Como with me

I departed Milan on Saturday on the 12.15pm train (4,80 euros only) to Como, a beautiful lakeside town just 30mins away. At the treno stazione, luckily I asked the information office as Como was not on the board or else I'd have missed it! I sat next to these 2 hilarious Italian ragazzo who offered me a can of beer and we bantered in broken Inglese (them) and really bad Italiano (me).

Mazio, the more talkative one, asked if I was married and why I was travelling alone and told his friend that he'd be getting off at Como with me! When the train rolled into Como San Giovanni stop, he gave me a Pooh bear phone chain and took a picture of us for keepsake. They were so sweet and not sleazy at all.

After checking into Albergo Firenze - a 3-star hotel (65 euros) and getting all the info and maps at the tourist office, I lunched on a plate of really bad microwaved bolognese pasta (6 euros) that I shared with the sparrows at Cafe Monti, overlooking the lakeside and hills. It was truly amazing here, the still waters, misty mountains dotted with villas and relaxed pace, despite the moderate tourist crowd.

My walk began with the main attractions, from Piazza Cavour to Piazza Duomo down the narrow street of Vitt. Emamuele II for some window shopping to San Fedele (the basilica looked non too striking on the outside but inside was gorgeous). Just around the corner was the Torre Medioevale and the long outdoor market which offered shitty ah lian clothes, shoes and all sorts of household stuff.

The town quarters were narrow and intimate, easily combed in an hour so the lake beckoned after a snack of grissini cheesestick and sweet custard pastry. I was joined by 2 elderly Filippino ladies, Flora and Mary, at the bench and we had a good conversation. Mary asked for my photo so she can show her nephew how much I resembled his daughter while Flora thought I was 19 and wondered why I was travelling alone for so long (to which Mary retorted and said I was rich and should have fun while young!).

The lake scenery was breathtaking and tranquil, I can see why George Clooney fell in love and bought a 8-million villa (where he played host to the Ocean's 12 cast). The neoclassical-style Tempio Voltiano (commemorating the famous scientist who invented electricity hence 'volt') was a lovely vantage point to take pictures and catch a glimpse of the Villa Olmo, one of the many grand villas decorating the lakes.

It got quite warm at 6pm when I hopped onto the funicolare cable car up a very steep slope to the high point Brunate for a truly dazzling vista of the town and lake. Wish I could share this wow moment with someone but it was just me and the breeze. In the evening, there was a lively Argentian-Brazilian mini-concert at the Piazza Volta just outside the hotel and I tucked into my creamy salmon pasta, glass of sparkling prosceco and limone-vodka sorbet (20 euros). The crowd was out in full force, all dressed in their stylish summer niceties.

The lake was even more magical at night; imagine a black canvas twinkling with a thousand lights and you couldn't tell where the sky, mountains and lake meet. So romantic as everyone cuddled and kissed, except me! Bah!

On the run again

I woke up at my 10th hotel this morning with the TV on, recalling the various places I have slept in and how strange I was slowly getting used to it. There were the 3 hotels in Barcelona alone which included Meson Castilla - great value for the 'penthouse' suite with a glorious terrace's view at 100 euros a night. There was also the 3-star Roca Mar (at a freakin' 150 euros a night) in Ibiza, affording a breathtaking view of the lifestyle-of-the-rich-n-famous port. So far my favourite was the 2-star Kyriad Hotel in Avignon (70 euros) as it was very cheerful and homey with a cosy bathtub and the windows overlooked the square action below.

On another thought, I was constantly mistaken for a Thai, Filippino, Vietnamese and even a Peruvian once in Ibiza, the weirdest I ever had! No wonder Ferne's dad called me a red Indian Poncahontas!

The weather in Europe was dry and I had to wax myself down every night with shea butter and facial cream. No wonder the angmohs developed wrinkles so fast! We should actually be grateful for the humid weather back home because we get to keep moist and stay wrinkle-free for a longer time! Thus the good thing was most people thought I was a 19-year old student backpacking on my own. Hahahaha!

Of balls and bearings

I just learnt that you need both balls and bearings to explore the quiet streets of Milan, which were deserted like a ghost town at night. Feeling adventurous and sick of being cooped up in the room earlier at 8.30pm, I consulted the concierge on where to go for dinner and drinks, making sure it was in fact safe to venture out alone at night.

Following his advice, I took a brisk 15mins walk past Via Dante and cut to Via Dell'Orso where I spotted a couple but not the restaurant he recommended. Luckily there was a thriving Pizzeria-Ristorante called Topkapi just around the corner and the menu comprised the standard antipasti buffet laid out in full view, a range of pastas, pizzas and hearty mains.

I had made sure I starved myself in order to enjoy a full dinner and started with a generous plate of handmade trofie pasta (shaped like long tight yarn threads) with cooked rucola, cherry tomatoes and white salted cheese (7,50 euros). It was simply deliciouso - the pasta was perfectly al dente and the combination of ingredients flavourful. The second course of mussels in tomato sauce (7,50 euros) arrived shortly and I finished the 30-odd fresh mussels with my mini carafe of vino blanco and bottle of water.

For those who know me, you could probably tell by now I was red with intoxication (but still sober!) and the Italian gentleman next to me, also dining alone, asked where I was from and where I got my slight sunburnt (it's the wine, you fool!). We chatted in between his slightly heated conversation with the waiter and he was surprised I was travelling in Europe by myself as he admitted he wouldn't be able to do it.

Anyway I could tell he was loaded because:
1. he had stayed at Raffles Hotel a few times and read that it was sold off recently
2. he just spent 1 week sailing at Portofino (he also had an even tan)
3. he would be flying to Athens tomorrow and then transfer by helicopter to a smaller island and
4. he wanted to hurry back to watch his 2 horses compete in a race at Naples (pui, what a show off!)

I left him to his sizzling hot plate of beef fillet and wandered a street down before turning back because the so-called 'nightlife area' was dark quiet, not quite like the Mohammed Sultan I had imagined. Luckily I got good bearings and hurried back along a couple of lonely streets without even looking at the map. Remembering the advice of DJ Tomski we met in London on how to act tough, I puffed up my small shoulders, straightened my spine and swaggered like a Milanese thug back to the hotel! Bravo!

Milano Mania

After leaving Turin - home to Fiat, Martini and Lavazza, I arrived on the 11am morning train (7,90 euros) at Milano, the fashion capital of Italy which was also ditched by the locals so tourists like me could have the city to ourselves. I got a lot of help from the kind tourist office lady at the colossal centrale train station and reached my pitstop Zurigo, a 3-star hotel (promo 65 euros) after 4 Metro stops. It was centrally located so I lunched on some pesto pasta (5 euros) and walked to the Piazza Duomo 5mins away. This was my first time in Milan (I only transit at the station in '97) but it looked pretty compact from the map.

Everyone was hanging out at the Piazza Duomo and I was happily aiming my camera at the square when suddenly this guy came up and thrusted some corn kernels into my hand and held it up for the peckish pigeons! I was cringing as the birds' claws were scratchy and in my head, I was thinking 'bird flu' but he held my fist tight and refused to let go and kept asking me to take a picture of the f%cking birds. What made it more irritating was he demanded 2 euros from me for the 'photo-opp' but I told him firmly 'no pictures' and finally relented with 1 euro as he got too bloody persistent.

I joined the queue and entered the duomo by the west entrance which was still under restoration but you could admire the glorious Gothic east end from Corso Vittorio Emanuele, a busy pedestrian street lined with cafes and international boutiques (from Max Mara, H&M to Furla and Zara). Lured by the smell of coffee, I had a caffe latte at one of the sidewalk cafes where the old waiter was so chee koh peh - he was hugging and grabbing the flabby arms of this fleshy American lady customer while her mother (about his age) looked on in encouragement! She was enjoying the attention and giggling and I wondered why he even fancied her till she got up from her seat and showed off her pair of 'melone'.

With no fixed agenda, I followed the crowd into the covered arcades of Galleria Vittorio Emanuele to Piazza Scala (teatro) and Via Mercanti, the medieval heart of Milan recognisable by the ancient brick building. From there, its a leisure stroll down Via Dante, another lively pedestrian avenue to the grand castle - Castello Sforza - with its brick walls and fortresses.

Detouring for a cup of refreshing limone sorbet to cool myself in this heat, I made my way to see the Last Supper by Leonardo Da Vinci but the Cenacolo was fully booked for the weekend. F&@k! It turned out you need to call to make advance reservations as they only allow 25 persons to enter the sacred grounds every 15 mins. I was so disappointed even the shopping arcades with its summer sales failed to cheer me up.

A friendly Italian guy tried to chat me up when he saw me checking my map and inquired 'Sei Filippino?'. I shook my head and pretended to talk on my mobile phone. I must admit it'd so easy to pick up the guys here but I was not about to take a chance and found my body unrecognisable, all chopped up in nine pieces flowing in a river! Despite my very bad grasp of the italian language, some words were drilled into my head by now:
"Buon giorno/ buona sera / buona notte!" (Good day/ evening/ night!)
"Come stai? Molto bene?" (How are you? Very good?)
"Non parlo Italiano!" (I don't speak Italian)
"Vorrei un coke e pasta, per favore! Grazie! (I'd like a coke and pasta please, thank!)
"Vaffanculo!" (F@*k off is also useful!)

First Stop Torino

After leaving Nice at 10am yesterday, I reached Torino (Turin) at 5pm after switching trains at Genova (Genoa), a grimy-looking city with old industrial parks against a hilly backdrop. Luckily I listened to Mary, a friendly Irish tourist, and did not stay there. The scenery was serene, sailing along the coastline and fields of maize, and I slept for the first time on the train. Earlier, I could not help but gazed dreamily at this Italian guy who looked uncannily like a Musketeer with his strong features, long wavy hair and thin moustache but he had to go bite his nails and shatter my illusion!

At Torino, I was a bit disoriented and strayed for 20mins before I gave up and checked into the 3-star Hotel Genio near the train station. The kind Italian fellow at the front desk had told me it was usually 103 euros per night but they were offering a promo price of 70 euros now. I gave him a sad puppy look and said my budget was 60 euros and we agreed at the price! Yay!

I later checked out the other nearby 2-star hotels (50 euros) and did not fancy any of them, some were plain spooky and ancient! Hell, I decided I will splurge more on the accomodation so I could sleep well and watch my BBC and music videos. After all, I always retired early to my room shortly after dinner at 10pm, which was really pathetic.

While there was still light, I wandered around Via Roma, the main shopping avenue, and checked out the old cafes and bookstores around Piazza San Carlo (which is under massive construction work) and the empty Piazza Castello, before finding my way to Urbani Ristorante near my hotel for a plate of agnolotti - stuffed ravioli with tasty pinkish red meat in roast sauce (8euros).

The American couple next to me had the antipasti buffet (15euros) where the waitresses brought different tapa-sized plates of ham, olives, antichokes, roasted peppers and they could eat as much as they want. They then had a beef main course and Italian desserts (the stupid guy didn't know what panna cotta was!) with two different wines. I was green with envy and love to taste everything like they did but it'd be too greedy and expensive for me. Pasta was basta (enough)!

I asked the friendly concierge (a Rob-Schneider lookalike!) why the restaurant had a lot of soccer memorabilia and found out that it is a regular haunt of the Juventus soccer players! A pity I don't recognise any of them though!

Turin was quiet at this time of the year as the locals had left for their holiday and a lot of the shops and restaurants were closed. But there were still various old cafes, international boutiques and bookstores lining the graceful arcaded avenues along Via Roma. It was indeed an elegant and cultured city, judging by the numerous bookstores, museums and the grimy dusty historic architecture (which needed some cleaning badly!).

The next day, I visited the Egyptian Museum, one of the best outside Egypt, and wandered down Via Garibaldi for a caffe latte and sandwich for lunch (the only restaurants open were hammered by the crowd). I made sure I saved room for a post-pranzo treat at Caffe Al Bicerin circa 1763 (Piazza della Consolata 5), one of the renowned cafes in Turin frequented by intellectuals and celebrated for its signature specialty Bicerin originated from the 18th century. A closely guarded recipe (employees are bound by a secrecy contract!), the layered concoction is described as an "exquisite hot drink - a mixture of espresso, chocolate and fresh cream" www.bicerin.it

But to my utter dismay and disappointment, it was closed - daaaammmit!! I popped into the opposite Santuario della Consolata and almost sobbed. The magnificent church was resplendent in true Baroque grandeur - imagine full marbled panels and ceiling nigh columns, old faded frescos framed by intricate gold trimmings, cherubic angels and oversized gleaming antique chandeliers. My eyes didn't know where to focus, lost in the richness of each decorated space. It was truly a sanctuary and I sat there for some time listening to my confessions and deepest thoughts.

From there, I walked to Piazza S. Giovanni and visited the huge cathedral which housed the Turin Shroud (for those who don't know, the shroud is the burial cloth in which Jesus was wrapped after he was taken down from the cross. When photographed in 1898, it revealed a majestic positive image of a man, bleeding in certain parts.) Unnerving.

The Royal Palace was closed for a major renovation - I guessed the whole city is cleaning up for the Winter Olympics in 2006. They should be anyway because despite the beautiful architecture, most parts were really dirty and sad-looking made worse by the ugly grafitti. If this was Singapore, the vandals would be whipped or publicly humiliated for their ill behaviour!

Nice to be here!

Happy National Day everyone! I wouldn't have remembered if Ferne hadn't reminded me via sms. This morning I left Saint Remy on the bus back to Avignon and met Mario, the friendly Italian bus driver again. He was by far the friendliest person I had met in France and the irony was he's not even a native! We parted on a sad note at the Avignon bus station and I hurried to catch the train to Nice, the heart of Cote d'Azur. I had decided to stay a night at Nice because the train ride to Turin in Italy would be very long and I didn't want to reach there at night.

The 4-hour train ride to Nice was not as painful as I imagined, as we cruised along the coastline past Marseille, Toulon and Cannes. As this was my 2nd time here in Nice (1st time in 1997), I knew my way around so I didn't have to ask the snobbish tourist office girls for information. However Nice was tres crowded at this time of the year and I was walking around for at least 30mins with my backpack, sweating like a leg of jambon in this heat at 5pm and cursing like a mad woman after being turned away from the full 2 and 3-star hotels.

Pissed and hungry, I checked into Le Grimaldi, a 4-star joint (95 euros) and was ecstatic at the last available single room (MTV and BBC!) and free internet access (that's why I could write so much now). After a fag and shower, I took a stroll down the familiar broad beachfront walkway (yes, the titties were still on display on the pebbled beach and no, I didn't run into Henry the dirty old Frenchman who once approached us to say he liked Asian women for their clean bodies and nice small tits!) and enjoyed a big plate of spaghetti fruits de mer with my beer (16 euros) at a packed Italian restaurant located at the busy France Rue Massena avenue. These 3 French teenage girls were staring at my meal while they shared their thin pizzas and water.

It had been a whole week already on my own but it felt like a f%cking eternity! I was getting the hang of being Carl Solo, except at times when I was down, I'd get so lonely I could cry. Then I would puff up my shoulders and remind myself to savour every moment on this 'amazing race' where I'd pull through the detours and pitstops to arrive at my destinations. This would be one self-discovery journey that I won't get eliminated because I got to set the rules!

Je suis ici au Provence!

As cliche' as it sounded, almost everywhere I went in Provence, I heard accordian music a la French movie soundtrack (think Anouk et homme) - je ne sais pourqois! I guess it'd be kind of romantic for lovers but it was irritating the f%ck out of me. Anyway I spent a full Sunday touring the quaint villages outside Avignon with our English-speaking French guide-cum-driver Elodie and the van filled with Asians - me from Singapore, a young couple from Hong Kong and a family of trio from Guangzhou (the young girl asked her mom why my Cantonese was so bad when I spoke to them!).

Our first stop was the gorgeous Sorgues, orginally a fishermen's village about 30mins away, passing by apple and pear nurseries, a winery and fields of withering sunflowers (best time to see them in full bloom was July). It was tres crowded on Sunday as there was a market selling everything from lovely antiques and Provencale cloth to glazed pottery and colourful straw hats and bags. My nose was also assaulted with the sweet perfume of lavender soaps, fresh flowers and herbs, the savoury whiffs of roasted poulet with garlic, and the pungent waves from the smelly French fromage and saucisson!

I wanted to buy everything but my limited backpack was more of a constraint than my budget, so I just went trigger happy and bought breakfast snacks like French apple tart and peaches for the road. Mid-way through the market, I jostled with the crowd to the front of the canal and watched a theatric show of locals in costumes balancing their acts on narrow boats.

After that, we visited the Lavender Museum at Coustellet where we bought some souvenirs and learnt many things about lavender, including the fact that it is harvested once a year in August (luckily we could still frolick and pose at some lavender fields later!).

Our next stop Gordes, described as one of the most beautiful villages in France, certainly deserved the accolades. Known for its dried stone structures, it was a dramatic sight perching atop the hill overlooking the plains below. When we got out from the mini van, it was actually chilly in the shade as the wind blew and the other kiasi Asians whipped out their jackets except me in my tanktop (it was damn hot when we left Avignon ok)! I braved the chills and lunched on my plate of tres delicious fatty smoked canard et foie gras salade (16 euros) al fresco among the locals with a big stray German Shepherd by my feet - hah, you should see me!

The village was very small so I couldn't walk off the calories even if I wanted to. We then departed for another quaint village Sault 40mins away, passing by the town of Roussillon (all together now say 'Roo-see-yon') surrounded by vineyards, olive and cherry trees before climbing uphill on a long narrow winding road overlooking the deep and lush valleys of Sault.

Elodie made a few photo stops at the lavender fields which looked like purplish blue carpets from far but as we got closer, their colours and perfume were simply vivid... my sister would love it here. Everyone dived right in, posing like models and some plucked more than a bundle for keepsake. I simply pressed three stalks in my Italian guidebook for good luck and let my nose dance with joy in a cloud of purple.

At Sault, we had plenty of rest time and were free to explore on our own. I found a tranquil spot that offered a panoramic view of the fields below. Apparently Sault was strategically built on rocky spurs to offer its inhabitants protection in the old days. Back at Avignon, I was actually hungry and found a Vietnamese restaurant Xuan (6 Rue Galante) to satiate my craving for beef pho (6,30e) and stirfried veggies (5,50e) with jasmine tea. I cannot tahan anymore French food! My night cap was a small 250ml bottle of L'Orangerie Bordeaux Rose and cigarettes in bed, ahhh oui - c'est perfect!

Bonjour!

Bonjour! Ca va? I had arrived in Avignon, France yesterday after taking the train from Figueres, Spain (passing by Narbonne, Beziers & Sete) to Montpellier St Roch where I then switched trains (13,70 euros) to Avignon, the heart of Provence. Luckily I reserved a train ticket in advance because the train was so packed as I squeezed into my window seat among four young American guys (one of them looked like Jody Foster!). This other young Austrian-Swiss looking lady stood out with her full traditional garb of thick courdroy jacket, embroidered vest and pants with suspenders topped with a mountain hat and wooden staff (attached to a bundled bag)!

The scenery was beautiful as we pulled away from northern Spain; imagine rows of vineyards thriving on the French terroir and rugged hills, an abandoned chateau, gleaming slender solar windmills, endless stretches of shallow salt banks and sunbaked houses dotting the vast spaces. Ah, c'est tres jolie! I just loved train rides; they were so good for the soul.

At the bustling centre of Avignon, I headed straight for Amy's recommendation Kyriad Hotel which was expensive for me at 70euros per night but it was easily the best among the 2-star hotels I had seen. The rest were plain creepy and mouldy! Kyriad also had a great location right at the Place del'Horloge square near the Pope's Palace. Plus it was so homey and cheery (bath tub a bonus!). I even brought my own pillowcase so I could smell it and be lulled to sleep at night.

After signing up for a full-day lavender tour (90 euros) at the tourist office and confronted with some truly cold Frenchie, I tried to cheer myself up with a dinner treat. But it was tres lonely eating by myself and I couldn't finish my main of lamb brochette and dessert of salade du fruit after a salade starter du fromager with Hoegaarden (20euros). I returned upstairs to my room depressed and thought this 'chilling' by myself couldn't go on any longer or else I'd be insane and senile!

I had a really good conversation with myself soaking in the warm scented bath with a cigarette and cup of mint tea, loudly affirming why I was here in the first place! You might think I must be going mad but it actually was a good session with Doctor Carl and I felt so much better after a good night's rest.

The next morning, I woke up refreshed and visited the Pope's Palace, the Jardin Rocher Des Doms and the Pont Saint Benezet; then admired the delicious displays at the local pattiseries and fashion boutiques along Rue Des Marchands. Along Place Carnot enroute to Les Halles market, I stumbled upon L'Orangeraie, a cosy cafe offering Provencale specialities which Amy and Sharon had recommended - what luck!

I ordered the le midi lunch menu with a glass of rose (15euros) from the svelte waitress (who was a dead ringer for Cindy Crawford, complete with the mole) and opted for the plat du jour (dish of the day) but forgot to ask her in my terrible French what it was. When le plat arrived, I almost laughed out loud at the beef tartare (seasoned raw beef) with frites and salade, geesh! It was not my favourite dish but turned out to be very very good. No wonder everyone ordered it. I finished it along with the dessert - 3 scoops of parfums sorbets!

Just for laughs, here's my usual conversation with the wait staff:
C: bonjour! ca va? eh, vous parlez anglais?
W: oui, a bit.
C: ah bon! je voudrais le menu du jour mais je ne comprend pas...
W: non problem (explains menu...)
C: ah ok, je voudrais blah blah blah..., merci beaucoup!
(after meal) eh, l'addition sil vous plait! Au revoir!

After a nap, I picked Le Lutrin, which was near Kyriad, for dinner. I wasn't sure if it was an issue being solo or Asian (or worse, both!) but the wait staff never failed to offer me a table in an awful corner somewhere tucked away, to which I'd insist they changed my table. And the way they asked you 'English or French' was so condescending. I promptly asked for salt and pepper to piss them off, haha.

Anyway the pistou soup was good with loads of veggies and meat in a pesto-tomato base but I didn't fancy the main; codfish simply boiled (tad fishy) served with more boiled cold veggies and egg. I had to add a generous sprinkling of Fleur de sel and the side dip of greenish aioli (tasted like a sharp piquant wasabi mayo) - perhaps i had a real knack for ordering the wrong dish! That was the sad thing about travelling alone, I had to contend with my (bad) choices and not being able to share the (good) food! Dessert was at least a consolation of choc mousse with fresh cream and strawberry sauce.

I'd be leaving for the quaint town of Saint Remy on Monday, but just needed to do some research at the tourist office to find out how to go there and maybe explore the nearby villages. Wish me bon chance!

Been there Dali that

Don´t cringe at the title but it's the best I can think of at this moment! As you´d have guessed, I left Barcelona this morning after some hot chocolate and crossiant and a visit to the La Boqueria Market (finally made it!), salivating at the legs of jamon, fresh seafood and fruits. The two-hour train ride was tranquil and Figueres was sleepy and hot when I reached it at 1.30pm. Everyone seemed to close shop for a siesta as it felt like 35 degrees. The people were somewhat friendlier here than in Barcelona and I already had a guy who whispered 'Ásian' to me and another waved at me on the street. Hmmm, I didn´t get that when I was with James!

The highlight of my day was visiting the famous teatro-museum of my favoruite surrealist artist Salvador Dali, whose hometown was Figueres. It was indeed estupendo especially the famous Mae West room where you had to join the queue up a flight of stairs to look through the big magnifiying glass hanging underneath the belly of a camel! I shot and gawked at his other famous sculptures, fresco paintings and marvelled at the museum's red facade crowned with gigantic eggs and gold figurines!

You got to see it to believe what a genius and inspiration Dali was, even after death. I had been moody on my own but his works cheered me up a lot and I sobered up to the thought that I had made it to Figueres! The only thing I hated was eating alone and my appetite had somewhat waned (could you imagine me, the glutton??) Lunch was awful - a greasy plate of pollo (fried chicken with fries and a whole fried green chilli pepper) but it was cheap at 4 euros.

I did´t know what to eat for dinner though, even after combing the town for hours staring at the gourmet shops full of bread and chocolate. It´s the same shit everywhere - paella, tapas, pizza, steak, etc. Luckily for me, there was a quiet Chinois restaurante around the corner from where I was staying and I inhaled the 'Ten Treasures' soup and sweet & sour pork with a heap of white rice.

Tomorrow I´d catch the 10.30am train to Montpellier and another one to Avignon, Provence, ideally I should reach there by 3.30pm. Plus I had to switch my linguistic mode and say ´Bonjour, ca va!´ instead of ´Hola´! Till the next log in, hasta luego!

Hero of my journey

This is it. I´m now on my own, flying solo in Barcelona. James and I just parted ways at the airport after leaving Ibiza at noon, and I almost had a nervous breakdown on the plane. My hands were sweaty and cold, and my heart was beating so fast it was like I was going to go bungy jump or what! I thought I was going to cry when we had our goodbyes and hugs but I guessed my head was more racing with anxious thoughts on 'what´s next' and 'what the f%ck have I done?' Hah!

Before I could chew off my fingernails, I got on the train and found the boutique hotel Banys Orientals near the Ribera area easily without studying my map. The room (90 euros) was lovely but the view sucked as the windows opened to a depressing view of a dark gloomy side alley. The first thing I did was turn on MTV and admired the Philip Starck Ghost series chairs, big-ass rain showerhead and large double bed.

With no appetite, I just wallowed in bed and hatched my travel plan tomorrow - to head straight for the heart of Provence in Avignon. I hoped to do some last minute research at the internet cafe and decided how I could fit Figueres in too. It´d be cool to visit Dali´s Museum and his tomb in the quaint town north of Barcelona, and then move on to France.