Debbie and I have been joined by our friend Julie who has spent a day in Finland and will be a part of the gang for a few days at least.
Bilbao is gorgeous! If you read no further, then remember this: Billbao is a little sweetie of a town. The Guuggenheim is the best building that I have ever, ever, in my long legged life, seen. Way, way better than the building Guggenheim in New York, which is pretty good, even better than the Sydney Opera House, it rivals the cathedral at San Miguel del Allende in Mexico which those faithful bog followers will remember. All superlatives aside, it is so good that it is pretty much indescribable. It goes under bridges and juts out like a wave and stands at geometrical angels, all, incongruously at the same time.
I have got myself a mild sunburn, which is a constant friend and reminder that I am not in Melbourne anymore. I have drunk alcohol in the daytime and sat in Plaza Nuevo eating more fried calamari than is recommended by the health authorities. Just as I could only vaugly imagine the heat before I got here, I can hardly remember being cold in Melbourne, just a few days ago.
Our hotel is in the heart of the old section of the town and we and ensconced in the garrett. It is hot and a bit like a dorm. I have suggested a pillow fight, no takers, I have suggested that we tell each other the man of the boy we really like, no takers, I have suggested that we do each other’s hair, no takers.
What I have learned something that I already knew. Almost everthing in life that happens, depends on how you look at it. Here is the example. When two young lads sidled up to us and started a serenade, Debbie thought they marked us as deperate middle aged women in Barcelona in search of something better whilst on holidays. This is not true. We are in fact desperate middle aged women in Barcelona in search of something better whilst at a conference.
My feet are a source of amazement. Debbie and Julie have taken photographs of the soles of my feet. Julie has every legal drug known to St Christopher in her pack, but nothing that can relieve the bubble of pus that I now have to walk on. My blisters are planning on joining togeather in a kind of United Republic of Blisters. They are coming together to form a giant pillow on the bottom and sides of my feet.
Debbie has had her luggage misplaced by Click Air and we a trying to workout what to do. This might be possible except for the bottle of Brazilian rum and Mateus that now both sit half empty in the bathroom sink.
Bilbao is gorgeous! If you read no further, then remember this: Billbao is a little sweetie of a town. The Guuggenheim is the best building that I have ever, ever, in my long legged life, seen. Way, way better than the building Guggenheim in New York, which is pretty good, even better than the Sydney Opera House, it rivals the cathedral at San Miguel del Allende in Mexico which those faithful bog followers will remember. All superlatives aside, it is so good that it is pretty much indescribable. It goes under bridges and juts out like a wave and stands at geometrical angels, all, incongruously at the same time.
I have got myself a mild sunburn, which is a constant friend and reminder that I am not in Melbourne anymore. I have drunk alcohol in the daytime and sat in Plaza Nuevo eating more fried calamari than is recommended by the health authorities. Just as I could only vaugly imagine the heat before I got here, I can hardly remember being cold in Melbourne, just a few days ago.
Our hotel is in the heart of the old section of the town and we and ensconced in the garrett. It is hot and a bit like a dorm. I have suggested a pillow fight, no takers, I have suggested that we tell each other the man of the boy we really like, no takers, I have suggested that we do each other’s hair, no takers.
What I have learned something that I already knew. Almost everthing in life that happens, depends on how you look at it. Here is the example. When two young lads sidled up to us and started a serenade, Debbie thought they marked us as deperate middle aged women in Barcelona in search of something better whilst on holidays. This is not true. We are in fact desperate middle aged women in Barcelona in search of something better whilst at a conference.
My feet are a source of amazement. Debbie and Julie have taken photographs of the soles of my feet. Julie has every legal drug known to St Christopher in her pack, but nothing that can relieve the bubble of pus that I now have to walk on. My blisters are planning on joining togeather in a kind of United Republic of Blisters. They are coming together to form a giant pillow on the bottom and sides of my feet.Debbie has had her luggage misplaced by Click Air and we a trying to workout what to do. This might be possible except for the bottle of Brazilian rum and Mateus that now both sit half empty in the bathroom sink.
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