The Most Useful Blog in the World

My Friends,  
   I am in Rota, Spain right now. I left Cadiz this morning on the ferry and met up with Ricky, who reached out to me over couchsurfing.net yesterday. He must have seen what a standup guy I was (you can see too: ) and been moved by my blog entry, "Hostel California" (4 Oct 2011). In any event, he invited me to take the ferry to Rota and crash at his place, which I did after considering that I was less than thrilled with my accommodations in Cadiz and also that he is a fellow member of NATO.
I arrived in Rota just before one, and after getting him on the phone we met up at Castillo de Luna, which is an old castle that has been turned into a municipal building here in Rota. Some of my loyal readership may remember my 16 August 2011 entry, entitled "I Used to Like Meeting New People," where I detailed my encounter with Rob, am overly social senior who balanced out incredibly interesting life stories with incredibly mundane ones. Well, I mentioned that he had been in a coma and he fell into that coma here in Rota in the 1960s disarming sea mines left over from World War 2.

"Wow, that is soo interesting; please tell me more."

Perhaps if I run into him again I will have something to contribute to the conversation now before he goes on at length for an hour.
Back to the situation at hand, my host, Ricky, has been very welcoming. He showed me around the house and basically told me to make myself at home while he headed back to work. Finally being in a position where I have access to a computer that not only has a mic and camera, but also no other travelers waiting to use it, I have made the most of my time, first catching up on "Arby & the Chief," a youtube series I like, then doing a little bit of vlogging. My clothes are performing well; just showered with them yesterday and I am smelling good. I realized they needed washing yesterday when I woke up and all I could smell was myself (ps, salt waterswimming is no substitute for a shower). Anyway, me and some friends ended up going to Torre Tavira to see the camera obscura

and all I could think the whole time we watched the demonstration was "oh man, I hope these people can't smell me." Now, no such problems: smellin good and feelin good. Gonna crush a shower tonight and that should keep me agreeable with people's olfactory glands for the next few days while I visit Tarifa, Gibraltar and Malaga.
Speaking of which, as it looks now I dont think I will be heading to Munich for Oktoberfest. Its not a definite no but the chances are looking slim, in spite of the drunken post I made the other night (see "The Best Drunken Idea of My Life," 2 Oct 2011). If I do go, that will be great and will definitely provide me with lots of blog fodder. If not, I will have to make my own adventure, hitchiking, dehydrating, starving, and generally suffering as I hitchike up the arid east coast of Spain. I'm up for the challenge so I hope you're up for reading about it.
Stay Thirsty
-Andre Guantanamo

Hostel California

My Friends,
   I am still in Cadiz.  It is a beautiful city with fantastic beaches and the people at my hostel are friendly so I am enjoying myself. I will be looking to exit the city soon however; either by flying out to Munich on Friday or leaving with some new Dutch friends for Gibraltar before then.  But for now, I wait.  Living at this hostel is cheap (10 Euros per night to sleep on the terrace) so I can justify staying here with my budget, but the little things are getting to me, perhaps a sign that I need to hit the road again soon.
   Like many hostels, this one has areas which close around midnight; the terrace patio closes so that the people sleeping in hammocks on the roof can go to bed, and the kitchen and lounge close so that the neighbours are not disturbed by excess noise.  The problem is then that no place is left to share the company of friends after a certain time.  We found this out the hard way last night when one of the hostel employees told us to basically pack up our shit and get out.  When I asked where paying patrons of the hostel were supposed top go to hang out, he suggested to come go to the beach or come to the bar.
   I have been to enough hostels to know that this is some old bullshit.  Not everyone wants to go to the bar and if someone doesn't want to go to the beach, what option are they left with?  Perhaps I am being too picky and perhaps I should also have read the fine print when I checked in.  I had entertained the idea of checking out this morning and searching for accommodation elsewhere but I realised that I had grown comfortable here and chummy with my fellow guests, whom I had also made travel plans with.  Checking out now would throw a wrench in these plans.  So for better or worse I have decided to stay put with the knowledge that party-time ends at midnight.  Somehow I will manage.
Stay Thirsty

The Best Drunken Idea of my Life

My Friends,

   In Cadiz, Spain.  Canadian dude at this hostel recommended hitting Oktoberfest in Munich for the last wknd its on.  The more I drank, the better it sounded.  So I will be saying "fuck Gibraltar" for the time being and heading north-east to Munich to crush some fancy beer and eat animals.  That is all.

Stay Thirsty

-Andre Guantanamo

Resting my Fitted-Cap on Jupiter

My Friends,
   I left Lisboa (finally) Friday morning and took the long ass four hour train to Faro.  I got to Faro and walked around a bit, but I decided there was progress to be made so made my exit for the town post haste with only the vague goal of reaching Espanha.  I proceeded east barefoot (I knew I was going east because the setting sun silhouetted me on the ground in front of me: suck on that fucker who stole my compass among many other things) and reached then passed Olhau.  Iit was around this point that I decided I would hitch because my feets were sore and my flippy floppys arent the best for walking in, they tend to rub the foot raw.  However, it being after dark and Portuguese people being fuckers, nobody was picking a pimp up.  It was during this unsuccessful bout of trying to find a ride that traipsed ( I traipse a lot btw) into a small little hamlet called Fuseta.  There was nothing noteworthy about the town save for the loud voice I heard coming over speakers in emphatic Portuguese.  I figured it was either a DJ or a Bingo but as I got closer I noticed there was a prevalence of "espiritus" and "dios" being dropped.  Could it be?  Had I found a Portuguese evangelical?  I had
   I wandered closer and these little kids tried to wave me in as a caught of Portuguese Elvis waxing theological from the pulpit.  I debated having a Borat moment and letting them save me.

Hell Heck, religious people are great for wandering types (read: potential converts) like me: you never know how far they will go to show you how righteous they are, as I found out in Australia when I was shown great hospitality by a couple who were 7th Day Adventists (they let me crash in their spare room after I disavowed the theory of evolution).  However, I decided in my tired and fragile state that I might in fact be susceptible to their cult programming and walked leaving them to their God.

"Good Riddance, more Jesus for us!"

Back on the road, I was all in "fuck that, Ill walk til someone picks me up" mode for a while but the yawns became more freqent and I spotted a nice little flat spot that I wanted right on some dudes property.  So I asked him if I could crash.  In the no English he had, he was emphatic that I make "no problem," but after talking to his wife they let me crash in their garage and even brought me inside for some coffee, wine bread and sardines (midnight snack of champions).
   The next morning (today) I was on a hot streak.  I got three rides in the morning, and although noone took me far I managed to get to Villa Real do San Antonio when it was all said and done.  Once there, I crushed a ferry ride into the Spanish town of Ayamonte, saying goodbye to Portugal until round two sometime in the future.

"IMMA FUCK YOU TIL YOU LOVE ME, PORTUGAL!!"

   It took me a while to get my bearings in Spain but once I did I wound up hiking this baja trail for a while before I found the highway east to Lepe and Huelva.  The hitching again slowed although it was beautiful country_side to walk through: lots of orchards and vineyards and it smelled great.  I stopped in a roadside restaurant for water and the proprietor broke a pimp off some bottles of water when I would have been satisfied with the tap.  I grabbed an espresso and brandy (truly up there with beer and pizza, shrimp and white wine, or Dom Perignon and chicken wings, as one of the dopest pairings).  It was my second of the day, but fuck it, I wasnt driving.  I entertained the notion of offering this guy a few hours of labour for an authentic Spanish meal, but work was slow so I made my way but to the highway for what I was sure would be hours of fruitless hitchhiking.  Not the case!  Samuel picked me up with his two kids and took me to Lepe, but then I guess he realized how much he enjoyed my company and said hed take me all the way to Huelva.  For those no in the know, this is what is known to a hitchhiker as "dope as fuck."

   In Huelva, I sighstseed a bit (its truly a nice town and someday Ill come back with my pet midget) until I caught the bus to Seville, which Samuel informed me was the hub of south-west Spain.  So here I am, feeling very old in a hostel that is evidently party central for the city.  While this place would have been right up my alley five years ago in Australia, Im so old now that I dont even want to go check out the rooftop patio.  God, when did I become so lame?

   Anyhow, I had a churro for the first time on the way here (ps I messes wit fried dough!) and I think I will go find out what a tapa is.before heading to Cadiz tomorrow.  

Stay Thirsty,

-Andre