A rebel without a clue.

In Pamplona we're in four rows, 2 deep on either side of what was once a church, couple of doors down from the main Cathedral. You are assigned a bed in order and once there are no more beds? Keep walking. There are 28 beds in 14 bunks on this right wing and the same is repeated above me and on the left hand side; roughly 120 beds. Plenty of space in a cloistered space to dry clothes. Jesus Y Maria. The people I've briefly spoken to are a variety of ethnicities, and the age group stretches further too. My wind is not really in my sails today so I've planned what I'm wearing tomorrow, but I don't feel alive or vital yet. I listened to the Bayern master pianist without really caring what he was playing, or how well. I thought he'd said he was from Bolivia not Bavaria. I am off. Switched off. My stomach sighing is concerning me as this is a community dorm and I can't go letting off steam without a few sour looks. It seems perfectly reasonable for me to go the J...

Sleepless in Girona. Sleeping in Pamplona. Another crazy night of booming voices, late arrivals and plenty of stomping feet; mopeds and motorbikes scretching; guitars wailing, gulls foiling; car alarms bawling; Spanish hombres singing, shouting and slagging; me flailing the dark! This ain't no place to be able to sleep through the chorus and awaken raring to take my seat; plaça catalunya. Wil.I.am and Justin Bieber 7am Girona oh yeah! I'm sat as far as I could get. Why is it so mono and unreal. Katie Perry: I'm taking my stuff and going. My pelerin pendant has vanished and I almost in my haste left no. 2 flask. Who is it writes and produces such dreadfully awful and empty popular music? It is so bad and evil that we're being subjected to either 24hr terror on the airwaves or transmission in one corner or 24hrs mindlessly unmusical frantic gibberish. I depart as soon as I consume a watery coffee and confide to the night security man how insane the music would make me. A...

Girona. End of. Pt.2. Between an alfresco afternoon tapas and wine those boomerang Ray-Ban's returned. Knew I shouldn't fret! If my water bottle could come south of its own motivation I would be complete again! Self made is often ideal, but I am unable to make this of myself. For a tetra prisma Solfrío Gazpacho bring it on! Better than any restaurants made option in the UK. There is a tension between the tomato, bread and olive oil which could make a bleeding Mary? So I popped the cork on the terminal Cahors vin and the last alcohol to touch my lips prior to the next walking section of the pilgrimage. Then a siesta for fragmentation. Woken by Harley Davidson screaming up Ginesta at 5pm. It drags to have the afternoon under the volcano broken by such an arrogant machine. The other thirds of the vin I hope to share out in equal measurements. Some angry Spanish TV opera plays out over the heads of those of us truly detached from another reality. I checked the forecast for Puent...

Girona, you took my glasses! An exchange of goods. My sun glasses; Ray-Ban's roadsters. Gone this morning. I packed up again. More needs washing than is for wearing; I dug out my shorts, worn, and shirt, clean. If they weren't from prior to cornwall 2010 I would be maybe aggreived a little, but they're not essential. What did we do in the sun before shades? A hat. Slip Slop Slap; no mention of sunnies on channel nine! The Polish girl left a facial scrub that my pores were screaming at me to use! My face is polished up a sheen. Dolce Cafè for an espresso that is so thick my spoon defies logic! It's another blue skies day in the heart of Girona. The bustle under the cover of these arched, covered, side walks. All Spain hides before the sun paralyzed open spaces and a Catalan flag hangs sagging nonchalantly in a suggestion of a breeze. With selfless suggestion I set two Canadian darlings feet on the road to Sitges and Sonar free Spain. They flee south and weighed down F...

Na Woke up with the departure of the friendly happy Polish couple at 5am and bravado of a screaming drunk in the Girona early morning dusk. Time for breakfast and my eyes and ears to blown away by the anger inherent in the world currently. 24hr news is absolutely the most depressing symtom of the modern world. Whether is comes across in Catalans or Spanish or English or French it is a fundamental wrong of our society. I wonder what really happens in this world that isn't coordinated for interplay of media. There ain't no such need for a travel report; that man's brains were running from his ears! Sonar in Barcelona. There was once a time I was desperate to attend there, miss kittin et al. Puente la Reina has more ability to appeal to me. People are detached this morning; except Naza. Insular Japanese and fragmented man. The sun is always shining perhaps they forget? Met Edward on the terrace of the hostel last night. He's off on his bike third day running; to us both...

Ro Heavy things have clearly got to go. A slow packet to the UK. Jeans, Jumpers, etc. Thought about a pair of shorts but I might just survive with what I have clearly? I could cut the lowe alpine trousers back to the knees or thigh. I haven't been to Girona before. I must've seen a minute percentage in 2004. I certainly had too much on my whistling little mind; again; but that was the first crisis; my theory my life is cycles of exploration. I conclude that I can accept 99% of the crap if only occasionally I live uniquely just extra placentally. Another square like Plaça Real Barri Gotic: Plaça de la Independencia. Charming Rosita Original(5.5%) Tarragona. Made uniquely with honey. Blooming eck. Them voices are not mine. It is a different time, but at some point during the 15th centuries, my antecedents were adventurers, conquistodors or gypsys. My blood is contaminated all through with crimson tides delivering gold, ivory, silk, pepper and people. Trafficking from Cape Cod...

Gi Coca Cola Light next to the University of Girona. I feel invigorated and some fear vanished. From Campus the pulse of Men At Work on a bright spring apres midi. One day becomes two and then another train to Pamplona. Never miss this jewelled city where puta is the first word that escaped my lips in Equity Point a kin of Gothic Point. Is where the stress of Montpellier might vanish in the wake of a migraine. Funny that my brain is shattered by happiness in this hopeful place. Figeac + Cahors -Montpellier + Girona is still a marvelous two zip to the truth. Funnily I really can't recall the place feeling so insanely beneficial. Something else which has changed. It is true I never looked elsewhere than me and I suppose a limit of the circumstances and my ignorance of age prevented me peeling back my eyelids further than the slight hooks they'd become working at Coors. It is better to be now. From the coat of the sleeping blessed virgin/vestit de la mare de éu adormida vestry ...