Eurogays, Living in a cave and the Costa Del Crime
So after 8 and a half months of backpacking, bunking, ducking and diving we eventually boarded our Air Iberia pigeon from Lima to Madrid and in 15 hours time would be back in Europe, only one hour away from Greenwich Mean Time. Time does indeed fly, but god knows how Air Iberia do, they have to be one of the worst airlines I have ever had the misfortune of flying with. Can you believe that Spains national carrier still has those TV's that everyone has to share and only shows one film on a 15 hour flight! And that's just the half of it. Mind you you can still smoke, no you can't really, but it wouldn't have surprised me if you could as I felt like I was being slung back ten years into a Spanish frenzy of Sunglass wearing, shoulder jumpered, pastel panted arrogancias and all they were lacking was the customary Marlboro Red drooping from their lips.
Spanish efficiency continued upon touching down in Madrid although we were lucky that it was only 2 hours before the baggage boys could be arsed to bring us our bags. The track next to us had already been there for 4 hours with still no sign. Siesta whatever, herherher Ingleesh Peegs!
I hadn't been to Madrid before and I tell you I was bowled over. I fell in love with the place immediately which may have had something to do with the weather but also to me Madrid sums up all that is good with Spain. The buildings are majestic, the people are beautiful and walk with grace, elegance and a sense of superiority hard to find anywhere else. The weather is deliciously warm, the bars and plazas are magnetically inviting and the whole buzz of the city is pulsating. We had arrived on the weekend of Eurogay, the Gay Pride annual march where she/he's, mincers and madams skip merrily down the Gran Via and then get well and truly trousered in a party to top all parties.
It really was a great welcome back to the warmth and reality of Europe and poverty was nowhere to be seen which was nice to see. It was a great buffer before heading back home. However we weren't stopping there, we needed more sun and so with car duly hired we headed south and first stop was Granada where a friend of a friend had very kindly offered to let us stay in his cave for three days. It may sound slightly disconcerting but beggars can't be choosers and when we got there we found that the cave had been converted into a home and we were staying directly opposite Alhambra in the beautiful suburbs of Granada. It was absolute bliss, the weather was in the high 30's and we managed to sneek into a hotel 2 days running and use their pool and loungers. The experienced travellers had no fear now and blagging had become pretty much part of day to day life. Never really been a problem anyway!
To finish our Spanish invasion we headed to Puerto Banus darling to join the costa del cockneys and the rest of the 80's Brit gangsters and see my mate simsy for a few days. He had sorted out a villa and 13 of us ploughed into this mock Espagnol version of Big Brother and had an absolute riot. We partied, lounged, danced and lounged some more but mostly we drank and as we had arrived bang on time to experience the fiesta we also made twats of ourselves. With most of the locals being English anyway it barely mattered but the fairground was a riot, the girls turned it into a drunken impromptu hen night and I won two teddy bears on a shooting gallery for the first time in my life! It was sad to leave everybody and head back to Madrid but we had a car to take back and a couple of days left before our return home. Spain was a perfect tonic before the sad gin that was awaiting in England. The next two days were quite solemn as the grim reality of both me and Emily returning back to England hit home but then again after 9 months away there's no grounds for complaint.
So after 8 and a half months of backpacking, bunking, ducking and diving we eventually boarded our Air Iberia pigeon from Lima to Madrid and in 15 hours time would be back in Europe, only one hour away from Greenwich Mean Time. Time does indeed fly, but god knows how Air Iberia do, they have to be one of the worst airlines I have ever had the misfortune of flying with. Can you believe that Spains national carrier still has those TV's that everyone has to share and only shows one film on a 15 hour flight! And that's just the half of it. Mind you you can still smoke, no you can't really, but it wouldn't have surprised me if you could as I felt like I was being slung back ten years into a Spanish frenzy of Sunglass wearing, shoulder jumpered, pastel panted arrogancias and all they were lacking was the customary Marlboro Red drooping from their lips.
Spanish efficiency continued upon touching down in Madrid although we were lucky that it was only 2 hours before the baggage boys could be arsed to bring us our bags. The track next to us had already been there for 4 hours with still no sign. Siesta whatever, herherher Ingleesh Peegs!
I hadn't been to Madrid before and I tell you I was bowled over. I fell in love with the place immediately which may have had something to do with the weather but also to me Madrid sums up all that is good with Spain. The buildings are majestic, the people are beautiful and walk with grace, elegance and a sense of superiority hard to find anywhere else. The weather is deliciously warm, the bars and plazas are magnetically inviting and the whole buzz of the city is pulsating. We had arrived on the weekend of Eurogay, the Gay Pride annual march where she/he's, mincers and madams skip merrily down the Gran Via and then get well and truly trousered in a party to top all parties. It really was a great welcome back to the warmth and reality of Europe and poverty was nowhere to be seen which was nice to see. It was a great buffer before heading back home. However we weren't stopping there, we needed more sun and so with car duly hired we headed south and first stop was Granada where a friend of a friend had very kindly offered to let us stay in his cave for three days. It may sound slightly disconcerting but beggars can't be choosers and when we got there we found that the cave had been converted into a home and we were staying directly opposite Alhambra in the beautiful suburbs of Granada. It was absolute bliss, the weather was in the high 30's and we managed to sneek into a hotel 2 days running and use their pool and loungers. The experienced travellers had no fear now and blagging had become pretty much part of day to day life. Never really been a problem anyway!To finish our Spanish invasion we headed to Puerto Banus darling to join the costa del cockneys and the rest of the 80's Brit gangsters and see my mate simsy for a few days. He had sorted out a villa and 13 of us ploughed into this mock Espagnol version of Big Brother and had an absolute riot. We partied, lounged, danced and lounged some more but mostly we drank and as we had arrived bang on time to experience the fiesta we also made twats of ourselves. With most of the locals being English anyway it barely mattered but the fairground was a riot, the girls turned it into a drunken impromptu hen night and I won two teddy bears on a shooting gallery for the first time in my life! It was sad to leave everybody and head back to Madrid but we had a car to take back and a couple of days left before our return home. Spain was a perfect tonic before the sad gin that was awaiting in England. The next two days were quite solemn as the grim reality of both me and Emily returning back to England hit home but then again after 9 months away there's no grounds for complaint.
posted by Freely at 7:16 AM
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Now I didn't realise it was a 4 hour train ride to get to this sacred place, it makes you wonder how the bloody Incas got up there in the first place, I mean I'm not overly sure the trains were running back in those days and this place is so high up you're virtually kipping in the clouds. But the train ride was painless and gave you time to sit and watch the world go by, admire the beauty of this land and have a good panoramic look at the tourist mecca that is Cusco.
Every man and his dog had decided to see Machu Picchu this day and I was a bit surprised how many of the buggers were American, and I mean stereotypical brash, baseball cap wearing, salad dodging, I love Peru T-Shirt wearing folk. They were everywhere and there was just no getting away from them. Now don't get me wrong through my travels and meeting many of our migratory cousins along the way I had changed my views on the US and would go so far to say I was actually developing a liking for them but my god was this view to change over the next 8 hours.
Post Picchu we headed off to Lima desperate to get to the sun and sand of Spain and after being refused a standby flight on day one, we managed to get one the day after giving us 11 days to chill in Spain and try our damndest to get back to England with at least a little bit of colour in the cheeks.
Now you may think i'm exaggerating with my bullet dodging quote but the night we arrived lo and behold a bloke was shot dead 20 yards from our hostel! No word of a lie, and one of the young English lads from our place tried to give him mouth to mouth and watched him die in his arms! Nice intro but c'est la vie and next day we awoke to the sun shining so Em dusted off the bikini and I found my one remaining pair of ageing speedos and it was off to the beach to try some power tanning. Ipanema beach is fantastic, if only for the people watching quality although for some reason we set up camp in campsville, right between the rainbow flags in the middle of gay central. I have never seen so many stacked and vain raving queens in all of my life, it was like being on the England football team bus. The blokes were strutting around lording it for all they were worth and creeping onto the beach with beer gut proudly slumped I felt like I had clearly turned up at the wrong party.
Needless to say the next few days saw the reintroduction of exercise into the freel diet and the time in Rio was sensational. We had some good nights out but mainly chilled on the beach and had some real rest and relaxation time. Visting Christo redempto and looking over all of Rio was amazing and we also stopped in the national park at a spot where all the murderers discard their dead bodies. The place reeked so bad I almost projectiled my breakfast up and it was a harsh reminder that this city is clearly not one that you want to be strolling around in alone.
Well maybe it wasn´t quite like that. I sat on the thing and it followed all the other nags around a field before he dropped me back at the start about 5 minutes later. The highlight of the trip was when it tried to bite another horses arse much to the annoyance of the other fella. However it mattered not for I had successfully ridden a horse and stayed on, my head hadn´t turned into Elephant man status and another box had been ticked. As I dismounted the tamed beast I felt like I had won the Grand National and slightly over zealously almost stacked it when my foot stayed in the stirrup. Not the coolest dismount but just about managed to keep it together. Get in there horse whispering Freel jockey! And I must say seeing all 6 of us on horseback with some rather fetching helmets was worth the experience in itself!
The main event of the week was the arrival of Caz, Joker and Smithers who were flying into Buenos Aires on 2nd June for a recipe of madness mixed with carnage and a sprinkling of culture for good measure. I was so excited I peed myself twice and when they eventually rolled into town at midnight the session was on, although it appeared that Smithers and Joker had started 12 hours earlier and night one ended early doors when Smithers inadvertently dropped his red wine on Caz´s new cream jacket at the bar of the whorehouse. Oh well time for them to sleep off the jetlag before getting stuck in the next day!
This pretty much ruled out the next day although we did manage to book a bevy of activities for the week ahead including trips to Uruguay, an Argentinian ranch, a Tango Night, plentiful fine restaurants and the highlight of the week, the 2nd leg of the semi final of the South American version of the Champions League with Boca taking on some Colombian druglords who had managed to bag the first leg 3-1. It was a tough ask but La Bocas crowd is renowned for being one of the most vociferous the world has seen and this promised to be a night where football history could be witnessed, if only Caz and Emily could get their minds around the offside rule.
We were all completely hooked. The crowd were bonkers and this had made Cazza slightly delirious. Both myself and her had purchased scarves and become Bocas brand new super fans and were even pretending to know the songs at this point. The stadium was bouncing and there was no doubt in any minds that Boca were going to win. Out they came for part deux and immediately hit the post again. They then missed an open goal that my nana could´ve slotted and the crowd collectively held its head in its hands. The fog streamed in and the referee consulted his linesmen. I mean we could only see a sixth of the pitch from where we were at this point but somehow Riquelme convinced them that it was all fine and play continued. One minute later Boca got a corner and as the ball appeared through the mist it connected with Palermos head and put Boca 2 nil up. Madness ensued and one of the Boca stands decided to set the stadium on fire. Flares lit the crisp evening sky and our stand felt as though it was nearing collapse under the weight of the bouncing Boca-ites!
