Girona, so far, is the best city we have been to.
Aside from our spectacular accommodation, the narrow cobbled streets are exactly what the typical North American traveler has in mind when then think of Europe. Outside our door is a 1,000-year-old wall (complete with inset drinking fountain where the old Spanish ladies drink), a sex shop, and a wonderful creperie. What more could you ask for?
After our super-fun “challenge” at the Lagos bus station and an extra-long and tense bus ride (in which I can feel the frustration coming off Marc in waves) we arrive in Seville in the dark.
It’s hot. As. Balls.
Every 50 meters I’m asking Marc “how much longer does Google maps say?”
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It started out fine: we cleaned up our room (suspecting the Israeli couple would be moving in to the non-squeaky bed before our footprints were even cold) and Ole dropped us off at the bus station. Hugs at the side of the road and this lovely man even waited for our bus to pull away from the curb, waving at us as we drove away. As we drove South through the hills we felt very content…
To be honest, half the reason I am writing this is just to help myself stay awake…
Must. Not. Sleep.
So jet lagged. My body did me a solid and threw me a migraine yesterday morning as we were packing up our backpacks to go. Thanks to some solid painkillers from Daddio and a nap I made it on to the plane, but didn’t arrive in the best mood (despite the hilarious Bollywood movie I watched over dinner) and wasn’t able to sleep on the plane as my painkillers wore off. Continue reading