Hanne

Spain (bit belated, but getting there!)

Spain starts in Germany with skinned knees and a bag of early morning pretzels for the road. I spent my last night in Freiburg at my friend Kira’s place and rose before 5am. This early hour coupled with the excitement of bus-tram-bus-plane-train that was to come were so overwhelming that the first thing I did was fall flat on my face in the middle of the street. Turns out that taking a tramping pack and backpack perhaps wasn’t the best move in terms of logistics! So Germany took the skin off my knees as an incentive to one day return for those stolen cells. And like one who has been o na truly intrepid journey, I now have the scars to prove I was there!

It turned out I was super early for the bus, so a quick stop at the bakery for fresh pretzels was inevitable. I had a bite to eat, sat in a metal tube for a bit, and then suddenly I was in Barcelona. Spain! I must admit that one of the main reasons I wanted to visit was because of the film ‘Vicky, Cristina, Barcelona’. Shallow, I know, but when a German friend of mine invited me to visit her family there, I jumped at the chance. Those who have seen the film will recognize the cliché of the handsome Spaniard serenading his sweetheart with romantic guitar chords and fine wine. Well, I too was accosted as I exited the airport, but this was more the sort of scenario you read about in the ‘beware’ section of a guidebook than watch on Hollywood screens.

A young Latvian man approached me as I sat waiting for the bus and proceeded to tell me how he had been robbed after getting drunk at a bordello in town and all his documents had been stolen. When I told him to go to the police he said he needed to get to his embassy in Madrid but had no cash for the train. Apparently I looked ‘aryan’ so he thought I must be German and would help. Unfortunately I was being ‘picked up’ very soon by my ‘friend’ and it was at that point that my Danish magazine came in very handy, as I had suddenly used up the extent of my German and became very interested in my summer horoscopes. That was also the one time I thought how nice it would be to have a travelling companion at such moments...

Upon arriving in Torredembaro my memory of this incident all but disappeared. Sand! Ocean! Sun! It was not until this point that I realized how landlocked Freiburg actually was and how much of a treat it was to see the sea. It was also a treat to spend a week on the others side of the world with two of my friends from NZ. Julia and Johannes had both studied at Auckland University and it was great to catch up with them and use some kiwi slang. They had even discovered a bottlebrush tree and took me for a walk to see it as an ‘early Christmas present’ because it was the closest Spain had to a Pohutukawa.

After lunch we raced down to the beach and I felt as though I were in a dream as I drifted over the waves under a Spanish sun. Suddenly it was properly summer, summer as I knew it at home. It was at that point that I realized what the attraction must have been for Hemingway, and I understood his reluctance to ever leave the place.

I was even more impressed the next day when we took a drive up into the mountains. This area is definitely on my list of places to return to with a motorcycle as the twisties were absolutely beautiful. Think Coromandel to Whitianga but with impeccable seal, sheer cliff faces and a view of the desert. Julia’s dad actually wanted me to ride the little 125 scooter out there to really enjoy the roads, but her mother was convinced I would end up dead thanks to the Spanish drivers and decided that really would not be such a good look. We stopped at a tiny town about an hour inland to buy olive oil and wine. Julia’s parents go out there every summer and bring back enough oil to last them the year as it is the sweetest, fruitiest oil around. Locally grown and pressed. Worth the drive, for sure. Other culinary highlights of the trip included tasting tortilla and freshly made sangria. Mmm, Sangria…. I actually spent half a day copying out Spanish recipes from the various cookbooks around the house. Spanish cuisine from German instructions. Thought that might be fun to try at home!

Volleyball also deserves a mention here. Everyone in Spain – and Germany, for that matter – plays Volleyball. And when I say play, I don’t mean the backyard throw a ball around variety. No, they are pro, and the bouts are vicious! This was a very good incentive to learn quickly as we would all go down to the beach for 2 hours of volleyball each evening, Luckily Julia is friends with some very nice Spaniards so they played on our team and Julia’s dad coached us in German from the sidelines as to where to stand and what we could and couldn’t do. And after three days if so it got quite addictive! I wish we played it more here, it is fun and much easier to understand than cricket.

This Spain story also goes off on a Barcelona tangent, but that really does deserve its own heading as it took both ‘epic’ and ‘fail’ to grand new proportions... Although I must say that most of it was ‘epic’, the only ‘fail’ came at the end! Apart from that, sun and sand and sangria pretty much sums it up, and I can personally vouch for the healing effect salt water has on cuts, grazes and skinned knees!