Going from one extreme to another. I have now gone directly from one of my favorite places on earth (Euzkadi/Northern Spain) to another (Manchester, England). It is quite the change of scenery being that it has dropped about 15 degrees celcius. Some like it hot, some like it cold. I really just prefer culture and cool dudes.
From Bilbao, I went to spend some time in Barcelona with my friend Elias Martinez de Rises. This is the second time he has been kind enough to let me through his doors in the past year. I met him last year when I travelled to Murcia and Zaragoza. My time at his place was much shorter then, so I was happy to get to hang out for about 3 days during this stint. We visited some of the important sights from the time of the Anarchist stronghold during the Spanish Civil War. We also went out for an evening where I met some of the locals from the Barcelona punk scene. Not to mention, we were also hanging out with the bassist of Fucked Up who was there to visit her boyfriend. It was a great ending to my time in Spain.
After leaving from Spain, I landed in Manchester the other morning. It was quite strange to be surrounded by English being spoken as the native language. It was almost going too fast for me. After using English as your second language for such a long period of time, I felt that I was not up to par.
Here, I met up with my friend Phil. We first headed over to visit the famous Wigan Pier. George Orwell spent some time here to experience the horrid living conditions of the English working class in the North. It was just as grim as he writes. The next day, we went on an adventure of audible bliss as we visited sights from both The Smiths and Joy Division. First, we went to Salford Lads Club. Then, after returning to Macclesfield, the city where Phil is from, we went to the infamous house of Ian Curtis. 77 Barton Street. There was an eerie feeling that came over my body when peeking through the window of the room he hanged himself. That was soon to be interupted by the current resident poking his head out of the window and yelling, "Get a fucking life asshole". I think it just made the experience even more memorable. Perhaps it was even Ian's angry ghost!
I have ventured back to the good old UK-diet as well. So far, I have definitely consumed much more than I can hold. Some highlights have included the 16 ounces of Fish and Chips. The thing was about twice the size of my foot, and probably weighed about 32 ounces after being soaked in all the grease. I also got to venture back to my favorite Indian (as in the country not the tribes) sweet: Burfi. I can thank my neighbors back in Birmingham for all the acne and heart attacks that result from this.
From Bilbao, I went to spend some time in Barcelona with my friend Elias Martinez de Rises. This is the second time he has been kind enough to let me through his doors in the past year. I met him last year when I travelled to Murcia and Zaragoza. My time at his place was much shorter then, so I was happy to get to hang out for about 3 days during this stint. We visited some of the important sights from the time of the Anarchist stronghold during the Spanish Civil War. We also went out for an evening where I met some of the locals from the Barcelona punk scene. Not to mention, we were also hanging out with the bassist of Fucked Up who was there to visit her boyfriend. It was a great ending to my time in Spain.
After leaving from Spain, I landed in Manchester the other morning. It was quite strange to be surrounded by English being spoken as the native language. It was almost going too fast for me. After using English as your second language for such a long period of time, I felt that I was not up to par.
Here, I met up with my friend Phil. We first headed over to visit the famous Wigan Pier. George Orwell spent some time here to experience the horrid living conditions of the English working class in the North. It was just as grim as he writes. The next day, we went on an adventure of audible bliss as we visited sights from both The Smiths and Joy Division. First, we went to Salford Lads Club. Then, after returning to Macclesfield, the city where Phil is from, we went to the infamous house of Ian Curtis. 77 Barton Street. There was an eerie feeling that came over my body when peeking through the window of the room he hanged himself. That was soon to be interupted by the current resident poking his head out of the window and yelling, "Get a fucking life asshole". I think it just made the experience even more memorable. Perhaps it was even Ian's angry ghost!
I have ventured back to the good old UK-diet as well. So far, I have definitely consumed much more than I can hold. Some highlights have included the 16 ounces of Fish and Chips. The thing was about twice the size of my foot, and probably weighed about 32 ounces after being soaked in all the grease. I also got to venture back to my favorite Indian (as in the country not the tribes) sweet: Burfi. I can thank my neighbors back in Birmingham for all the acne and heart attacks that result from this.
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