To Cadiz

Time to move on again. 3 nights in Ronda was a good choice. Others would like to hang around and enjoy the disribution of the spoils at the end of the festivis, however that's not our thing and we'd pretty much seen and done enough to appreciate the place and create some cool memories. So it was up early again, pack and clatter our way up through the confetti littered streets to the deserted bus depot. 45 mins early just to be safe. The signage was terrible but it didn't matter as our beast arrived 30 mins early and our smokin' lady driver was very accommodating and as such it all went smoothly. Non-Blogger hunted down some vittals and coffee before we headed off on a 4 hour journey, winding our way down into the valley leaving Ronda behind as a misty silhouette on the crest of a grey ridge in the distance with the lighter higher mountains beyond framing the view. 

A direct drive to Cadiz would take about 2 hours, the amount of diversions off the main roads to visit the bus stops of small towns along the way doubled that,  however not actually being in a hurry it didn't cause any stress. Just had to remind oneself not to drink too much water as there was no bladder relief available. Apart from maybe refilling the bottle but it never got to thst stage. Saw some very quaint whitewashed villages perched high on hills and then we decended lower and lower through a well cultivated and cured landscape. Fields of dried sunflowers and corn, stands of eucalyptus (someone should've told them that's not such a great idea), other unidentified crops and the inevitable olive trees all over the place. All sorts of locals getting on and off in obscure places provides some sort of insights into the lives they lead. 

Cadiz is an extremely busy modern industrialized sea port and surrounding region. In the heart of it lies a promotory which holds the old town. Before that there are miles and miles of high rises (10 to 20 stories) lining the coast creating a Surfers Paradise like feel. This is one of the go to holiday destinations for the Spanish. The old town (where we are) has quite a long history and is the go to for international holiday makers as well home to people who live here. We've only been here half a day and the observation seems to be that there are more locals here than tourists and they are genuinely enjoying being so. There are possibly a lot of Spanish visitors and thus it's difficult for we outsiders to distinguish between them. Everyone seems happy. Vibey they are. Lots of pre-schooler kids bouncing around. A distinct lack of children older than that - suspect being the middle of the week they're all off at school somewhere. Hope so. A properly functioning human society needs this demographic more than us old farts swanning around bemoaning how life was so much harder we were young.

Our hotel room is buried in a reconstituted building buried in the heart of the old city and as such annoys this blogger enormously as there are no views to capture out the window. He'll get over it. On the upside it's right in the heart of the old city and as such we can (and do) walk out the front door, turn right or left on the cobblestones and just soak it all up. The narrow streets create shadows from the hot sun (this is on purpose, they knew about this stuff before some smart arse came along and invented air-conditioning, widened city streets and created global warming) which we happily went exploring through with no set goal knowledge gathering as we'd get that tomorrow on the walking tour. The wandering went halfway into the heart of the old town looking for the perfect place to placate the hunger yearnings yet the call of the backboard just next to our rooms that depicted jug of sangria kept calling and so back we went.

After the subsequent placation we wandered without learning in the direction of the beach between two forts which was even more insightful into the mindset  of the locals.

It's stinking hot, yet being on the edge of an ocean there's always some sort of breeze, along with fact that there's water..it's the place to be. Siesta time means everything shuts between 4 and 8 pm.

This blogger used to think they all went home and slept. Maybe inland they do. In the oldest city in Eroupe they head their beach. Carrying umbrellas, foam eskies, beach chairs, towels etc. They were doing what their ancestors had done for countless centuries before them. The foam eskies possibly being a recent addition to the overall cultural catalog.

Halfway back to our abode we used a methodolgy to stop underneath an umbrella to cool down. It was in a small plaza (5 roads intersecting). It happened to have seats under it. As well as a table. On the table was a piece of laminated paper of which some forward thinking person has listed items we could be purchased..it was all in some strange dialect that only a smart person (or a local) can disseminate. Or a smart phone. As it turned out the serving dude knew what we needed ( using the traditional intercultural methodolgy of just saying stuff in our own language with a pretend accent and expecting they'll get the gist of it). This turned into one of those experiences that you quite simply can't book for. We had a young couple with a kid in pram and one of theirs dad being an extremely good opera singer (there's a word there ...maybe..tennor?). Anywho, the dude had a voice, and was happy to throw it around the little amputheature that was the intersecting roads in the heart of the Cadiz old town. He was very gernous and affable and was focusing his wonderful extrusions on a large (almost toothless) lady on the next table. No angst at all - this was just good fun with obviously a heap of years of training and practice behind it all. Whilst he was showing off (justifiably so given his talent) at the end of the interation she let loose with her own capabilities, and her voice was fantastic. Like wow.

Anyway we went back to the room, navigating the maze of alleyways with intuition and digital tools when really needed. Short reconioter and then out on a dinner mission all devised and run by non-blogger.

As it turns out we were first in queue to a place where everyone queues for. Chuffed about that. Great food, great company and good fun sitting there slowly consuming the offerings whilst there's a group of peeps jealously watching you do so.

Goating aside it was splendid nosh full of local flavors and obviously generations of refinement to make it so. Another stroll back to base through sublty lit narrow cobblestoned roads that have guided like minded peeps for centuries and will continue to do so for many more.

It's an absolute pleasure to be part of it, at least once.

Start of the festivis

Our first free day started out by exiting the hotel just as the sky was starting to glow in the east. You need to do that if you want to catch the dawn properly. Back across the new old bridge, through the deserted cobblestoned streets of the old town and down the famous trail into the gorge. Under non-bloggers lead we commando style slipped under the chain, slid around the exit turnstile and slunk down the stairs to the lower platform. Normally you'd pay 4 euros for the privilege but they we not open this early. Set up the gopro and spent the next 90 mins capturing the day break with the majestic bridge looming large over the impressive waterfall below. Just us and the plethora of birds calling to each other as they wheeled around in the slight breezes wafting along the valley.

The light was muted somewhat by mist over the distant mountains, so there wasn't the expected razzle dazzle, however it was worth the adventure. As we wrapped up the guy that ran the place arrived and started yelling at us to get out. He even started blowing a whistle which sure did change the ambiance and give him a certain amount of authority. Offered to pay but he just furiously waved us away and said "go". So we did. Mission successful (with a slight guilt feeling). Back up to the same place as yesterday for bagels, fresh juice and coffee we had a chat to a delightful lady from India who explained that today is the first day of the local festival and her girls (~20x14yo) will be in the parade this evening. Dressed in their finery with actual fires on their heads. The cultural significance of Indian girls extruding hot air from thier cranuims whilst in the hills of southern Spain during a feastival who's main focus is the systematic destruction of proud beasts is somewhat perplexing. How we managed to be here at this specific time of the year and staying in the hotel in the middle of all this action is beyond this bloggers comprehension. Not complaining though. 

Back to the hotel for a siesta (getting into the groove of it all now) and then out for a quick bite at probs the most expensive place around. Very nice under their umbrellas and matching white linen table cloths but way OTT for this cheapskate Aussie duo. Then we ran out of things to do...so came up with the idea of doing the laundry. Being a fair way away that filled in the time before dinner. Truly stiffling hot with everything shut at that time of the day. When traveling one of the most boring and unitersting times can be sitting in a laundromat watching your dirty linen slowly become sociable. Better airing it there than on the internet (ha ha .. joke) however it's a task that one either takes on oneself or pass it over to unknowns in yhe hotel who can pass judgment on your stains which could lead to unknown consequences. The wash cycle was spent reconiotering the bus depot for next days departure. The dry cycle this blogger had sussed out an establishment that we could cool our thirsts at whilst the cycle completed,  keeping an eye on the frontage of the laundry just to make sure no one was inclined to take off with our (now stain free) undergarments. There was a continuous stream of walking tour peeps streaming past the square that comprised of the bus stop, our covered veranda and the laundromat.

Possibly the most boring and uninteresting place in all of Europe to walk through. and they kept coming. Hundreds of them. Some observations just have to go by without an explanation. Back to the clothes though, never air your dirty laundry is the mantra. In some way I think I just did. However, with our now cleaned kit held in quality plastic shopping bags we headed back down to the hotel, through the swarming tourists throngs with not one mention from anyone about the laundry we were carrying. I reckon therefore we got away with it.

So then the evening unfolded...we had positioned ourselves perfectly to sit at a recommended restaurant to watch the parade pass us by until we were informed that all the tables outside (which we were on) had to come in to cater for the event. No problem. We just kept the trickle of orders going so as to sort of own our right to be there, in that spot. Worked perfectly. By the time the parade came through this here blogger was totally at home capturing the passing event whist non-blogger kept our ties with the establishment and thus securing our spot.

The parade was quite simply an amazing experience. So much joy, fun, talent with people from all different cultures showing to us all what matters to them. Colourfull, noisy, happy (some participants tierd..understandable) all the whilst this here blogger trying to capture it all on the gopro. The kids on the floats loved the idea of throwing confetti at the camera (looking forward to the visuals when we get home). Eventually though they all moved on up the road and we had the long arduous treck of about 10 steps back to the hotel in which we could deconstruct and fall asleep whilst the town below continous to party on. 

Mostly about the bulls

 Was surprised that the time was 10:00 am when first looked. The town was very quiet early on as we had coffee and croissants spanish style in the main square next to the new bridge.

It's called that because it's the latest additional bridge that went in sometime after the old bridge went in. That one was actually the second one crossing the canyon with the first actually down fairly low and is more a river crossing bridge than a canyon spanning one which is what the new bridge definitely does whilst the old one only does half way up. The gist of all this is the folks of Ronda are really proud of their bridges  especially the new one for two reasons. 1. It stayed up after the first one fell down killing about 50 people and 2. It enables the town to grow as it connects the old town to the new town. The old town is surrounded by cliffs and a canyon, the new town by the canyon , cliffs and more land to expand in to. The canyon and cliffs are about 110 meters high. Seriously vertigo inducing stuff that this here blogger has never experienced before. Could be due to still no faith in recovering knee jobs, but still not so nice to experience. Every cliff top photo is somewhat of an ordeal.

The other thing about this bridge is it's actually very old. That is if your perception of 233 years still standing and carrying traffic is old. It looks old, feels old, has some great stories  - like it used to have jail inside where they held bandits and if they misbehaved they simply threw them outside. Even had a special balcony to cast them off from.
We learnt all this from our walking tour guide. She was from Ukraine but talked about the place as if she was a local. Our tour consisted of 3 couples, us, 2 yanks (he an ex vet with dodgy knees) and an English/Irish pair in which she had no interest in hearing about the history of bull fighting and they managed to get us all to agree that we should not hear about it from our guide as we are standing outside the only fully functioning bull fighting ring left in the country. It defines the locals culture but she (via he) totally shut it down.

It was fascinating instead to hear how they mentally translate Celsius to Fahrenheit when they're away from home.
That, and his joke about nuns bad habitts was enough to end that friendship before it even started. Hopefully they will not be on the Cadiz walking tour in three days time.
Toffy pommy gits aside the insights provided by our guide were soaked up with enthusiasm, highlighted by the fabulous calm warm/hot weather. The mountains define every horizon like cardboard cutouts (credit to non-blogger for that one) and just over that one there is Gibraltar, the Mediterranean meeting the Atlantic which dictates all the weather they get. And here's me thinking it was all under the control of the weather satellites...never mind, we also spent some time on the Camino De Santiago Trail  which is another bucket list item ticked off (even before it got on the list!). Ending up in the heart of the old town where they used to practice bull fighting in front of the main church (before they constructed stadiums to do so), we parted ways. No one looked back to wave goodbye. We hadn't been on the trail that long.
By now your blogger was on a mission to find the best spot to capture the bridge (new one obviously) for some riveting slow TV whilst non-blogger wasn't. So as the sun beat down on the deserted ancient ruins of the old battlements we too parted ways. One to strive and struggle down and up numerous steps in the searing heat,  searching for the best available visual perspective whilst the other went in search for an ice cream. No luck on the visual spot as the whole canyon is locked at sunrise. Iced cream...tick.

Back at the hotel we had renewed appreciation of the rooftop bar and swimming pool above that which overlook directly into the bullring next door. Apparently they now only get serious about this once a year and as it transpires it all starts on the day we leave. Imagine that, sitting on your banana lounge  basking in the shade of the umbrella deflecting the searing heat of the sun, Pina Colada in hand as the cool residue of the recent dip in pool slowly evaporates away.  The mountains in the distance define the horizon with promises of adventure and wonderment beyond, all to the aural backdrop of 5 thousand people roaring as one as they express their emotions of being participants in the showing of worst of human behaviors. Even better, they can stand up and watch in thier swimming briefs whilst doing so.
Luckily for us we will have left by then. We did though make the most of the whole situation and did spend a couple of hours doing all of that. Beers i.l.o. cocktails and tourists on the ring floor who get to leave i.l.o. ..never mind.
After the refreshing dip and wind down it was off into the old town for another two stage Spanish style food extravaganza, to which we fell for being in the expensive part of town. Ended up in a very costly but extremely good food and wine joint next to the main church. As the setting sun rays caught the walls of the old buildings in random ways, kissed the tiled roof tops and then the peaks of the mountains  beyond, we over ate, over spent and made the most of it.

The modillions adorning church walls peering down on us, each with their own expression of existence whilst ignoring the swallows swarming around the nests they'd built around their ears.
A very pleasant stroll through the quiet cobblestoned alleys of the old town to get back to the room and  finally realising that aircon hadn't been on at all in the last 24 hours. It is now, but maybe it shouldn't?

Persisting to Ronda

Up in the dark , the plan was an early breaky and then catch the bus to the AP with what we thought was plenty of time. Missed the bus by 1 minute and then had to wait another 20 for the next one. Stress levels rising as today includes a few transfers which are totally reliant on transport being right on time. Bad start if we can't even get our own act together. Forgetting to previously check in meant we had to join the checkin queue, which looked about an hour long. Good teamwork had us being directed to the late checkin counter and voila - we were through. So a bit of luck and first stuff up for the day avoided and we found ourselves on the plane to Malaga, on which we spotted a row of spare seats and took them over. Ahhh the luxury of being able to stretch the legs (even if only for an hour or so). Aussie seat hogs. From the air southern Spain appears to be baking in the long hot summer. For no rains falling in the plains the dams seem remarkably full.
And so dropped out of the clear blue sky's drifting over the always calm waters of the Mediterranean sea to land on the tarmac of Malaga AP.

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One sole purpose for being here is as a transit point to Ronda. A place obscurely mentioned as worth visiting and therefore placed on itinerary as one of the key stops of this trip. Barcelona was a means to this end. Gaudi (along with all his wierd eccentricities) was basically a fill in along the way. This blogger had spent a lot of time and effort in pre-booking train tickets to meet this outcome. Even expressing to many peeps (aka those polite enough to listen) that if this comes off it'll be a fabulous example of our modern day abilities to do anything on line and watch the subsequent reality unfold. There was extreme nervousness about switching trains 3 minutes apart in a high speed vs. low speed intersecting station somewhere in the middle of nowhere on a plain in Spain. The consequences of this stuffing up were significant.
So whilst we sat there waiting for the first leg of the supposedly reliable spanish train network representative to appear at the station. Lo and behold...it didn't. Instead all the peeps waiting around platform 7 started queuing up, having their tickets scanned and disappearing out a side door. In a nutshell they were not boarding the train  which the sign on the platform quite succinctly stated should have been there, which quite obviously wasn't. All the planning, hours of stress examining timetables, booking on line, espousing the virtues of the modern world (driven by AI engines) was all unraveling before this bloggers eye's as the stream of people slowly disappeared out a side entrance whils the platform itself remained peacefully unaware that there should have been a train fulfilling it's purpose.
There was a fair amount of panic going on around this time, stressed questions asked in English with responses in Spanish of either pointing to people who understood the language and/or the situation with the questionnaires running to and from one side of the tracks head  to the other (draging suitcases whilst doing so) in a seemingly dance of disarray. Possibly looked funny to the overlords watching the show on the ctvs. None of the locals on the floor could care less. They' knew the train had been replaced by busses. They could understand the overhead announcements. Their care factor about this blogger/non-blogger predicament was rating zero. Storming out of the station and into the information centre the picture finally revealed itself along with fact that all ensuing trains were full. However, if one wanted to get Ronda we could try the bus stop which is just out the front door and to the left.
Happened to also be around the corner  but we found it, eventually discovering that the counter that serviced this route was serviced by a sign on the service window saying book on line. Welcome to Sunday arvo in Malaga bus depot. Somehow this all worked extremely well. All you need these days in lieu of local dialog is friendly persistence and a smartphone with sms connections back home to appese the banks.
Malaga is an ancient city with a bustling vibrant atmosphere, an age old Mediterranean harbour and even a Roman amputheater worthy of a good look. We spent the whole day waiting in the train station for a train that didn't show and then the bus depot for a bus that did.
It was great ( the bus not the town). Sat up the front and watched the Spanish hills roll by as we wound our way via a few local stops to arrive in Ronda 45 mins ahead of schedule and wondering why we didn't choose this option all those months ago from the other side of the planet. Now we need to worry about all the other bookings made on that digital  platform  however in the meantime we have the next 3 days to explore this place.

Device apps had shown the walk to the hotel was possible, so we did that, checked in and enjoyed a well earned beverage overlooking the adjacent bull fighting ring with the majestic hills defining the horizon in the distance as the harsh sun beat down at 38 degrees (in the shade). Newly arrived and after an arduous journey of Planes, No Trains and Automobiles, we were not paying too much attention to the spiel from our porter when he guided us to the room. Subsequently we managed to find the rooftop bar & restaurant via the lift, however when trying to exit the hotel the lift refused to take us to the ground floor. Ok then, let's try the stairs. Made sure the room key would unlock the door to our floor before closing it and down we went. No signage (a bit strange).  See one long straight section that obviously headed out side, ignored that and found ourselves wandering around the service bowels of the hotel. It's here you can help yourself to unlimited beer & softdrinks whilst using the washing machines to launder the smelly underwear resulting from the stress of cancelled trains in unfamiliar countries that speak in strange tounges. Suspect though that eventually a staff member would come along and query your actions. So instead we backtracked and realised we'd need to climb all the way back up to our floor in order to escape the stairwell and try another method of escaping the hotel. At this time one of the staff did stumble across us and in broken english explained that we'd gone the wrong way, took us down the exit stairwell and we were ejected out into the sidestreet. 

Back around the hotel, in the front entrance, up the lift to our floor to realise it's entirely a different lift from the one we were trying. Oh how we laughed.

Went for a stroll up the main touisty plaza and was disappointed that Sunday arvo here all they tend to sell is ice cream. At the top of the strip we found a kiosk with a boisterous owner happy to serve us a couple of suitable bevvies ( with free olives) whilst we collected our thoughts and planned ahead.

A Tapas dinner back down  in the tourists area was fabulous. Great food and wine served by a local lass that knows english very well but goes the extreme efforts not to let on. Good on her.
Ronda - here we are.

Building Spanish Style

We chose this hotel as it's close to the airport and given our late arrival and early departure times it seemed an astute thing to do. Maybe so, however astuteness comes at an ambiance cost it seems. Our garden view doubles as a gardeners view as they ( and the entire stret incl. the offices across the road can easily peer in if they chose to). It's so dark and poorly lit it's almost done on purpose knowing peeps will leave stuff behind simply because they can't see anything clearly. Reasonably modern though. It's stuck in the middle of a huge industrial estate with an airport theme. E.g Next door is the place they load the food trucks for the planes. Across the road is huge Amazon distribution hub. New roads with 10 year old trees abound. It was all eerily quiet on the Saturday morning as we headed out on foot amongst it all in search of the local metro station, with the sun streaming down it was great to experience a nice warm environment for the first time in many months. Thanks to our devices and one of two esims functional we got ripped off at an atm to get some cash on the way to the subterranean metro where we were lucky enough to be guided by an attendant in the otherwise deserted station to get a ticket for both us for the day relatively cheaply.

The train into town took about an hour with an incredibly confusing change of lines half way, up and down a deep pit by escalators and then lifts, eventually sorting it out we found the church station line and got there well enough in time to muck around with confusing apps, associated tickets, headsets pairing and signposted directions. The place still has thousands of pilgrims daily forking out their dosh in order to fund the never ending works of the crazy dudes reaching for the gods.

The effort is extraordinarily complex, the design committee's must have a mantra..let's make this as hard as it can possibly be to do. "I don't care !" Screams the Project Lead as the engineers try to point out that placing mosaic tiles on an un-symmetrical grouping of bulbous balls positioned precariously on top of a thin stone pillar 100 meters above the ground carries risks. "Just do it, because thats what the Design Committee reckons Gaudi would've wanted, and by jingos therefore it will happen....and the open checkbook that is all those pilgrims streaming past the alter and dropping their euros into the collection hat (digital version) will pay for whatever "risk mitigation" you morons reckon you need. OK ? You're all good? Excellent. I'm off to pray now. I expect you'll have it done by next lent"
Building Spanish style.
These dudes are crazy. Just to prove it we took (aka paid more for the pleasure) the tour up one of towers. This was the "Passion" tower. Which one suspects was named as a subtle dig at a certain Project Lead, it has small lift up in which a delightful young guide explains to the crammed in pilgrims how to avoid falling to your death on the long way back down. Not that it would matter if you did because this is in the resurrection facade, so you know..not really a problem.
Anyway, the views from way up there were spectacular. The vertigo inducing ups and downs were enhances by the new knees and wobbly legs. Thin stairwells threading their way between slippery stone walls circling up and up, and then over stone bridges and then spiraling forever downwards felt like what the dwarfs had done tunneling into the depths of Moria.
The main chuch inside is pretty much completed now and it is truly spectacular.

The treelike stone pillars holding up all those towers reach up into the heavens in a cacophony of light and colours and there, right in the middle of the whole thing, is a dude being viciously tortured. Well not actually, just a depiction. Still very poignant though.
Stumbling out into the bright sunshine on the western side, we exited the complex glad we'd seen it and wishing we hadn't left the hand sanitizer in the hotel. To make matters worse non-blogger had a banana explode in the security bag, so it was all a bit messy.
Managing to rehydrate and eventually get the germs of thousands of pilgrims off our hands we wandered into town central with all the memories of last time flooding back. The six story high wide canyons haven't changed one bit. It was all extremely quiet on a Saturday siesta time, until we reached the Gaudi house/museum where the tourist hordes were milling around like bees to a honey pot. Literally as thats what the place looks like. We purchased gold tickets and wandered right on in, dealt with a dodgy electronic guide (in the process going through a few before finding one that worked - with the faulty ones going back into the distribution pile!) and toured the mansion that the artist/architect had unlimited funds from a local rich dude to express his wares.

It's hard to describe, and many attempts have been made with some of them expressed in the museum display to the extent that really clever people used many words to pull apart and reconstruct from various perspectives - even using microscopic views to show how smart they are when providing poetic analytical
verbiage to get their point across. It's a piece of carved rock mate, move on...
The curved lines, mosaic covered walls and ceilings, floral ceramics everywhere being lit by ingenious lighting along with subtle air flow systems was a sight to behold.

Eventually we ended up on the roof, where a bar had been studiously placed and we caught our breaths whilst enjoying the amazing warm ambiance created by mosaic gathered chimney stacks and a dragon lying on top of the facade. Enough Guadi for a lifetime. Decending down a more modern staircase we gave up on the last hurrah light show and stumbled out into the streets with the aim of having a progressive dinner on the way home.
Two tapas joints on the sidewalks was very enjoyable, living on the edge (litterally) at one with bikes whooshing past at a rate of knots. Batteries and motors have made the city a little more dangerous, and was somewhat disappointed no one tried to cool us down with water pistols. We left well before the city comes alive on a Sat night and metroed and walked ( almost being collected by the only vehicle moving in the area) back to the hotel in the middle of nowhere for wind down and get ready for the next day. The get ready bit was poorly done as check-in was forgotten and we almost paid the subsequent price.

Near West bound

Logic has it that we must be in the Near West given we flew in over the Far East, via the Middle East to arrive in the heart of Catelonia, home of the water pistol tottin' locals who have apparently taken up arms against the hordes of tourists besieging their wonderful city. This is price we have to pay for splashing cash around the place. Looking forward to it when we hit the sidewalks tomorrow.

It was a 3 hop trip to get here. A lift to the airport from Offspring no.1 accompanied by the two coat pooch was greatly appreciated whilst non-blogger being stripped of scissors and a knife going through security wasn't. The 9 hour overnight jaunt to Bangkok went ok, curiously interrupted by a fellow passenger asking how long will the Blogger be watching the movie as she wanted to go to sleep. This is why they hand out eye masks was the smart reply (not delivered as these smart replies are always thought of after the event). 
The airport in Bangkok is huge. Sprawling. Cavernous. It even has it's own in house train set. Fully autonomous as well. At home we can't even get one to the airport let alone one inside.

Here they even have autonomous floor polishers inocculously roaming around looking remarkably like R2D2. Life copying art. The 5 hour layover passed by relatively eventless. Mostly just sitting around drinking coffee and being awestruck as to how many shopping strips seem to go for kms in all directions, all busy due to the plethora of peeps who were on all their way to wherever they had deemed necessary to be.
Leg no.2 was a 10 hour stint to Istanbul AP. More food and drinks at the wrong time of the day, bloated and worn out it only seemed appropriate to crash out just after lunch. Forced jet lag. And then wake into a dreamscape, everything is twisted around, it should be mid afternoon and yet it's dark outside, the nighttime footy is on live from home and they're serving breakfast like it's 5 am. Body clock spinning in reverse. More coffee. The live feed of finals fails as we slip through the safe corridor amongst the warring countries of the middle east with Shpongle providing the acoustic backdrop.
It took a while to realize the windows were deliberately blacked out to make it feel like night, the only logical reason for doing this is to appease some desk bound psycologist who has shares in a smart window manufacturing company. Admittedly the music was this bloggers choice. The windows magically cleared as we decended through the clouds to glimpse a vast suburban sprawl dotted with temples adorned with the 5 layer spires that ensure all participants are constantly reminded of the power structures under which they are controlled by.

Unfortunately we can't tick Turkiea off as a visited country as we didn't leave the airport. The 4 hours spent there was basically people watching and not eating as we figured the next leg would fatten us up again. This AP is (apparently) the busiest in Europe. No internal trains, no Star Wars robots scurrying around. Bit disappointing actually.

Enough hairy people to possibly be Wookies but that's about it. Looks like they stole the roof design from Southern Cross station back home. Aussie architecture leading the world of design and engineering (yeah right).
The next leg to Barcelona started off badly with another huge long walk to the gate only to see a milling crowd not boarding. Something wrong somewhere. At least we know our luggage has magically traveled all the way with us and is in the hold.
Eventually taking off the 4 hour hop was straight forward as we crossed the Italian boot in the dark with storms raging over the Alps down below our level to the north. Love a good lightning show. A long wait for the bags to appear and a hotel shuttle bus in the wee small hours and voila! 47 hours after leaving home, we're here. Easy.

Last full day of this leg

Due to fact that Dad had already done his best David Lynch on the early morning glittering leaves the previous day, and now the background (our previous frisbee field) was full of kennels carrying large noisy Bogunvillious and their matching hounds we all stayed in bed whilst the glittering reflections danced a merry jig on the ceiling inside the master bedroom.

Last chance to sleep in - catch 'em whilst you can. Eventually they emerged into the grand hallway as I stood pointedly at the front entrance indicating my desire to partake in the use of the outside facilities. Once there (and thus relieved) we sat on the deck under the pergola and watched action below through the still shimmering trees. The weird barrel on a trailer was still parked there, yet in the early morning soberness the alpha males below didn't seem that keen to go inside, sweat their pores out from the steam driven wood fired heater and then emerge, two steps taken to then totally immerse into the cold waters of the bubbling creek. Soft when sober so it seams. I would do it -  apparently though you need to take your fur coat off before going in. We talked it through (Dad and I) and figured the logistics would be too difficult - two coats can have it's disadvantages.

It's taken all week for the weather to prove it can actually make the place pleasant and as such we made the most of it. First up was a wander into town where I got to check out who'd been bold enough to pee over the top of my last deposits. Layers we call them. We can effectively see them with our heightened sense of smell, coming into clearer focus as we sniff longer and more thoroughly around the same place. Exploring the nuances of the physical nature of the depositor (e.g. gender, age, weight, breed, diet, overall heath, wealth, bogun ranking, what they were thinking at the time, were they in a hurry, impressions on this particular spot to pee on, voting traits, impressions of shows like Muster Dogs etc. etc. It's all there - we just need time to take in all the layers and thus..."OH FOR GODS SAKE TAI! - COME ON"...) a yank on the lead and the layers snap away until the next post where they reset and we go again. Always in hurry my parents.. Caffeine awaits.

Today's cafe stop under the table was pretty restricted due to the narrow pathway and the popularity of the place. If the lady who hates dogs (because she can't avoid stepping on their poops) was there today she wasn't noticed as there were a plethora of real dog liking people who fell for my ears folded back routine and thus fell in love with me and let me lick there offered hands - seriously Dad - they offer them - what do you expect me to do? Dad and I spent at least an hour sitting there whilst Mum did her phaffing thing in and out of the shop. Eventually she re-appeared and said we should go home as she wanted to do more phaffing across the road. Yay - I got to get off the cold pavement and check out all those peeing spots on the way back to the kennel (well you never know who's been past in the last hour and there's all these "layers" that I need to delve into ......"OH FOR GODS SAKE TAI! - COME ON"...)...Once home I hung around the front watching for Mum to come back - just to make sure she was carrying something that made the phaff worthwhile (she was).

We then mounted the patiently waiting beast at the front of the kennel and headed up the creek (I guess the engine was the paddle) to a place called Wandiligong. As a dog, this name means nothing to me, so I'm not even sure why I even bothered to get the spelling right, however we did have a fabulous time at a place there called 5 Acres Bar and Kitchen. I think it was the "Bar and Kitchen" bit that enticed the folks there. It was possibly the highlight of the week - with weather finally getting tired of flipping it's middle finger at us, we had a great time relaxing in their extensive gardens as Mum and Dad were really impressed with the quality of the scrumptious fares.  A relatively expensive lunch but really worth it. Mum reckons it was great because she chose the items off the menu. Dad reckons it was great because he had the idea and drove us there. I reckon it was great because the grass to sit on was comfortable and tasty - we had chosen a great spot amidst a plethora of choices - extensive and well kept gardens with tables, chairs, lounges, etc etc. that cater for all types of patrons - even dogs.

Dad posed the question of how much land the establishment actually took up in the middle of the extremely picturesque valley? what with it's rushing creek weaving it's way through lush fields, defined by the glowing deciduous trees, a lazy bike track snaking it's way along it, the steep hills, some being seemingly shaved like a business mans face as the pine plantations are cleared off them, seriously dangerous looking steep dirt tracks going up within them, the bright blue sky casting a serene light in from seemingly all angles, the clean crisp air with the ever present hint of eucalyptus always embedded within it. The Olde' worlde' township which was born in depths of colonialism history presenting that charm which can only make one feel wonder and comfort that all is good with the world. The clean smooth roads that made the journey within a joy to behold. I could go on however, as it transpires the answer was... 5 acres. Go figure.

The short trip back to the kennel then saw us all head off down the rail trail, them on their fold-ups and me on my paws. We were heading down towards Pawpunka where had we have done the whole trip I reckon I could've come up with a really clever dog related name twisting pun just on the name alone, however I never got the chance because all Dad wanted to do was show Mum the flowering trees over the trail that were still in the local locale. Thus this pic.

When we got back I was obviously exhausted as I'd just ran about 5kms. Dad took me down to the creek with the obvious intention to get me washed in the creek. I was worn out but always up for a challenge when there is a ball involved. So I got wet. And made damn sure he did too. Creeks are great - just like the stairs at the home kennel. Drop the ball and it inevitably rolls back to them. I don't understand how it works I just know it does.

If he actually threw it downstream I reckon I'd just look at him incredulously projecting "I trust you have another ball". Eventually he gave up trying to tell me what to do because I couldn't be bothered showing too much enthusiasm in chasing a ball downstream that he was gong to eventually collect anyway. So we went back to the kennel on the bank.

Mum wanted to relax a bit and read and Dad said he wanted to ride further up the creek. Suspect the lunch got to him as instead he snoozed a bit in the living room (on the lounge) and eventually succumb to the lunchtime pale ale and reverted to the master bedroom to snooze his way through the warm afternoon bliss with me in harmony on my luxurious pad located in the main hallway some distance away.

Recovering from our restful kip - we dressed up (well they did - I'm hygienic enough naturally not to actually have to deal with changing garments - I'd already groomed myself during the kip). And we wandered back down the creekside to another eatery where I got to yet again sit under a table whilst they consumed their fine wares (pizza, salad and vino) above. Afterwards we stopped by the creek again where they threw sticks into the water and I dutifully jumped in, grabbed them off the top of the water and them dropped them again to wonder why they would drift away in a direction not aligned to my parents position. Weird. That's not what's meant to happen.

Anyway, back at the kennel I could sense a tidy up happening- apparently it all comes to an end tomorrow, however Dad finally started to break the park rules with me off the lead and was throwing the frisbee around the campsite  (across the road etc.) and I was learning to actually bring it all the way back into the deck/patio area as he was not going to do the "good Dad" thing I can sometimes mind control him with. So as we wind this adventure up (being mindful that we need to get home tomorrow so there's got to be a wrap up post) we'd just like to share the notion that the more toes the better.

Closer the toes, the less stress. All paws in I say. How's this for a pawful ending.....