♫ Los Delinqüentes - El aire de la calle ♫

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Hiding in the boys high school bathrooms at my work because I'm too hungover to lead a class of kids at 9am is a theoretical new low. The night before, I figured out that Erasmus is the easiest way to socialise. Full name, Desiderius Erasmus Roterodamus, this was some Dutch guy from the middle ages every young European seems to have a toxic relationship with. A European-wide student program for cultural exchanges. The events are constant. I have gone from searching every corner for a social event of uni students to being swamped in them. Not exactly a problem.

The mix of every major European nationality makes for great conflict at social events. Already I sense a certain tension between everyone and the Italian guys. I would not recommend getting in the way of an Italian man and a soccer ball. Or maybe I would, because watching them gesticulate to the lightest inconvenience is too good. For myself, I know I come across as an alien here. But the approach you can take as a traveller from a far away land is to simply approach everything with an intense curiosity, and understanding that your time here is temporary. I am collecting people, stories, experiences to take back to my country. Any stakes I lay in the ground that tether me to Europe won't hold my sway back home. A really curious point my new Erasmus friend Naeem said was that while the Erasmus people tend to go out on weekdays, the Saturday nights "are for the Spanish". This explained a lot, while the biggest parties tended to be on a Tuesday, and why they did nothing on Saturdays, when Valladolid is the most lively. It's an odd choice to live separate from the locals, but then there is reason for it. It's cheaper, and easier to organise.

Social sport with Erasmus has been really good. They certainly don't fuck around on Football Tuesdays and I definitely work hard there, but volleyball is the most fun. I missed my volleyball team in Melbourne for a long time - it's so all-inclusive and silly, but there's still room for athletic song and dance. It's the same here, as I can still focus on sport but also get to know people, importantly. I've met Emma, Rares, Robin, Thibauld, Viviana, Adam, Rafa, many more. They're all the best and beers afterward are a must.

I went searching for a guitar with my Guatemalan friend Pedro. We went to a music store and although the gorgeous flamenco guitar I wanted was too rich for my blood, we got to talking with two other musicians there. They gave me the names of two places where open mics are played. Stay tuned I suppose. The flamenco guitar is thinner, and there are no fret dots to show you where you're going. It's 'traditional' which is fair enough I guess! It's a brighter sound than the classical ones I tried, and I like it very much. I'm going to look on 'wallapop' which is Spain's facebook marketplace, for a cheap one.

I also went to Segovia on a Friday. An impulse decision to just go somewhere. I booked a BlaBlaCar (I can't help but hate this name, it curls in your mouth when you say it), an app that essentially democratises hitch-hiking for a small price. I can get from Valladolid to a nearby town, ~1hr30, for around 7-8 euros. I also get a free Spanish conversation. Locked in a metal box together usually forces it to happen. Segovia has a really old aqueduct, with its visible part extending into the middle of the city spectacularly. I have no photos of this so you must trust me - to have such height in this spectacle of Roman engineering back then, must have really wowed visitors. Most especially the Moors! Admittedly this day was NOT planned and so I did NOT know what I was doing. There was endless fun in that arrangement, but I did find myself in the headspace of rushing. Following the little blue dot on my phone to get to the next big thing. The church (pictured below) made me feel squeamish - the paintings were my favourite. The best decision I made was to skirt the outside Segovian walls and wander around looking for birds. I found THREE NEW LIFERS and A CAT!!! There isn't plenty to say unfortunately, I did the Segovian tourism sights and sounds, but I will stress the best parts happened away from them.

There was a protest outside my train station apartment. It was full of old Spaniards arguing - 'NO AL MURO - SOTERRAMIENTO' - against the construction of a new wall. A big infrastructure change. 100 or so of them stopped traffic walking slowly up and down the street, police escorting them as you would your grandma in the supermarket. It seemed pointless to me.

I love the way the Spanish answer the phone. 'Dime'/'Dígame': tell me. Not even a hello, just a direct command to get down to business.

I ALSO HAD THANKSGIVING WITH MY AMERICANS ROOMMATES. It's the end of my time living with them so I put my best smiles on. The cooking was marvellous. About 7 guests, and we had one from most every generation. It had all the hallmarks of an extended family dinner: intensely awkward, always misunderstood, but with a tension that's easy to break with humour. I felt I was there as Louis Theroux in full investigation. There was a strong lack of true thankfulness, I must admit. The tradition of conveying your gratefulness was performed but I did not feel convinced by this. For a holiday built around this activity I suppose I was a little disappointed. Not so much for failing its namesake of Thanksgiving, but because an opportunity for human connection in a foreign country with a rabble of disconnected and searching-for-something people was missed.

Mexico phrases from Rafa, Hugo

• wey: duuuuude
• A la chingada: fuck it
• Chingon: really good
• No mames: no way!/fuck outta here
• Que chido: cool

More to say, more to do, here are some more photos for you.

Proof I am doing something right:

The Cathedral of Our Lady of the Assumption and of Saint Fructus:

The last church built in Roman Gothic style in Spain: note the stalactite-like spires! With the tallest tower in Spain until 1614.

Queen Isabel II with her bite-sized dog, who I can only assume she loved very much:

Fresco of Queen Isabel I's coronation. There are no pupils in the eyes and there's an uncanny valley look to them. Very impressive detailing but this is currently haunting my dreams:

I think this is the only recorded Jack Loftus goal in soccer and it was against these lovely tryhards:

My Romanian friend Rares talking to his new Romanian shopkeeper friend at the only Romanian store in Valladolid:

Me 🤠