Rebounding

Recovering from vacation is a bitch. Not so much in the tired, worn down recovery, but in recovering from mind sets. For the past 3 weeks I have been completely free of any obligations. Facing life again is foreign and unwelcome. I find myself wanting to crawl into bed and escape. While I am fighting these things, allow me to give some perspectives from the final destinations in my trip.

Barcelona is a much more tourist friendly location than Madrid or Pamplona. The big, well-to-do shopping areas, fine dining, english friendliness make Barcelona less intimidating. The sights around the city are fantastic. Montjuic, Museums (Picasso museum being the one which grabbed my interest), olympic park, parc guell, Gaudi buildings everywhere, and the beach (which you may or may not be interested to know is topless friendly) are just a few of the attractions. The city fulfilled the daydreams I have been having about it since I was a child. Those planning a trip to Barcelona are doing themselves a great favor. I stayed at Centric Point which is a couple miles north of the beach on Passeig de Gracia. It is in a very nice part of town with a great atmosphere. I spent a rainy night playing a game of spoons with special drinking rules in the hostel bar which was very lively. One of the game participants had been in an altercation the night before and arrested. His court date was scheduled for one day after his train reservations, so he didn't believe a return trip to Spain would ever be prudent. Of course, he had to be a fucking American. Just one of the many characters from hostels.

After Barcelona I spent two days in Paris. Paris is beautiful. Every street corner seems to offer a picturesque statue with a cafe or street vendor adding life to the very old city. My days were filled with site seeing. The louvre was overwhelming. I almost felt it was too big. I spent over 5 hours there and didn't even touch an entire floor. The history and sites in Paris are remarkable, but I didn't become attached to the city like I did Madrid and Barcelona.

Finally, a train shipped me to London and Cambridge to finish my trip. I had a chance to spend a year in Cambridge attaining a masters, but didn't take it for several reasons. While I am thrilled with the directions my life is taking, I somewhat regret not living in England for the year. Being in Cambridge certainly pulled out these feelings. Small cafes and restaurants are littered amongst the ancient buildings where some of the greatest minds in human history were developed. I attended the graduation of a certain special someone while I was there. The event was as history drenched and proper as one would expect. London was as great as expected. I had spent time in London before and returning only confirmed my fondness for the city. Devouring fish and chips in a London pub is a must.

Overall, I couldn't be more pleased with my trip. There were no great tragedies, the weather always seemed to be perfect, I met some unique personalities, and spent time with a familiar personality which I greatly appreciate. Travelling from hostel to hostel is a worthwhile experience for anyone. Being in unfamiliar countries with languages you don't know can be intimidating at times, but breaking out of comfortable situations can lead to great growth. As for the cities and countries themselves, I wholeheartedly endorse all of them. Barcelona, London, and Madrid were my favorite destinations in that order.

I hope to slowly switch gears now. Thoughts of medicine and school have been fleeting, but I want to start medical school on the best foot. I needed some time for me, but my goal is to use my time helping all of us. Wow, that sounds fucking corny, but sometimes I can't help myself.

Pamplona

If anyone out there is a big fan of vomit, piss, drunken madness, danger, unnecessary risks, adrenalin rushes, people being gored, and complete release of any inhibitions I strongly recommend Pamplona during the festival de San Fermin. Bulls running through the streets, people being thrown throughout a stadium by angry animals, an amazing 24/7 street party in the entire city, unabashid drunkness, piss, trash, glass, and nameless disgusting old guys with broken noses trying to steal your drinks are just a few of the highlights from a completely undescribably few days in Pamplona.

For those wondering, yes, I did run. No, I am not crazy. There are relatively safe routes of running with the bulls. The fact is that no one has died in the running since 1996. Yes, a few are injured every day of the running. This mostly consists of the drunks and those that run without any advice. There are much more dangerous things to do in a life time and much less great experiences.

On the topic of advice. For first timers and any timers, don't try the dead man's corner on mercedes. You can't win when a 2,000 pound animal is slipping around a tight corner and your body is underneath or in front of it. My advice for first timers is to go to the straight away right after dead man's corner. The bulls tend to stay to the right after the corner, so a nice run on the left is your best chance. Let the first pack pass and run like hell to make it into the ring before the second pack catches you in the entrance. There is no such thing as a sure thing when making the run, but most "experts" agree that this is the best low risk strategy for actually running with the bulls. When the bulls get close, hug a wall or hit the ground. If you hit the ground, stay down and don't get up until you are sure that everything has passed.

There are those, or course, who run the entire course before the bulls are even let out of the corral. This is not running with the bulls, this is running through a street before the bulls come. The crowd in the ring will boo you and throw whatever trash they have because you arrived before the bulls did. If you really want to run, you have to let the bulls pass you. It is a completely surreal experience which evokes pure instinctual survival traits. Those moments are hard to come by in the modern world and that is the reason people do it.

The party seen before and after the running is great for a day, but quickly became obnoxious to me. The smell of piss and rot, drunkards constantly hastling you, and endless noise preventing sleep wore on my nerves completely. Unless this is your thing, a nice, compact two night trip is what I would advise.

Alright, time for bed. Sorry for the typos, I'm a little bit drunk in a loud hostel in Barcelona.

Vive Madrid

Madrid has been a fantastic haze. I´ll gladly pimp my hostel: Cat´s hostel. Good location and great atmosphere. The downstairs bar, from which I am writing for free, is an amalgamation of language and culture heavily drenched in giant glasses of sangria. I have met people from the states, Belgium, Australlia (winners of craziest drinkers award), England, Brazil, Singapore, Chile, Scotland, Germany, and of course Spaniards. Diverse drinking games, cheers, and dancing breaks out as the booze continue to flow. Each night i start becoming ancy to leave at around 11, but am told to wait. Living up to it´s reputation for being late, Madrid clubs become fun at around 1. Those looking for advice on Clubs/bars should look elsewhere, they are all a poisoned blur in my mind. Coming back to my bunk at god knows what time, I have slept until at least 1 everyday and usually much later. My afternoons have been spent wondering through cultural highlights and often stopping for naps. I strongly recommend el Museo de Prado, and jardines del buen retiro. Now I am going to attempt the impossible: sleeping in a mostly sober state so that I can wake up and head to the train station for Pamplona in the morning.

Euro Trashed

Hostels love to stuff 14 people to a room. This means all hours of the night and morning people are coming in and out in differing states of substance abuse. How is one to fall asleep in these conditions? I've taken to basically sleeping with a flask under my pillow and staying drunk through the night. If only my mother could see my now.

Vacation

After a 4 day music festival and watching around 3600 hours of online TV shows over the past 3 weeks, I am drained. I have basically turned into a jar of mayonnaise at this point. Work is over, school is around the corner. But these things are taking a back seat to my excitement for leaving the country today. My recently received stimulus check will be going directly to foreign tourist traps. Sorry Uncle Sam. Coming from a family which never traveled outside of the country and being a poor student my entire adult life, this is my first trip to mainland Europe. The chance to practice the spanish and see some of the places I have long held in esteem (hi Barcelona) is making my face melt with anticipation. No, really.

I am debating running with the bulls. Many I have discussed this with have an aversion towards it. I don't have a pressing urge to get gored in the ass by an angry bull. I simply think it will be a once in a lifetime event. Romantic notions of man vs. beast and story time with grandkids aside, running with the bulls could be my final expression of youthful idiocy. 7-8 years of intensive, stressful training with the lives of others in my care will likely demand greater discretion. Increasing age and likelihood of increased responsibilities would make an act like running with the bulls completely unreasonable.

All of this being said, chances are great that I will watch the running once and lose all stomach for it. Horn enemas really aren't my thing.