61 days in

Trapped in Tarifa

Four buses got us to the seaside town of Tarifa in the early evening yesterday. After the cold dry of Granadan foothills the day was lost to rain, so it was a good thing we got bus after bus with little more than a 15 minute wait between each. With barely time to spare for lunch we grabbed dirty looking, great tasting kebabs in the Malaga bus station and scoffed them faster than they took for the guy to make.

When we got to Tarifa, to the welcome of warm winds and cold rain, we learned of the weather forcing cancellations of boats destined for Morocco, boats we need to get on in two days. And the weather doesn’t look likely to improve any time soon.

Tarifa is a tiny place made famous for its wind. Before kitesurfing and windsurfing became the town’s lucrative meal ticket it was some backwater boot heal place. Behind the lines of surf shops adorned with neon bright posters and jagged, adventurous sounding text the impression of a fishing industry backwater is still tangible.

But I couldn’t care less either way to be honest. I’m tired of Spain. I’m tired of having everything handed to me on a plate, for an inflated price. I want to struggle and achieve each destination, dirt cheap and with all the frustration and grime that comes with the third world. Hopefully Morocco will start to feed my hunger for self-flagellating travel, but that place too is pretty well catered for these days. At least it won’t feel like Australia with Spanish accent.

I think my melancholy has something to do with Mauritania being off now. Before that, Mauri was the Wild West for me. Now that the Wild West has gotten too wild for us westerners, I’m again faced with watered-down versions of travel adventure. It all feels rather fucked.

Mali I’m certain will be challenging. But without going through Mauri Mali is hard to get to. A boat to Senegal may be the answer, but god only knows what that might entail. It could mess with going through the Western Sahara.

Things aren’t going according to plan. Maybe they shouldn't?

60 Days in

Mauritanian Kidnappings, Sickness and Seville

I'm sick. The last few days have been pretty wild in Seville. We stayed in a good hostel with plenty of young people all geared for drinking. Plus there was a bar in the hostel, so I drank alot. That made me sick on our last day in Seville and now I have a full blown lung infection.

Hopefully my health improves before we head for Africa, and in an attempt to speed my recovery I've been holed up in a quiet Hostel in Granada, eating good food and resting.

Also we found out two Italians were kidnapped yesterday in Mauritania by a group linked to al Qaeda. This is on top of three Spaniards who were also kidnapped at the beginning of December. We were hoping the situation in the region would stabilise over time, but this latest kidnapping confirms it's only getting worse.

I was still keen to go the Mauritania, even after hearing about the Spanish victims. But after this most recent news the risk is too great.

We're now trying to organise a ship to take us from Morocco into Senegal and onto Mali from there. Mali is still risky, but so long as the north of the country is avoided there shouldn't be any problems.

A run-down of kidnappings in the region over the past five years can be found here: www.reliefweb.int

54 days in

central spanish incidents

Back on the road and we’ve hit a few places in quick succession.

Hearing it was a buzzing place, we took a 5 hour bus from Asturias to Salamanca and decided to spend a couple of nights in a decent hotel. The place was nice, but we didn’t meet anyone there - you never do in hotels. Salamanca was in full Christmas swing and full of swinging tourists. Had a nice vibe but I thought it was a little touristic.

Next we travelled by bus to Madrid. The hostel we tried for was “completo” so we trudged with our equipment for a while until we got to a nice hotel we’d heard about right near the central plaza. We stayed two days; cleaned our clothes, watched Surrealist art and even took in a movie one night. Apart from that Madrid was uneventful and really just a big city. But I like big cities.

We decide to make for Toledo next. My brother had told me it was pretty cool - historically known for its steel manufacturing - and man what a place! We stayed in this crazy old castle that’d been converted into a hostel. But the inside looked more like a hospital to me, all sterile and it had that bleached hospital smell to boot.

Day 2 of Toledo gave us a shock. I opened the windows to find snow coming down in great white chunks. What a sight to see in the semi-desert of central Spain! For me all the more as I’ve only ever once before seen snow, when I lived in London. Bewildered by the beauty we wandered into the little town and made a snowman in a central square. This caused a bit of a stir, I guess because people in the desert don’t often make snowmen. We even got a TV news crew stroll up and start asking us questions. They were disappointed when we couldn’t speak Spanish for them. At least they got a good backdrop for their story though.

The photography and writing is coming easier now too. I feel more in tune with the road and I think it must be helping my creativity somewhat. But the project isn’t going according to plan, so I’m just shooting what I feel like at the moment. Afterwards I’ll make sense of it all because everything is way too frenetic for me to conjure while I’m in it.

Next we’re to a place called Carceres. Kind of out of the way for tourists, which suits me fine – I hate being in places where everyone goes. I am starting to miss people though; I have the sort of mind that enjoys meeting people and it’s been just me and Sian for a week now. Cabin fever is setting in.

46 days in

northern spain: asturias

Six days in the Asturian Mountains with hippies has done weird things to my brain, I think. But it could just be all the dope I smoked.

After a couple of uneventful days in Zaragoza, we set of to visit my brother, Sean, in Northern Spain. What an experience.

The first night we stayed at his Spanish friend’s cabin outside the regional capital Oviedo… and smoked weed.

The second night we trekked a short distance up a track in the mountains to see another of Sean’s friends, this cool English guy named Zac… and smoked weed in his solar powered stone cabin.

Third night: same as the second, except we watched The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou on the laptop.

By this time, Sian was getting irritated by all the sitting around smoking weed and talking about weed, so we trekked a bit further onto Johnno’s place. No dope smoking this time, we got drunk instead.

Following our stay with Johnno and his lovely, heavily pregnant, Spanish wife Sandra, we trekked a further two hours across yet more mountains to Ian and Louise’s; a couple who’ve chosen to live a life isolated from civilisation and in tune with nature.

Sounds like a lovely idea, but they really are roughing it as they prepare their land for self-sufficiency. I had to admire their determination.

This all sounds a bit extreme - and in some regards it is. But all of Sean’s friends a wonderfully friendly, happy people who’ve simply chosen an alternative path in life, one different from the usual nine-to-five rat race most of us endure. A lifestyle aligned with simplicity, nature and low impact subsistence.

Who can blame them?

38 days in

crystal palace

With the UK conquered and Spain awaiting, we spent a few days relaxing with two friends from Australia who’ve recently moved to Crystal Palace, about 20 minutes out of London.

Garry and Jesse’s flat is tiny, so we’ve had to kip on the floor. But It’s been great just chilling out, watching TV. Haven’t done alot else, save a day out in London town showing Sian the sights.

Leaving for Zaragoza and stage two of our journey Monday morning, early… very, very early…

34 days in

haunted hostel in wales

Wales has done nothing but rain since we got here, so we haven't had the chance to climb Snowdonia Mountain. Shame, but I wasn't too keen on getting soaked to the skin for the second time in as many weeks.

We did, however, stumble across this spooky old hostel in the middle of the Welsh Valleys.

Now owned by an American guy, the place used to be a YMCA hostel back in the 50's, so it's all old and creepy looking.

The creepiness was compounded by the fact that we were the only guests and the horrible weather.

If we survive the night we'll be heading for Bristol and then onto London in the next few days, in preparation for the Spanish league of the journey.

29 days in

creeping even further up north

After avoiding savage rains and devastating floods in the Lake District by a matter of hours, we forged our way into Scotland, and yesterday arrived in Inverness, our northern-most mark of the trip.

We were attempting to make it to John-o-Groats, the absolute top of Great Britain, but time constraints make that impossible. Plus there’s apparently not alot there. Not that there is alot in Inverness; the place really feels pretty damn isolated. Quite nice though, if you can get past the druggies.

We also stayed a couple of nights in Glen Coe (pictured) on the way up, a place best described as simply stunning.

Not much in the way of photographic material though, pretty landscapes aside.

Tomorrow we head back down into Wales to pay homage to Sian’s Family heritage and more mountains. Then it’s back to London for a few days staying with friends while we prepare for the Spanish league of our journey.

24 days in

creeping up north

When you think you've seen enough scenery, you find yourself somewhere that makes you want more.

Arriving in Brecon Beacons National Park in Wales, we rekindle our love for greenery and rusting leaves as we take an atmospheric hike in the damp and muddy hills towering over the tiny, quaint town of Bwlch (yes, that's right. No vowels here).

The cameras come back out.

Despite experiencing a grueling 5 hour hike in ankle deep mud and flooded plains, we were sad to leave Wales, but had to duck out to visit old friends further north.

We shall soon return.

We do look forward to Spain and Africa as our CF cards become crammed with countless images of mountain after mountain, cottage after cottage, forest after forest, castle after castle....

We look forward to adding some deserts and slums into the mix.

19 days in

cardiff doldrums

With the UK road trip firmly underway, today we arrived in Cardiff, Wales. The rain was there to greet us.

Frankly I don't really like what little I've seen of Cardiff; to me the place has British big city problems without British big city cool, which leaves me to ask the question, what's the point? Hostel's pretty nice though.

Tomorrow we head for the Brecon Beacons, apparently a beautiful example of Welsh countryside. However after Cornwall and North Devon I'm getting pretty over the whole breathtaking-cliffs-meets-wild-seas-while-quaint-villages-nestle-in-serene-valleys motif. At least the Beacons aren't near the ocean i spose.

And perhaps I'm just in a negative mood at the moment and nothing can please me. Sounds more accurate than everything being crap except my opinions anyway.

12 days in

west country

We arrived in the UK a while back now, and haven't done much else aside from meeting old friends and going to the pub. But what else do you do in England?

Today we head for Cornwall, the place where I was born. For me, this contains a degree of sentimentality: I've never really explored the place where I was born and lived until I was about 5. Suffice to say I'm pretty excited about the next league of the trip.