Buddies overseas part.2

So Roadtripping has been great.

I can’t tell you how many times Sandy and I have gone somewhere, places we’ve planned to visit and had to save a bundle to get there then when we’ve arrive, said, “Wow! This place is cool, but wouldn’t it be rad to come here with your mates?’

Now we have. We’ve been road-tripping through Spain with our buddies, and there’s nothing better than hooking up with your buddies overseas.

On our first night in Valencia we wandered dark streets, dodging crowds and ducking up alleys with graffiti over walls where we found a bar which had traditional music flooding from it. We sat on the street, bought a round of drinks and talked through the hours, telling stories and catching up.

I got curious about the music coming from the upstairs though, so naturally I checked it out. I’d like to point out old wooden stairs aren’t ideal for creeping up to take subtle peeks. So when I poked my head up, a room full of about thirty old blokes were staring at me. Cigars were hanging out their mouths and they were sitting around a massive table like it was a boardroom meeting, except they all were holding guitars, some big, some little, and some mandolins. I had stumbled up at the end of one of their songs.

‘Bravo,’ I said, clapped, and felt lame, but said it again.

The nearest bloke smiled. The others looked at each other, shrugged and began talking about which song they’d like to play next. So I asked the guy if he’d mind if I invited my amigos up. He shrugged. Good enough.

We spent the next hour watching in awe. At one point I got jealous because Mook, Arnie and Erin got to sing with them and I didn’t, but then I got the opportunity to use the clapping sticks, which is not quite the same because you might say being given clapping sticks is a bit like the musical equivalent of being put in remedial class, but then when I was twelve I was given the prestigious job of playing the triangle at the Sydney Opera House for my school so I was happily at home..

The old bloke who’d lent me his sticks told me, “We play together since university. Every week on Wednesday.” I looked at him. He was old, but some of his buddies looked like they could’ve retired twice. These guys had been playing together longer than the Stones.

The first time I got an inkling of how good travelling overseas with friends could be was when Sandy and I hooked up with my friend Gus in India. He was arriving after us and I’d told him that at Mumbai airport a bloke with a limo would be meeting him. I know a limo sounds a little far fetched, but at the time when I told him, I honestly had every intention of doing it. Really. It would’ve happened too, had we not used up our free Marriot hotel points at the bar.

He arrived at the airport expecting to see a well dressed Indian gentleman holding a cardboard sign with his name on it. Instead, he got a zillion screaming Indians. Hands outstretched as they tried to grab his clothing. He stood safely behind the last barrier of airport arrivals gob-smacked. His eyes searching the crowd for his name. Every one of them wanted his money and his bags in their taxi.

Sandy and I were sitting on top of an old wall behind this, in the car park, watching, and giggling as he walked up and down the line of screamers searching franticly.

When he finally found us, he wanted to kill us. Then hug us. Then kill us. It set the tone for a great holiday. We were a force to be reckoned with, no Indian tout felt capable of ripping us off, because together we would argue, scream, dance, and occasionally sing to get a fair price on things.

Seeing Europe with your buddies is just as good. It’s perfect because it’s the road trip which I love, and it’s also completely foreign, sometimes it seems so far removed from what I know it feels like another planet, just like outback Australia.

Think rural highway restaurants, an experience everywhere and in Spain don’t expect those folk to speak a word of English, like you can imagine it isn’t at the forefront of people’s minds out the back of Wagga Wagga, Australia. Fair enough too. So we try our little phrases, like, ‘Aola. Como estas?’ This often goes completely spastic on me though, because I did Spanish lessons but never really practised, so I guess I’m a little falsely confident. I once asked if I could have the three waitresses instead of three beers. Sandy’s Spanish is tops and often saves me.

It doesn’t always work out her way though. In Tuscany, Italy, Sandy and I hooked up with my parents. This was very special. They were renting an apartment in the countryside where we stayed on their couch for a few days. This was during my birthday so Dad treated us to some lovely provincial Italian food in the local town where Sandy impressed my parents by chatting to the waitress in Spanish, apparently Italian is similar. Personally, I think the waitress looked a little confused.

My Mum and Dad were impressed though and Dad took it upon himself to educate us about Italy. He drove us to Florence to see the Uffizi Gallery.

Let me just say, my old man he loves technology. He loves the new gadgets, computers, video cameras, etc. So of course when he and Mum were renting their car, you can imagine his delight when the girl behind the counter offered them a GPS mapping system.

Sandy and I were a little blown away it. We’ve travelled all of Europe with this tatty map book that has several pages stuck together with sticky tape. Its great and we love it, but not many libraries or bookstores would stock it because A-, it’s out of date and B-, it’s in German.

Dad’s GPS had a cutesy American girl’s voice which told him when to turn, a TV screen showed a map which moved with the car. But then Sandy and I get by with our book because surprisingly enough Europeans have road signs.

So getting to Florence seemed a little more difficult than necessary. We drove around a park six times because of Miss Cutesy’s directions. Dad’s neck went red. Admittedly I didn’t help the old man’s frustration by making smart arse comments from the backseat. When he did finally park the car he frog marched Mum, Sandy and me through the streets of Florence to the Gallery.

To his credit though, if he hadn’t hurried us we would’ve missed our booking because the gallery lets people in at allotted times and we would’ve missed the whole thing. It was well worth it - think Da Vinci’s, Michelangelo’s, Caravaggio’s and Botticelli’s (he did The Birth of Venus, it’s of that naked lady who’s standing in a clam with her hands covering her naughty bits).

Europe’s got loads of amazing art and architecture. It’s easy to understand why it’s on most people’s “to do list”. We’ve been road tripping for only a few months and we have seen loads, but I think its losing its edge for me. Can it be that an old building is starting to look like just another old building?

I wanna feel awed again. It’s only been a few months and I don’t wanna be de-sensitised. Not yet.

We’ve just got to Berlin. “Wow, look at that!”