Treinta y una semana

I made this terrible mistake in Ecuador about 3 years ago. I'd been keeping up this online diary and I'd been on and off updating it with my travellogue, blogging before anyone had heard the term. I was enjoying it a lot, not only was it my only real link to my life back home, but it was an excellent way of sorting my experiences into perspectives and thoughts, and I can go back and read them now and the memories flood back.

Only somewhere around the border with peru something terrible happened. I began being so bogged down in actually having the experiences that I forgot to write them down. At first it was just laziness, or occasionally I had the excellent excuse that the particular backwater tourist trap hell hole I was in at the time didn't have internet access. But after a while I'd get trapped into a cycle where I hadn't written for so long that it was actually too much hassle to catch up. It's funny, I have friendships like that too, people I'd love to contact but I don't really want to have to explain myself, and excuse the time that has past.

I've realised I've managed to do this here too. I haven't written to you all for at least three weeks, which is the danger zone because any more than that and you'll never hear from me again. So despite the fact that It's four am and I have school tomorrow (both excellent reasons in their own right to not write a travelogue) here goes...

I guess the big news is that I'm now thirty. Or rather the big news is how inconsequential it feels. It happened about a week ago, and I'd love to say it crept up on me but I don't think worrying about something for over a year counts as a surprise. I'd also love to say I don't feel any different. I do. Actually I feel a bit better. There's something about the inevitability of it that's quite appealing. 29 is all about impending doom. 30 is all about not having to worry about it any more because there's nothing you can do.

It couldn't have been a nicer birthday. Ros came to share it with me, which was wonderful - I loved showing off my life here to her and showing her off to my friends out here, all though she did annoy me by finding more veggie restaurants in three days than I found in a month (thanks again ros by the way, the thali at juicy jone's is fantastic!). Friday night we drank until the wee hours in a series of progressively less convincing bars (excellent cocktails and then bad rock and roll). Saturday we burnt ourselves to a crisp on the beach (my carefully selected party outfit clashed terribly with my bright red face).

The party itself was insane. I'd absolutely promised my flatmates we'd be done by three, so at three thirty AM I played my charango to about 40 drunken europeans (and one american) and then dragged them all kicking and screaming to a night club. This was after we'd turned my very domestic and homey flat into a veritable indie club (I played cajon to the clash, I'm sure they'd turn in their limo). The next day we sat in a sunny plaza by a bodega and watched the world go by with increasingly long cava induced vapour trails behind them. I took some of the cava id collected at the party to school the next day, and learnt loads of rude words that I'm sure my teacher would never have told me sober. I think I want all my birthdays to last an entire weekend. In fact, as Ros pointed out more than once, I should have two, like the queen.

My first week of thirty has been interesting. Lots more work than usual (I guess that's the pattern of these things) although the national gallery now have a nice online simulated horse race to celebrate their stubbs exhibition (I've heard it's very good). I'm not sure it's worth the three nights of all night programming (don't worry richard I'm exagerating, and I wont invoice you for 72 hours!), but deadlines will be deadlines. My actual birthday was basically pampering myself. I had an extra long swim and gym session (I am losing weight it's not just a trick of the light) and then blew the whole thing on a slap up lunch. In the evening I was introduced to barcelona's most popular champagnary, where there's barely enough room to get your glass of cava from elbow height to your mouth without seriously invading the personal space of about 6 people on the way up. It really was heaving, so much so people had to breath in time or their rib cages would grate against eachother. Excellent wine though (terrible food).

I then got dragged out by my newly made friends (it's hard not to make friends at such close quarters) to a chupito place. Chupitos are deadly single shot cokctail concoctions, usually downed with beers to make evenings go past in brighter colours. I had a Harry Potter (tasted like a terry's chocolate orange) and a kamakazee and then something that I neither remember the taste or name of, but I do remember how much larger and nearer the floor seemed afterwards.

Somehow I ended up at a rap jam. I've never been to one before, certainly not one in three languages. Rap is something I've never really had an affinity for or any knowledge of, and certainly recorded it's always done little for me. Live however it's another matter. It really is magical, watching people spiral rhythmic improvised poetry and enthrall and audience sat around them like disciples. It was mesmorizing (I wish my portugese and french had been up to the task)

So what else is new? The Spanish is definitely improving. I know this because people keep commenting on it, and saying how nice it is to be able to have an actual conversation with me. It is also very flimsy. It only needs one weekend of a visitor from the UK to nearly destroy it (or maybe it was the cava). I have mentioned cava a lot haven't I. It's very nice! So is sangria, especially when Ros makes it for me because I'm already too drunk to work out which end of the knife will hurt the lemon, and which end wont hurt me.

OK I promise I have also spent some time sober. Risa and JP came out this week again it was a joy to play host. The other great thing about having friends come and visit is that you can catch up on your sightseeing. I've now seen park guell, which although it's meant to be an unmissable part of a weekend in Barcelona I've managed to avoid for over a month. It's wonderful, a magically imagined garden city that no-one actually moved into, complete with hansel and gretel gateway cottages and an Iconic dragon that shares with the mona lisa the dual traits of being better in person and much smaller than you'd imagined. With Risa and JP I was introduced to Barcelonas labarynth. It's in a park even further away from the city center and it's a properly annoyingly difficult maze of hedges set in a dreamy wooded hillside park. We found our way through it quite easily at first because we mistook the exit for the entrance, but when I raced JP through the right way round I got horrifically lost and he beat me by a time too embarrasing to put in writing. I really ought to have guessed that if I passed him running in the oposite direction it probably meant the way I was going was a dead end. I blame all the cava from the week before.

Tonight I sent them away from their first weekend in Barcelona by taking them to the regular Sunday flamenco jam I go to, although the pizza we ate before dragged on a little too long and we missed most of it. I take it all back about the food here. It's excellent, I just needed clever and cultured people to help me work out where to eat (and how to turn pages in a guide book). It was especially nice because Risa is opening a veggie restaurant in a few months, so we got to check out the competition and I felt a little like a G2 food critic.

What else? Camilla and leah went home, which was sad because it wasn't until they went that I realised just how dependent I'd become on them! I miss you guys loads (Camilla could you forward this to Leah, I don't have her email!). Tim and Tom came out a few weeks ago for the primavera sound festival, which needs an email in itself to describe in detail! Iggy pop was excellent, although I refuse to believe he managed to defy gravity with his unzipped jeans through force of will alone, I'm sure at his age there's glue involved. New Order were great except for Barny Sumners banter which is almost as facile as his Lyrics. They might be giants were a blast, I've wanted to see them live since I was 16 and they didn't dissapoint (except by saying they were from boston which confused the hell out of me, I thought they were canadian). Oh and thankyou tim for my discovery of the festival, the arcade fire, who are from montreal and extremely good live (if you like a bit of accordian with your heart wrenching rock).

Right that's enough now, it's incoherent, pathcy and in places inaccurate for comic effect, but I have put finger to keyboard and broken out of my radio silence. I'm an adult now properly, and I need to be more disciplined. Watch this space for another update next week, and if I don't produce one feel free to flame me. If anyone is genuinely bored of all this text in their inbox feel free to tell me, I wont be offended in the least.

May your glass of cava always be half full.

XX Danny