Madrid

When I travel, it sometimes takes a few days to become adjusted to the rhythm, the new environment, the uncertainties.  For this reason, I thought Ireland would be a nice place to start, if only because they speak English.  I still think this was a good idea.  However, since arriving in Madrid, my happy points are up by at least eleven - and mainly because of the simple pleasure of using a new language to do even such normal, mundane tasks as ordering a meal, buying a train ticket, or asking for directions.  But it also might have something to do with the friendly people and the beautiful buildings, the sun and the heat (finally), all the dogs who follow their owners off leash, the uninhibited PDA, the really talented street performers.  Of the performers, most of all the juggler who started talking to me, but then ran away, "No! No! No!" when I tried to give him money.  And especially El Parque del Retiro.  Something about me: I love parks.  Especially big green parks full of fountains and sculptures and trails and little rows of booksellers, and massive congregations of rollerbladers (my people) and playgrounds full of tan, shirtless guys working out, (sorry Dileep ;), never mind all the museums, palaces, and gardens inside.  El Parque del Retiro happens to have all of this, plus some, and I would recommend the place to anyone visiting Madrid.  Sadly, I have to skip off to Portugal after only two days, so I will have to explore the city more another day.

Complaints

If I could just take a moment to complain, I think I'd feel better.  So…backpacking sucks.  My pack is even smallish, and not that heavy.  But my back, neck, and shoulders hurt.  My knees ache, my legs are sore, my ankles swollen, my feet battered.  The only reason you should need a backpack is if you are actually hiking on some inclined, or rough terrain.  Or if you're dealing with a lot of stairs.  But this is unnecessary.  Next time, I'm bringing a rolly suitcase.

The Island of Lost Socks

Socks are tricky fellers.  It's always only one from a pair that disappears to the Island of Lost Socks.  I don't know why it happens, but it always seems to, doesn't it?  Even as I'm traveling, and I only have five pairs to look after, one of them has managed to escape already.  I find this ridiculous.  But…since the other from the pair is now lonely, and not getting to enjoy a relaxing beach vacation from stinky feet, you may start to see pictures of this mate seeing the sites along with me.

If you think I've gone completely bonkers already, you may cast all blame toward my new friend, Isaac.  :)