not the motorcycle diaries

Why, I do believe I have had periods in the past few months of what my partner in crime terms `Western Europe Fatigue’. This being the sense that if you see one more gothic cathedral/medieval monastery/famous painting/charming cobbled street/cosy multilingual hostel/perfect hairstyle, you may be tempted to don your Australian flag speedos and flouro zinc cream and crack out some kind of tawdry suburban ditty (or perhaps a little chant I learned on the Pontal: “Reforma Agraria por un Brasil sem latifundio!”. I met people who could make this sound rhythmic and inspiring. Amazing). Still, Spain inspires this feeling far less than France - particularly Barcelona. Catalanarchism, paella, and a cat in a pub that answered to Craaaaig. I don’t ask for much.