of both Spanish and Portuguese before finally giving up and spending 3 euros on warm, bad-tasting beer which was served in china mugs (the later confused us a bit) which deceptively served less than we had been searching for. We then relaxed, people-watched and chatted for an hour or so, usually about people or experiences we had all had in Brasil. Ben and I somehow have to ability to characterise people so that seemingly innocents such as Phil (an intellegent, calm guy destined for Cambridge and further greatness) somehow end up as being described as as sexual deviant who needs to be controlled at all measures to protect the greater population (indeed we even once entered a pet-shop, much to his embarrasement and asked the woman about how we could purchase a muzzle and lease to control him - she looked somewhat bemused!). Gemma, my placement partner, suddenly became a hardened gangster who enjoys hot-wiring cars before abandoning and burning them under bridges (all to the tune of reggae-nation) and Fiona, a well-spoken and privately educated girl who travelled with us, became an illicit slave trader and chronic credit card user. Whilst in some cases there was an element of truth to these descriptions they usually went completely out of control and it is a wonder that Phil managed to put up with us for so long!

The next morning we were awakenend by the lovely sound of drilling and building work from outside our room. Somehow, this is almost obiquos with travelling and we managed to stumble out of bed before making it to the shower! Bleary-eyed we emerged from the hostel and made it our number one aim to book bus tickets for the nightbus to Barcelona that night. Again, we got lost except this time it was 30-odd-degrees and so we resorted to asking a traffic warden for directions. Somehow we understood her Spanish and ended up at the bus terminal where we succesfully managed to buy our tickets. At this point we were rather stuck as to what to do with ourselves. Phil, being the intellectual-genius that he is, was starting to crave academic stimuli in the form of a contempory art museum, Ben was craving beer again and I didn't really know what to do but wanted some History and so suggested going to the Palace. Somehow I won, maybe because I promised Ben beer at the palace or because I subdued Phil with the promise of marvelling at Picassos masterpieces in the evening so that we could enjoy the heat of the day but we eventually found our way to the palace gardens. They were beautiful and we lay on the grass staring up at Europe's largest palace whilst taking in some sun at the same time. However, all good things dont last for long and within seconds a security guard was yelling at us to get of the grass! Well, it was worth it for only the moment! We then got lost again, but in a park, and got delayed in a childrens playground where we re-discovered the delights of swings and climbing frames (whilst feeling a bit like King Kong in that we were so enormously oversized!) before yet another friendly security-guard told us to kindly move on and most probably act our age (we couldn't tell, he was speaking Spanish but this was most likely the most probabable thing one would say on seeing three nineteen year olds in a childrens park!)!

We then visited the Cathedral which was rather new so lacked historical appeal, and saw the palace from another angle which made it look rather ugly so we skipped on going in and spent the money on lemonade instead before induging in walking randomly round Madrid again. Walking around Madrid is a delight. There are so many plazas and little cafes surrounded by beautiful buildings its almost like you could never tire of getting lost. Indeed, most of the center is off-limits for cars which makes it a much more pleasent experience. After lunch, true to the promise made to Phil, we went to the contempory art museum.

Art has never been my forte, and seemingly not Ben's either. Phil became somewhat of a dictionary for us as we marvelled at his little gems of knowledge. We had previously laughed at him for taking a girl on a date to an art-museum the week before but after hearing his little commentries on the way 'picasso so spectacularly proves his flexibility in fusing the sublime with the events of his day' we were somewhat overawed and asked if he would mind taking us on a date! However, we really didnt appreciate the art. I just dont see the appeal of a bunch of scribbled lines and splashed on colour, which even the most spasticated drawer could replicate in second, beyond that of a Picasso signature. We also seemed to become a target for all the bored art curators who hurled abuse at us for taking our flip-flops off and attacked Ben after he started videoing me chatising a Picasso. It seemed logical that there was obviously some sort of twisted conspiracy against us just because we couldn't apreciate the escapism and inspiration embodied in the art-work of a Miro. One gallery was just full of lumps of unshaped wood whilst another was just a collection of mickey-mouses - whats the point? Phil clearly didnt approve of our lack of appreciation and left us in a video-viewing-auditorium whilst he supposedly went of to peruse more works of art (or impress visiting members of the opposite sex with his vast knowledge!)! Bored of the auditorium, Ben and I found the glass elevators facisnating and well worth the 3 euro entry price as we went up and down in them at least several times before gettin embarrassed by the confused looks of visiting tourists. Once Phil had satisfied his lust for scribbled painted lines and twisted metal we went and had hamburgers across the street before going back to the hostel and packing for Barcelona!