On Thursday morning I packed my stuff and headed out of San Sebastian. Despite the weight of my bags I took a longer route than necessary, walking past the surfers at Zurriola beach, across the river and through the centre of town, before heading out to the train station. The sun was shining and a fresh breeze was blowing off the shore, and I had a powerful sense that I was coming down off the crest of a wave.
The last few weeks have been pretty intense. Since that first, long Saturday night in Madrid every night has been a party, and I've been surrounded by funny, interesting people more or less constantly. Walking away from somewhere as beautiful as San Sebastian, and being alone again for the first time in a while, both my rucksack and my heart grew heavier with every step.
I need to push on though, and it's about time I covered a bit more ground. I caught a bus across the border to the French town of Hendaye to book tickets across the country. My brother Oli and his friends (James and Bruce, from that first night in London) are snowboarding in Austria and the French Alps this week, so I queued for about an hour for a ticket to Grenoble, where they could pick me up in Bruce's van. Unfortunately, I hadn't anticipated the sort of mayhem that consumes the French rail network during the Easter holidays. The woman at the desk told me there was literally no way I could leave that day - not even to go to Paris and head back down to Grenoble from there. I booked tickets for a 14 hour day of travelling the next day, then headed back to San Sebastian...
To be honest, despite the frustration of the wasted morning and the hassle of heading from Spain to France and back again in a few hours, I was glad of the chance for one more night in San Sebastian. In the time I had been out of town, the population seemed to have at least doubled as the town filled up with Easter tourists, drawn here for the Semana Santa celebrations. I had real problems trying to get a bed for the night, and in the end had to settle for a knackered old armchair-bed in a run down hostel that seemed to be run by a mad woman. I don't know what language she was speaking (probably Basque, because I'm pretty sure it wasn't Spanish), but whilst she seemed crazy she wasn't stupid - the uncomfortable armchair cost me more than any hostel yet. At that stage I was prepared to take what I could get though.
I bumped into Scott again, and that night we went out for our third 'last night together', along with David - a freelance travel journalist I got chatting to in my new hostel. Had a good night, and for once I managed to exercise a little restraint; I got to bed before 2am.
The last few weeks have been pretty intense. Since that first, long Saturday night in Madrid every night has been a party, and I've been surrounded by funny, interesting people more or less constantly. Walking away from somewhere as beautiful as San Sebastian, and being alone again for the first time in a while, both my rucksack and my heart grew heavier with every step.
I need to push on though, and it's about time I covered a bit more ground. I caught a bus across the border to the French town of Hendaye to book tickets across the country. My brother Oli and his friends (James and Bruce, from that first night in London) are snowboarding in Austria and the French Alps this week, so I queued for about an hour for a ticket to Grenoble, where they could pick me up in Bruce's van. Unfortunately, I hadn't anticipated the sort of mayhem that consumes the French rail network during the Easter holidays. The woman at the desk told me there was literally no way I could leave that day - not even to go to Paris and head back down to Grenoble from there. I booked tickets for a 14 hour day of travelling the next day, then headed back to San Sebastian...
To be honest, despite the frustration of the wasted morning and the hassle of heading from Spain to France and back again in a few hours, I was glad of the chance for one more night in San Sebastian. In the time I had been out of town, the population seemed to have at least doubled as the town filled up with Easter tourists, drawn here for the Semana Santa celebrations. I had real problems trying to get a bed for the night, and in the end had to settle for a knackered old armchair-bed in a run down hostel that seemed to be run by a mad woman. I don't know what language she was speaking (probably Basque, because I'm pretty sure it wasn't Spanish), but whilst she seemed crazy she wasn't stupid - the uncomfortable armchair cost me more than any hostel yet. At that stage I was prepared to take what I could get though.
I bumped into Scott again, and that night we went out for our third 'last night together', along with David - a freelance travel journalist I got chatting to in my new hostel. Had a good night, and for once I managed to exercise a little restraint; I got to bed before 2am.
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