The flight from Madrid to Gatwick was a piece of cake (more like an "air-taxi" than a real trip), and upon arrival in Bromley, a suburb of London, I had the pleasure of meeting my cousin Sara and her fiance. It was really was like meeting Sara for the first time, since the driven career woman with the wry sense of humour I got to know a bit last night bears no resemblance to the surly teenager with whom I butted heads when I was 14, literally half a lifetime ago. Danilo, her fiance, is a fantastic guy and a great cook to boot. He worked some strange alchemy on some chicken with lemon and wine that had me considering kidnapping him and bringing him back to Canada to teach how to make food taste halfway decent.

After a few drinks, we called it a night early so that I could head downtown with Danilo today and spend the day doing the tourist thing. London was exactly as it was the last time I was there... seething with people and absolutely mad. There's no way I'm going back there tomorrow, which will be a weekend. Still, I managed to see Westminster Cathedral, Westminster Abbey, and hang out around Trafalgar Square. True to form, I also visited the National Gallery which, gasp, does not charge an admission fee (they "suggest" a donation of 4£, however). This museum is extremely impressive, and what it may lack in depth (it does not appear to have a substantial collection of any one's artist's works... or at least, not the sections I saw) it makes up in breadth, covering every area of Europe and every century from the 13th to the 20th. Definitely a must-see for anyone planning a trip to London... I'm almost ashamed of myself for not having been the first time I was in London three years ago.

Tomorrow is my last full day in Europe...

Well, this is it, I guess. Last day in Madrid.As if to put a period at the end of the sentence, I watched Oporto beat Monaco in the Champion´s League final last night. James´ Euro 2004 trip is just about over. I am grabbing an Easyjet flight to London this afternoon. In London, I will be staying with my cousin Sara, whom I have not seen for 14 years. I will also get to meet her fiance, which is great, since I plan on coming to the wedding next June, and this way the groom won´t be a complete stranger ("Nice to meet you... so I understand you are marrying my prima today..")

Yesterday, I spent the day at the Prado. I have now visited 3 of Europe´s -and possibly, the world´s- top museums: The Vatican, The Ufizzi, and the Prado. The Prado is a monument to the glories of Spain´s golden age in the 16th century. Whereas the Ufizzi is small and compact, the Prado is massive. It overflows with works by Goya, Velazquez (Las Meninas is truly one of the most amazing paintings I have ever seen), Bosch, El Greco, Raphael and the "big three" of the Venetian Renaissance: Titian, Tintoretto, and Veronese. It also contains works by one of my "new" favourites, Bellini. Bellini was a very influential painter who sometimes gets overlooked. His canvases are bright and beautiful, truly uplifting.

Interestingly enough, the Prado also bears witness to Spain´s decline, and its troubled history of civil strife. Several of Velasquez´ frank and honest paintings of 17th century Hapsburg royals depict sallow-skinned, bulbous lipped figures with underbites, clearly showing the effects of inbreeding. You can almost see the frustration on Philip IV´s tired face as he sits astride his horse, a sad figure. His empire is crumbling, his son is an imbecile, the women of his family barely have time to squeeze out one child before they croak. Maybe he is thinking "Why can´t it be like the good old days? Grampa had it so much better!"

Then, there is Goya. As far as I am concerned, this artist is in a class by himself. His black period paintings are more frightening and disturbing than anything ever written by Edgar Allen Poe. His earlier works known as "Caprichos" are incredibly compelling, making you feel like you are a part of the action. His portraits are second to none. With 5 minutes to go before closing, I sprinted down the hall to see two of his most famous works, Dos de Mayo and Tres de Mayo, which depicts the Madrid uprising of 1808 against Napoleon and its aftermath. Lets just say that if you go to the Prado and miss these two masterpieces, you are crazy.

I´m not going to say that the Prado is the best museum in the world... I haven´t seen the Louvre, the Guggenheim, etc... but given that I am half-Spanish, could you blame me if I did?

With four days to go in Europe, the pace is definitely slowing for this traveller. In Rome, I was like a hyperactive kid on a sugar rush. In Madrid, I have adopted the leisurly pace of a retiree, seeing one major site a day, spending alot of time sleeping, reading, sitting with my grandfather, or chatting with my aunt. It is just as well. When I got here, I had been driving myself at a relentless pace since the first week of this month. My health was bad, I looked terrible, felt terrible, but was strangely euphoric -A real "travel junkie". On Monday, my first night in Madrid, I crashed hard and slept for 10 hours.

Yesterday, I went and saw Goya´s tomb at the San Antonio de las Flores church. The building is small and nondescript on the outside, but within, on the ceiling, there is a magnificent fresco by Goya depicting the miracle of Saint Anthony of Padua, who resurrected a murdered man to proclaim his father innocent of the crime. I also stopped at Casa Mingo, a true gem of spot, which is right next to the Panteon de Goya (as the Spanish call his crypt). At Casa Mingo, you can sip a delicious glass of crisp apple cider and munch on chorizo a la sidra (cider sausage), while you watch the chefs work the rotisserie. At lunch, the locals guzzle the delicious cider and devour the pollo asado (roast chicken), which is the house specialty. The smell alone will send you to heaven...

Today, I am going to visit the Prado, probably the last museum on this trip, which has been part university art course, part religious pilgrimage, punctuated by the occasional bender! Basically, it has been altogether fantastic.

... to pick up where I left off, my first full day in Barcelona was capped off by a night on the town -which, to me, seemed to be de rigueur considering the circumstances -I was in Barcelona, dammit! Inexplicably, many of the people at the hostel did not seem interested in going out, claiming they were "tired"... In my opinion, if you are on a trip, and you are going to take a night off, Barcelona, widely considered to have one of the best nightlifes in Europe, is NOT the place to do it. Nevertheless, I managed to meet some pretty good guys from the States and Oznur, a girl from Turkey, who were interested.

I had actually seen Oznur before... kinda. She had chatted to the aforementioned Canadian girls on the train to Barcelona as I dozed. Still, we recognized each other and laughed at the coincidence. Barcelona must have a hundred hostels and yet we ended up in the same one. I found it pretty cool to spend time with someone from Turkey, after weeks of hanging around with yanks and other members of the Commonwealth.

Barcelona at night is a sight to behold. La Rambla and the surrounding streets are choked with tourists and locals, street performers, vendors, artists, musicians, vagabonds, drug pushers, prostitutes (one of whom flashed me and grabbed my butt as I walked by... no kidding) and dozens of guys carrying around six packs of beer and trying to sell you one for a Euro. The beerboys can´t possibly do very good business until the end of the night, when people are drunk and lazy, because you can buy tall cans of beer for less than a Euro in grocery stores on either side of the main blvd. That is what I did more than once that night. The American boys opted for 2€ wine, which they drank quickly and efficiently straight from the bottle as we wandered.

We hit a few cool bars, including one (the name escapes me at the moment)that was done up like some psychedelic enchanted forest with gnomes and toadstools and scary trees with faces. We also hung out in plazas, where patrons from bars packed to the rafters spilled out into the main square, drinks in hand, to continue their revelry at the next stop. It was loud, raucous, and plain fun. Being the responsible sightseers that we were, Oznur and I decided to call it a night around 3 a.m. in order to get a bit of shut-eye before tackling the city the next day. The Americans, somewhat mesmerized, stayed out and paid for it the next day... but I´m sure they didn´t really mind.

After a night of torture on the rack in my hostel bed, I got up cranky at around 9 and headed out with Rahim, a guy from Toronto, to check out more of the Barri Gotic and the area East of it. We finally met up with Oznur, who had gone to buy her train ticket to San Sebastian, at midday, at the Sagrada Familia cathedral, Gaudi´s unfinished masterpiece. I thought that I was finally "churched-out" by the time I got to Barcelona, but the S-F proved me wrong. I was captivated by this structure that is, after all, essentially a construction site. At the pace they are building, it should be busy around the time my grandkids bring their children to Spain. I explained the two facades, depicting the birth and early life of Jesus, and the Passion, to my two companions, both of whom happened to be muslim. It was kind of funny to tell this story, which, owing to my Euro-centric point of view, I used to think was universally well-known...

Rahim took off to buy his ticket (I was very happy to have bought mine upon my arrival in this city. Barcelona, for all its charms, is fairly spread out). Oznur and I headed to Parc Guelli, which was designed by Gaudi. I was lukewarm about going there, but decided to take a chance. It turned out to be the highlight of the day. We ended up sitting in this amazing place, sipping a beer in an alcove sculpted from the rock, and enjoying an incredible view of the city. Later, we checked out the Gaudi museum and a few other fantastic sites, before heading back to the hostel. We were only there long enough to change before heading out for supper..It was then that I realized that it was 10 pm already! My two amazing days in Barcelona were capped by another stroll down La Rambla. This city had definitely lived up to expectations and was certainly one of my favourite places. It is weird, elegant, crazy, pretty, fun. It is hard to do it justice with descriptions... you just have to visit, that is all there is to it.

Yesterday, I got to Atocha station in Madrid after a long train ride and was greeted by my Aunt Mila, who immediately took me to see the memorial for the victims of March 11. I was very moved. Upon arrival at her apartment, I greeted my 97-year old grandfather, know to all as el abuelo (literally, "The Grandfather").

Although at times he didn´t know me, there were also flickers of recognition in his eyes, particularly when I gave him the pictures of the family. He held them in his hands and studied them at length. After a few minutes, groaning as he struggled to raise himself out of his chair (my aunt insisted I "allow him to do his exercise"), he walked slowly across the room, and delicately place the pictures on his mantle, alongside other family photos.

I also spent some time with my cousin Celia and her husband, who dropped by after work, and I discovered that Abuelo and I enjoy similar hobbies... since I have been smoking on this trip, we spent alot of time coughing together. It was great to see him again, considering that T thought that the last time, years ago, was really going to be the last time.

Once, today, Diana, my Abuelo´s helper, shouted into his ear (he is quite deaf) "Don Jose, sabes quien es este?" (Don Jose, do you know who this is?). He furrowed his brow and appeared to think for a minute. When told that it was his Grandson from Canada, his face lit up. "hombre!" he said. I laughed.


I have been checking my usual sites for news and commentary. Occasionally, Mark Steyn hits one out of the park and into the next county. THIS ONE is a bat-bursting grand slam, as far as I am concerned.

The hostel sucks, I nearly died trying to get there, but I´m in Barcelona!

Yesterday morning, I grabbed a quick cafe con leche and a smoke (yeah yeah, I´ll quit when I get back!), hit the train station to buy my train ticket to Madrid, and jumped on the metro to get to hostel I had booked for Saturday and Sunday. A few minutes later, I was staring at the big statue of Columbus at the foot of La Rambla. Great! That was easy...now I know my hostel is around here somewhere... 45 sweat-soaked minutes later, I dragged my bloated pack up the stairs of hostel Abba - the place is a hole. I knew it would be, it has a 51% rating on hostels.com, but everywhere else was booked. The dorm is a biohazard (thank God for hostel sheets) and I wouldn´t bathe swine in the showers, but it is a roof over my head while I am in this city.

The place was deserted, so I got out of there as quickly as I could and headed off to do some sightseeing all on my lonesome. I walked up La Rambla, and headed up to check out some Gaudi-designed buildings before grabbing some gazpacho and chorizo and huevos for lunch at a nice little spot away from the tourists. It was dirt cheap and on TV, they had the royal wedding of Felipe and Leticia, his hot TV host princess. Later, I checked out the Cathedral and the Bari Gotic (not Bario Gotico... this is Catalunya, thank you very much). Eventually, I faced the inevitable and headed back to the hostel. After chatting a bit with some fellow travellers, three american guys and Turkish girl and I headed out for an evening on the town...

A night out in Barcelona!....