Spain. The Final Frontier.

If you look closely each and every time you start to enjoy your stay at some new place, you are in for some surprises. Be it a cliche, but all of us have habits. Some of them apply to everyday life. Some are performed only at certain times - work, studying, relaxing, walking, cooking. Others take place while there are particular people around - friends, family, strangers, boss. I want to tell you about my habits here. Some of them can avoid the iceberg. Some are meant to be doomed, like Titanic.

Very first thing - the whole easy-going approach to work. I wanted to buy a train ticket from Barcelona to Vic and maybe ask for some useful information, like when and where does it arrive at and depart from. I get to Placa d'Espanya from the airport, and then I travel with Metro to Placa de Catalunya, cause that is both an undergroung and train station. And there is nobody there. Couple of places where you would normally see people selling tickets to you.
But there is no one there! Then, a glimpse of hope - some curtains are raised and one box seems to be open for business. I ran to it with my 45 kilograms of luggage*. The lady is about to close them just in front of my eyes. Just barely I manage to get my ticket and discover, that train leaves in 30 minutes. Not the actual time, though. She said "30 minutes" and she was gone. Curtains down. End of the show. Roll credits.

When I finally got to Vic, I was exhausted. I was up since 5 am, and the adrenaline kept me going from airport to this point since 8 pm, but it was already about 4 hours straight of running around. Fortunately, my landlord offered to pick me up from the Vic train station. And she did! I was really expecting to walk wherever I was supposed to have the place. Or just sleep around the train station**. When we finally got to the place, I am in no better condition. I just want to take a shower, smoke a cigarrete, eat some peanuts I took from Poland - not necessarily in that order. I take my backpack on my back. I grab the suitcase. All loaded. Coming from behind the car. Not minding anything.
Suddenly- a car. Just in front of the door. "Kurwa" I say to myself, quietly accepting my fate. And it stops. And the landlord and her daughter seems not to notice the horror on my face. They casually walk past me, onto the door. I follow their lead.
Only later I reminded myself, that it works this way in Spain. The drivers will always allow the people crossing to the other side of the road. Simple as that. No need to run for your lives, like in Turkey or Poland. No need to look for proper lights, like in Germany***. You. Just. Go.

And the final thing. The smell. I am used to fumes. I am used to chemicals, leaves or charcoal burning. Hell, it's fine with me if there is some "I really should clean the fridge" smell. But... To put it bluntly, there are lots of pig farms around Vic. And they do get to the city. Everyday. Morning, noon, afternoon, evening. Like right now, when I am typing. What can I say? I try to think of my childhood, when I used to go the country to visit my family. Just bring some good memories back. And associate the bad smell with good memories.

Yeah... so far no luck.

This is a regular way for me to take to the University. River. Church. Forgotten housing. Ancient Bridge. Trees.
I think I love it.

* Believe me or not, walking around with heavy stuff is my thing. And I like to run. But a combination of the two is pretty deadly.
** I took my tent and sleeping bag, so I think it would work just perfectly with my setting it all in the middle of  roundabout next to the station.
*** Just a guess. Just my stereotypical view of Germans as people paying extra attention to following rules.