Surf, Turf and Terrorists

This will be one of my last posts here in Europe followed by a thoughtful, deep post on my other blog. The one that none but me has any access to and the edited version here on this one. Anyway to Vasco.

The trip to San Sebastian wasn't too bad. The trip started at around 10:30 and I arrived at the hostel at about six in the evening. There really was nothing to note about the train except that I thought, ate, slept, and thought some more. I arrived at the hostel and, once again, my roommates were all women: 2 Australians who were leaving the next morning and a very friendly German who was at the end of her two week vacation. I flirted a bit now and then but nothing really happened (in true adolescent form I will say:(pretend I'm saying this in surfer tone of voice.) She was like totally into me dudes. I swear man. She was like DAMN! I could've snapped my fingers and shit!) I didn't do much that night since I was bone tired and essentially feel asleep.

Next morning, woke up at 8 AM and left for the beach two hours later and stayed until 12:00. I didn't put any sunscreen on because I didn't have any and wasn't willing to pay money for some. The beach itself was nice, the water was cold because it had rained (thunder stormed off the coast) that night. However, there is this rocky section of the beach that was a pain to cross. The beach was pretty much empty. After lunch, I took a siesta and went to the beach for several hours to cool off. In retrospect, the beach was better than watching a guy get sodomized bulll. Too bad my camera was broken. Otherwise, I would've taken enough pictures of bikini clad women to keep dad quite about me not taking pictures of people. (Unrelated note: Robert wants a Canon XTi for his birthday.) I went back, showered, then flirted with the German girl again and then went for a hike up a mountain (without the German). Apparently, there is a statue of Jesus overlooking the city. I walked back to the hostel to take another siesta and cut through an Basque Nationalist rally demanding the release of political prisoners arrested (probably all of the incarcerated were terrorists). Went to a festival had two cups of wine (red and white. white was better. probably because it was chilled. Might use red Bordeos in my Sangria in the future though.) Packed, slept. Left in the afternoon.

The train ride back was pretty bad. Ended up sitting the wrong car but didn't have too much problems with it. Although I got caught in a group full of bitchy Americans who were complaining that they were charged 14 Euros for forgetting to place a date on their tickets. And they didn't stop bitching for the eight hour trip. Got back. Have a new roommate. Also French. The airport lost his luggage and they still haven't found it.

Next posts: Italy, Barcelona, Thoughts

History Note: ETA assassinated Franco's successor by blowing up his car (see Carrero Blanco). ETA planted several tons of dynamite under the road that Carrero drives over on his way to church. On that day, Carrero learned to fly. The car was launched several streets over before landing on a patio. Carrero had to have a closed casket. (Couldn't find all the pieces.)

Cool fact: Basque has their own police force made up only native Basques (descended from the original inhabitants of the area.)