Hello Madda Hello Fadda here i am at Camp Granada

There's nothing quite like regaining regular consciousness after and deep deep sleep to find a fully active public demonstration taking place right outside your balcony window. Though not protesting about anything in particular, the workers and good people of Granada took the sunny opportunity this morning to assemble as one, and publicly and peacfully march for workers' rights and a loud and proud show of strength and community. I foudn it admirable that so many people would get together like this without anything to actually prtoest about, no IR changes or anything. So, with a hefty slumber under our belts and a fresh zest for life, we set out for the sights of Granada amongst the fervent May Day energy.

Alhambra and beyond

Within minutes of strolling the cobblestoned streets and tree lined plazas of Granada, i couldnt help but feel it just might be the nicest place in Spain so far. It had the old school early Spanish 'Toledo' feel about it, fused with the vibrancy and modern class of a much larger town, nestled cosily afoot the marvellous snow capped peaks of the Sieera Nevada. Granada instantly came across as a beautiful place to be in.

Alhambra Castle

The focal point of Granada is the magnificaent Alhambra Castle, a breathtaking 11th Century fortress that sits high above the city, once the residence of the last Muslim kingdom in Spain. Rev, Brooks and myself took this fabulous construction in, with the sun bearing down and the white capped hills in the background. We would have gone to check the Alhambra out internally, but let's just say that the place aint short of tourism - they only let a certain number of people in each day and you pretty much have to be up at Dawn's crack if you fancy yourself a contender for one of those bad boy tickets. Anyway, the exterior view was nothing to poke a stick at, and the odds of either one of us getting up at that ungodly hour for three tickets to anything was slim to bugger all.

Boonie checks out the sights

I'm finding that the days go extremely quick in Spain, you generally wake up late with the rest of town, consume a big lunch, a siesta, and by then it's like 5pm, you head out a few hours later, sometimes as late as midnight till the wee hours, and the cycle seems to repeat ad nauseaum. I love this routine as a tourist, but forced to live in this groove i can only assume that i would never get anything done.

Discovered a goldmine of an establishment for lunch, a resonably priced all you can eat buffet joint that actually served food of a digestable quality, light years away from the culinary toilets a la Smorgys and Food Star. Gorged ourselves on 'Fres-Co' smorgasbord of goodness, wished i was a cow with an additional one or two stomachs to spare, and headed back to the hostel to pick up our packs, before heading west on foot to the bus station (past a very rock n roll looking pub called the 'Pink Floyd' - see photo).

I am Pig

Continued to be shocked and amazed by the propensity of mullets in every nook and cranny of this country, non-ironic, offensively horrendous mullets - its as if the 1980's never transpired in Spain, and their mullet renaissance is just hitting its teething stage. I currently place the mullet to normal person ratio at around 1:22. Mind you, my own patchy buzzcut is admittedly no work of art. But seriously, Spain, take a look at your youth, do studies, run tests and work out what the hell it is that seems to convince a large portion of your population that mullets are a real fashion option.

Other than that, top country, keep up the good work.

Took the night bus from Granada to Barcelona, watching the sun come down over the abounding hilly landscape and postcard quality vistas. Tops spot, Granada, would have been nice to stay a little longer. But there's places to be, cities to be in, and more roses to smell along the vast road ahead.

Rockin at the Pink Floyd pub