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Tuesday 29 July 2014

The Mundane London Life

I haven't written a blog post in a while as I've been settling into life now as a Londoner and shaking off the tourist a little. The tourist is still there, lurking under the surface (wanting to go to Madame Tussaud and the museum, and other horribly touristy things), but day to day life must go on and I really had to stop eating as much potato as I was.

I have been working for 2 weeks now and enjoying it a lot. I've got one project in particular that I'm sinking my teeth into, which is overhauling the New Student website. It's bad. I mean..like, really bad. And I don't have a lot of room to move, sadly. But it's going to be better. (To be honest, if I mashed the keyboard and random code came out, it would be better. I'm sorry. I really am.) So that's fun - I've been employing a lot of what I learnt at Adelaide and trying to emulate the big picture buttons as best I can within the VI of the uni. I've also been throwing around a lot of words to make it sound like I know what I'm talking about - and strangely enough, I do kinda.

Had after work drinks on Friday night with my colleagues and some of the adjoining teams to farewell one of the temps (who found out that day that she would be returning on Monday in a different department!) We went to the student union bar, which was cheap and crowded and good fun (and smelt like weed). Saturday saw a visit to Kew Gardens, one of the top recommended spots in London according to my lovely little London Lonely Planet guide. After almost falling over at the cost of the entry fee, I sucked it up and Nicole, Sophie and myself spent a lovely day in the sunshine with the flowers, getting a good old London sunburn. The highlight of the day: finally finding the Treetop Walk (which, let's be honest, was a fraction disappointing but it took us so goddamn long to find the thing).

So yeah then maybe wine and pizza and vodka may have happened and fast forward to Sunday!

Sunday I spent nursing my hangover. Really nothing much else to report there, however today - Monday - two very exciting and expensive things happened.

Number 1 exciting and expensive thing: Belgium!
Number 2 exciting and expensive thing: Iceland!

Belgium is happening at the end of August with the lovely Nicole and Corey and I promise not to be a menace. I got the last seat on the plane for the way home - booyah! I am making a habit of this. Live life on the edge.

Iceland is happening in March next year and I am randomly going with some people from Meetup thanks to some cheap flights. Figured...why not? It's just before my contract ends.

And so, some exciting things to look forward to as I become settled. I had my first protein shake for breakfast this morning (it felt good, a liquid breakfast, haven't had one for weeks), and my apples and my carrot snacks - and my salmon salad for lunch today - just felt like I was becoming normal again. Energy levels: rising (although the Pound Zone at uni is going to make me fat.)

Oh! It seems the 4pm chocolate run is a global phenomenon.

Much love,
x





Friday 18 July 2014

Working for the man

I am now a salary man..woman. I am a very proud employee of Imperial College, number 5 university in the world and I am part of the Student Outreach and Marketing team. This university isn't about getting bums on seats, it's about getting the right bums on seats. I find that a very interesting concept. They already have the reputation, now all they need to do is get students who are serious and won't drop out.

I've been workin-for-the-man now for 2 and a half days (because I was a lucky sod who got to start at 11am on my first day). So far, so good! Quite a lot is similar - just a matter of exchanging the old acronyms (so many acronyms!) with the new ones. Kind of like translating from one language to another, but significantly easier and basically nothing like it at all. That was a terrible analogy.

Today (Thursday) was my first day doing some proper work, if you get my drift. For all those who have had a few jobs, you know what it's like. The first few days (week..weeks?) are spent in a kind of aimless trying-to-fill-the-time-while-both-you-and-your-boss-try-to-figure-out-what-exactly-it-is-you're-meant-to-be-doing haze. It was good to sink my teeth into something I knew I'd be able to do, it was simply rewriting a couple of webpages, no biggie at this stage, however what ended up was me wanting to overhaul the entire site because it made absolutely no logical sense and and and...getting a bit carried away. For those who know how I work, there may or may not have been some pages of dot points with lots of "perhaps we could try.." and "..consistency?!"

I wonder how long it will take before they regret getting such a pedant in ;)

On my first day, my boss took me on a campus tour (she was particularly excited when I asked about the gym on campus and spent the most time talking about it, this is a good sign!), and then the team and I went out for lunch. I don't completely understand the structure of the team - immediately, I think there are only 3 in the team, each of whom reports to the one above. But we seem to work closely/instantaneously with other teams, the closest of which is made up of 2 and a temp, and then there are another few series of teams made up of equally small numbers (events team, outreach team etc etc)... I'm a little iffy on the structure, basically (and to be honest, I think everyone is).

The campus is lovely - a complete rabbit warren - and everyone takes the stairs and no one uses the lifts. I can see that I will have a butt like granite before I leave London: The City of Stairs. If any uni folk have any questions about how it all works, feel free to ask away!

Wednesday night saw me excitedly head straight from work to Piccadilly Circus, eyeballs in and rearing to see my love..my wonder..the Phantom of the Opera (you can see a previous gushing about the Phantom here so I won't go into my whole spiel about how much I love it and how I am ashamed that I love it so much and..so on and so forth.). I was squeeing with happiness as we approached and the other BritBounder's were laughing at me. Pretty sure it was at me, and not with me. We made our way in, grabbed our seats and the show got under way.

The sets, as usual, were gorgeous. The singing was amazing - Christine could really reach those incredibly high notes. Apparently The Phantom was the understudy but I would have never guessed, he was wonderful. As usual, I didn't feel the chemistry between Raoul and Christine but we all know why that is...

[insert further gushing here]

<rant>
2 small gripes which had nothing to do with the performance but I feel I must vent:
1) You're in a theatre. Why can't you just be silent for an hour? I mean really, why do you feel the need to talk? You can talk at any other point of the day. Seriously. Just an hour. Then there's even an intermission. You can spew forth all the verbal bullshit you need for those 15 minutes and then shut the hell up again.
2) Sit. Goddamn. Still. Stop moving back and forth, which in turn makes me move back and forth, and the person behind... 

One cool thing about Her Majesty's Theatre (which I didn't take liberty of, it cost money) was little opera binoculars attached to the back of each seat! This was what was causing the patrons infront of us to keep moving, and which caused Sophie and myself to keep tapping them on the shoulder requesting stillness (yes, yes that was a thing that happened). And yes, I may have deathglared the people behind me too. I get a little precious about my Phantom, but seriously any theatre performance this happens - and why? Just show a bit of respect for a) the performers and b) the patrons around you.
</rant>

After the show, met two crazy phans (-see what I did there?) who were going to wait by the stage door to get autographs. I thought - why not? I'm not tired yet. Got autographs from Christine and Carlotta but after waiting an hour, I gave up on Raoul and the Phantom and Sophie and I left them to wait..all night, it seemed..

And thus almost concludes my first week at work! Reasonably mundane, I suppose. Just a fraction less exciting than running from bulls in Spain. But still rewarding, none-the less.

Much love,
xx

My very first morning :) I got some funny looks taking this selfie

Squeeing at the Phantom

Dunno why I put this in, but thought they looked cool

The Queen's Tower, Imperial College.
I walk past this every morning on my way into
the building. Will have to climb it one day to see!

Tuesday 15 July 2014

Bath, Salisbury and the 'henge

The rain came down. I coughed and sniffled my way out of bed, feeling miserable. I looked outside. The wind howled and the rain came down in torrents. Ok, that's a fraction dramatic. A day trip out to Bath, Salisbury and Stonehenge was on the cards for the day and it was not looking to be off to a good start.

I threw all my cold medicine into my backpack I had thoughtfully packed the night before. I got dressed in the dark and did the worst makeup I think I have ever done. I was running late and left home a little bundle of misery at 6.45am. My little umbrella did little to keep my dry. The rain grew heavier and heavier as I hurried to the tube station, my cowboy boots proving themselves to not be waterproof. I sniffed and coughed.

Running through the tube station, I saw the train depart just as I reached it. Missed it. Panic. Ask the gentleman sitting there when the next train will run. Didn't know. Took a deep breath and soon the board changed. 2 minutes. Phew. I'll make it in time. Thank you Sasha for always scheduling to arrive a good 10 minutes before you have to. While waiting at the tube stop, getting strange stairs on account of my tights,  I stopped caring and popped all manner of cold and flu medication, ginger tablets - everything. Anything to feel a bit better.

I met up with Nicole at Gloucester Station and we mostly talked about the weather (and how dreadful it was). Once on the bus, we begged the driver to turn up the aircon - it was painfully warm - and thus began the adventure.

Suffice to say, this won't be a particularly positive review of the tour company. I was unimpressed with the tour but the sights and experiences were great. Does that make sense?

First thing to note: Do not suffer motion sickness. 5 minutes into the jerking trip through the city and I turned to Nicole, saying "I'm not going to make it if he keeps driving like this." I moved closer to the front of the bus and close to the toilets. Second thing to note: Air temperature was something that could not be tamed. For 10 minutes, it would be stiflingly warm. Then ice-bucket cold. Then warm. Jacket on, jacket off, air vent open, air vent closed. I eventually gave up and just decided to be cold - I was less likely to be sick that way. We got off to a bad start as a number of people were late for the bus. At about this time while we were waiting, Cory and his friend Charlotte joined us. I had been talking to a lovely Italian girl named Daniela and thus we were a bit of a group for the tour.

Our first stop was Bath, about 2 hours away from London. We opted not to do the Roman Baths tour here (something I ummed and ahhed about but was assured afterwards that I missed nothing) and instead wandered through the streets of Bath and grabbed a bite to eat. Bath is full of icecream shops. It actually bordered on the bizarre. Icecream shop next to icecream shop with an icecream stand out the front. Icecream everywhere. Our tour guide helpfully pointed out a particularly nice icecream shop.

We joined the tour guide for the walking tour of Bath. I was taken aback by the tour guide's rudeness towards myself and just in general, but in hindsight find it rather amusing. He didn't really have the right people skills to be a tour guide and it would have been like herding cats trying to get all of us to move in the same direction at a respectable walking pace. Bath was lovely, but not a lot to write home about. I think it would be nice to spend a weekend there; it was certainly pretty. We were told some facts but as I was rather unimpressed by the guide..honestly, I stopped listening. I'm referring to the pamphlet when I write that we visited "many magnificent ancient [sites] such as Bath Abbey, the Royal Crescent, the Circus [nb: which means 'circle' in Italian, I remember hearing that bit], Assembley Rooms and the famous Pulteney Bridge."

We boarded the bus and settled in for the journey to Salisbury. Here we alighted, and as we were walking towards the cathedral, the tour guide made a funny. Pointing to a dilapidated and small church to our right, he said And here we have Salisbury Cathedral! Our faces turned to shock and we tried to hide our disappointment. That? That was the church? What are we doing? He started laughing - he knew he got us. Up ahead, he said, is the Cathedral. It is huge, but it is completely obscured from sight. As we rounded a corner there it was in front of us, looming with the sun behind. It looked etherial. A little bit about Salisbury Cathedral from the pamphlet: "...built in the 13th century." That's about all from the pamphlet that's interesting, but the cathedral itself was a beautiful structure, complete with tombs, intricate stained glass windows and one of the last remaining copies of the Magna Carta, scribed in 1215. That's 800 years ago.

It was at Salisbury that the cloud cleared and the sunny blue skies smiled down upon us. "Don't get your hopes up for Stonehenge," I warned, not wanting to be disappointed if the heavens closed and begun bucketing down again, like it had that morning. Stonehenge was only a short drive away though, so the hopes and excitement for seeing one of the world's most famous sites began to build.

Piling back into the bus, we made our way to Stonehenge. We grabbed our audio packs (poor Cory's never worked - you can read everything about it right here on Wikipedia, anyway..) and squeezed onto the shuttle to go out to the middle of the field where Stonehenge is located. So many people. So very many people surrounded the standing stones. Many people look at it and go "Alright..it's some rocks." But if you think that these rocks were moved there, somehow, and placed in that intricate formation - and most intriguingly that no one really knows why, it adds a layer of mystery to the place (even if there is a highway in the background). Some theories include a burial ground, sacrificial land, summer/winter solstice celebrations and more, and were likely all of these things at one time or another. The rocks were moved there in roughly 3000BC. Like seriously? What even is that. 5000 years ago? I don't even know what to do with that number. I don't even.

We passed the time sporadically listening to our audio guide and taking ridiculously photos. Nomming the Stonehenge. Pointing at the Stonehenge. Lifting up the Stonehenge. Jumping infront of the Stonehenge. Etc. It was excellent fun! We completed our lap in about an hour, which gave us a little bit of time to peek into the gift shop (miniature replica of Stonehenge, "Stonehenge rocked!" tshirts, magnets, necklaces, teatowels) and a chance to cuddle the Bluestone (well, at least we think it was the bluestone) to try to absorb some of its energising properties.

Utterly, utterly shagged by this stage, we were quite relieved to be on the bus home and landed back in good old Hammersmith around 8.30pm. A long, strangely guided day was finished with a cider and a meal and we parted ways, desperately ready for sleepy bed times.

xx

Selfie time in Bath

Jumping time in Salisbury Cathedral

Holding up the 'Henge. And yeah, those tights happened.

Turned out to be a stunning day. What a site!


Monday 14 July 2014

Pamplona - how I ended up in Spain, Part 3

By the time we got back to the camp from the fireworks and debriefed, it was 1am before I made it to bed. My alarm was set for 5am the next morning and I had had a little bit of sangria the night before. After an eventful and sleepless few hours (note: my tentmate's mattress being sneakily stolen as I watched it sliding through the tent opening, not with my tentmates voice on the other side ;) ), I woke up about 4.30am and figured..this'll do. I'm not going to get any more sleep. Let's get this show on the road.

As I emerged from my tent, a figure dressed all in white stumbled past me to hurl at the tree base. This was off to a good start. I made my way to the shower (got in straight away, *fist pump*!) and realised that I was suffering from a mild-medium hangover. Back at my tent and a nurofriend later, I packed up my things and played the waiting game. Surrounded by a lot of seedy faces, we slowly made our way to the bus. I, for one, was wondering what the hell I was doing. I was dressed all in white, red sash around my waist, red neckerchief tied tied, arms crossed against the bitter cold. I was intending to run with the bulls that morning, and I was petrified.

I ran into Bec as I was boarding the bus. "Are you running?" I squeaked. Affirmative, and so we made the pact to meet before. Amy, too was prepared to run - but I couldn't find all the other brave girls who had sworn they were joining in too. At the conclusion of the nausea ting bus ride (reminder: I was battling a mild hangover), the girls and I grabbed some water and made our way to the town square. We pushed our way towards the centre - the crowd at this stage tight, but not claustrophobic. Somehow amongst the madness, we spotted the boys who were running and made our way over to them. Again, here stood a few unwell faces, tired eyes, nauseous souls. I shook. I was scared. I didn't know what to expect. We quizzed a boy who had run the day before. "Where do we go to start? How should we do it? What happened yesterday? Did you fall over? How many bulls do they release?"

The generally agreed tactic was to make our way past Dead Man's Corner (at Dead Man's Corner, bulls often lose their footing and slide out, crushing people against the side). After Dead Man's Corner it was. The next pointer was to wait until the first lot of about 6 bulls had past, run like hell to try to make it to the arena before the second lot of 2 bulls.

Suddenly the crowd surged and we got to know our neighbours a whole lot better. The crowd packed in. Obviously the police had begun shaving people from the edges and setting up the barriers. We stood pressed together, making small talk. Myself being so little, I was generally around armpit height, which is always fun. The instructional video continued to be broadcast on repeat: a cheerful cartoon with strangely calming music. The video made one think that the Running of the Bulls was a leisurely stroll in the park with a couple of non-threatening fluffy cows, not adrenaline filled madness with unpredictable, mad enormous bulls. Interestingly, one of the reasons that I was apprehensive about running with the bulls was that traditionally, women are not welcome. I had absolutely no problem from the Spanish men and was met with smiles, not spitting or bottles hurled at me as others had described. The instructional video also had changed with the times and each instruction alternated between a male cartoon (leisurely strolling in the park with a fluffy cow) to a female cartoon (leisurely strolling in the park with a fluffy cow).

The crowd surged even more than I thought humanely possible. If arms were up, they stayed up. If you were facing backwards - backwards is how you were going to remain. I lifted my head backwards in the vain hope of breathing some fresh air. Almost as suddenly, the crowd eased and I realised it was time. Absolutely no backing out now. Bec and Amy and I, along with the boys began to make our way down the track. In a few minutes, the cannon will sound, indicating the bulls have been let lose. We quickly made our way down, with a small startled sprint when someone beside us began to sprint. Lots of jumpy, nervous people around. The slightest twitch would set the people off on a scattered run.

We found a doorway vantage point down past Dead Man's Corner and nervously waited, chatting with another Aussie who we also found in the doorway. We heard the cannon, and then we waited with baited breath to see when others would start running - that means the bulls were there. People soon ran past us and pushed us closer to the wall. With a single layer of people between myself and the bulls, they powered past. I screamed as I watched two people fall and get tangled beneath the bulls hoofs in front of me. I hope they were ok. I began to run to try to keep up with the bulls but I fell behind. The pathway opened and the remaining two powered past. Sadly I wasn't quick enough to make it into the arena as the gates closed - a fact I feel conflicted towards - I'm not sure how I would have coped in the arena as once in, there's not a lot of escape. Maybe next year, now I know what I'm doing ;)

Bec and I had stayed together, and we tried to find another way into the arena. All tickets were sold by now and scalpers no longer to be seen so we started to make our way back to the meeting point to see if Amy got into the arena or not. On the way, we ran into her and made our way to a cafe that was already showing life replays of the run that just happened. Lots of ooohs and aaaahs and oh my god's later, we'd seen the replay from a few different perspectives (the whole course was rigged with cameras; above, on the ground, on the shops). We were starving by now and went to try to find some tapas, but ended up getting some chocolate and churros instead.

Back at the camp, it was all lazy times, naps and packing as we were to be leaving that day. What a crazy ride. I couldn't bring myself to drink any more sangria. We packed and sat around, some nursing hangovers, reminiscing on crazy last few days of our lives and dreading the upcoming 20 hour coach ride. Rumour was spreading that there were exactly half as many people coming home with us, allowing everybody to have a full 2 seats to themselves.

The coach ride was painful as to be expected and nothing out of the ordinary happened. We arrived back to the coast of Calais where I was let back in the UK without a second glance (unlike my first eventful experience getting into the country) and we made our way back to the Walkie, where the adventure had begun.


Spain, you had me. I feel had. You're a crazy, crazy place. I'll be seeing you soon.

xx



Friday 11 July 2014

Pamplona - how I ended up in Spain, Part 2

Wake up alarms began sounding at 4.30am, 4.35am, 4.40am the next morning, signalling the start of a very long day beginning with the first Running of the Bulls. Many in our tour were going to run today (despite suggestions not to) and were amping themselves up. Some didn't even make it out of bed today after a big hard night of partying the night before. Some of the boys had returned home with interesting hair adornments and styles - a true sign of a good night out.

Stumbling around at 5 in the morning in Spain is cold and dark. We were tired and ranging on the hungover scale. We made it to the bus, shivering, and many of us managed a little snooze on the 45 minute coach ride in. I was adamant that I wanted to get into the stadium to see, and Kim, Robbie and myself pushed our way to the queue for tickets. Only 6 euros and we were in. By this stage, it was about 6.30am as we emerged into the stadium, securing good seats to watch what was going to unfurl. For the next hour and a half until the bull run began, we were entertained by a marching band, footage from the year before, songs sung in Spanish and a bio on each of the bulls who were to be run today. They all had a name and ranged, roughly, from 500-600kg's each. That's kinda not small. That's kinda enormous. Time continued to pass and soon enough, it was 8am and the cannon was to go off - the bulls along with it.

Strung along the bull running path were many cameras, and so we saw the carnage from different angles. Largely, the bulls ran in a pack together and didn't try to veer, although at times they lost their footing or people just got in the way. After only about 2 minutes, the first people started to pop through the stadium entrance - bulls in tow. More and more people entered, as bull after bull burst into the ring and raced across to the other side. For those who aren't aware, these are the bulls that are to be sacrificed in the bull fight tonight. The arena filled with white, the runners began cheering and congratulating themselves. This was short lived, as, unbenownst to most of them (silly tourists), another 2 bulls had been released after the rest. These burst into the ring and the white scattered out of their way.

All bulls across to the other side now, the arena gates were closed, and those inside were to face the next stage of the bull run. Again, many tourists seemed unaware of what was to happen and were rather shocked when a smaller steer was let into the ring, sending people running in all directions. Many people lined the sides, rows and rows deep - by now it was too difficult to try to get out of the arena over the barrier so once they were in, they were in.

This part of the bull run was dividing. It was exciting - but the tourists simply showed no respect - you do not touch the bull. They thought the Spanish crowd was cheering? No, the crowd was hurling abuse. You do not incite the bull. You do not slap, hit, pull the tail or the horns and, to be honest, I was rooting for the bull. I hope no one got seriously hurt, but if they did, it was their own fault. No insurance will cover the Running of the Bulls - you do it at your own risk. One gentleman (and I use the term loosely) got a horn between the legs, which would have been exceptionally painful, however he went back for seconds and got a bit of a thrown down, arms up, cheering his own macho-ness. One tourist jumped on the back of the bull, to which the local Spaniards began beating the ever living shit out of him - you don't touch the bull.

Every few minutes, the steer was rounded up by a big..pasture bull? Mamma? I can't work out what it was - surely it wasn't a female with those enormous horns, but I can't find any information anywhere. It was placid and docile and was led into the stadium. The small steer would generally stop trying to gore people and turn to follow the big one. Hilariously, most people didn't see the big one coming and it would just plow into people (slowly, not violently) - catching people in its horns and dragging them along. It was priceless to see their faces -and I'm pretty sure a few may have soiled themselves judging by their look - this bull wasn't going to hurt them, it was just a bit of a steamroller.

This part of the bull run lasted for about 45 minutes - every few minutes the steer was replaced by another. People would crouch down in front of the entrance so that the steer was forced to jump over them - that was rather exciting, as they aren't interested in trampling you, they'd rather jump over you.

At the conclusion, we made our way out of the arena and jumped on the coach back into the campsite. Forgoing a much needed nap, I opted to start drinking sangria instead and some of us headed to the bar, awaiting the Topdeck Sangria BBQ. By the time the BBQ rolled around, many of us were rather lightly toasted and the stories from the boys who ran were making the rounds. Where they were, how they got into the arena, how they gallantly jumped out of the way.

The evening consisted of..you guessed it..more sangria..and I'm pretty sure a tequila shot in there somewhere too..before heading back into Pamplona to see the fireworks. We squished our way into the grassy arena to get prime position - I love fireworks, have I mentioned that before? I'm such a little pyro. The fireworks were lovely (and seemingly endless, every time we thought it was the finale, another round would come) before a final two little spluttering fireworks signalled the end. We returned to our campsite and I prepared for what was going to be a terrifying day ahead.

To be continued.

In the stadium before it all starts - filling with spectators

The bulls running through! It's not good for people to reach the
arena before the bulls, hence not many people in there.

Heaps of runners in the arena before...

...they let loose a little bull

Steer about to hit someone, with the big pasture bull behind

Evening fireworks :)

Thursday 10 July 2014

Pamplona - how I ended up in Spain, Part 1

I'm going to skip forward a couple of days and then return to what happened in the interim.

As some of you by now already know (even though I was trying to keep it on the lowdown until I signed the dotted line), I did in fact get offered the job at Imperial College - the one I had been obsessing about and interviewed for the day after I arrived as a broken human being. I got it. Like, seriously. Something has to go wrong, this is going much too smoothly. Maybe it's good karma after the stress of almost not being let into the country?

The position starts July 15 and so my next question was - what can I do in the meantime? Let's do something crazy! Pamplona was the word on everybody's lips and so I got the very very last spot with the Topdeck Pronto 6 day tour (with much thanks to BritBound and MC for squeezing me in).

This was on Monday, 30 June. The tour was leaving Friday, 4 July. Nothing really sunk in until I was on the bus. I'm going to Spain? Wha? Running of the Bulls? I'll do the thought process later.

Thursday night, some of the BritBounders who were travelling met together at a Spanish restaurant to get to know one another and have a couple of familiar faces. Here I met Emera and Ashley, Guy, Megan and Leigh, and Kimberley. We bid each other farewell until the morrow and went home to finish packing.

Friday morning, wheely suitcase and backpack loaded, I made my way to the Walkie. On the way, I received a message from MC asking if I was there yet (which sent me into a panic as I thought I was running late). Turned out another BritBounder went to the wrong location, but all was well in the end. At the Walkie, I excitedly sat with those I had met the night before, Guy and Kimberley (who kindly lent me a European power adaptor) and we tried to guess what the next few days were going to be like.  We boarded the coach, I sat with Kim - and we began the first leg to Dover, about a 2 hour drive from the Walkie. (There was slight drama here with the ferry, and where we were meant to board, and missing people, but I won't go into those details).

The next 20 hours passed...rather slowly. Not in a blur, not swiftly with excitement, but rather painfully and slowly. First stop: Dover, where we saw the White Cliffs. We boarded the ferry (P&O - a bit of information for you, Mum!) and embarked towards France. I was a little bit crazy as I was about to land on French soil. 2 ill-advised ciders later (and also a broken seal..) and we jumped off the ferry and into our Topdeck coach in France. In France! Kim enjoyed my excitement as I pointed out particularly French things - look! French cows! Over there! French trees. Oh! A french building! I tried not to overdo this to the point of her stabbing me in the face with frustration; I think I succeeded.

We stopped every 4 hours for a stretch, toilet stop and some food. I had some of the most hideous chicken nuggets I have ever had the misfortune of experiencing in a service station in France. The customer service was roughly the same. I popped some half sleeping tablets and while not knocked out completely, this did afford me a couple of hours here and there and the luxury of dozing. The coach ride gave us the chance to start getting to know the other people on the tour (about 60 of us on our particular tour, although there were over 400 Topdeckers staying in the camp site on other variations of the tour). As we had been sitting together, our tent numbers also became close together - so these became the people I was to socialise with for the next 6 days.

Arriving at the campsite, we made our way to our tents and dumped our stuff. The talk around me was to go to the bar and then for a swim. I almost cried - I only wanted to sleep. I sat on the airmattress for a while and then slowly forced myself to put my bathers on - encouraging a second wind of enthusiasm and I was alright again. At the bar, I introduced myself to Kat, Dave, Dan and Sherrie and we had a breakfast sangria or 2 (or 3? I can't remember). It was 10.10am, and this was to set the tone for the next few days in Spain. We wandered down to the lake on the campsite (with more sangria - 1L for 2 euros) and went for a dip - today was 32C and we all got a bit sunburnt. Spanish sunburn! Which will hopefully turn into a Spanish tan and not peel, Spanishly.

After a dip and too much sangria, some of us jumped on the bus and had a tour of Pamplona, as well as tips and tricks for staying alive and un-gored if any of us were to do the bull run. It was a hot day and combination sangria, lack of sleep, lack of food and dehydration ended up with me having a borderline migraine and the first to lose the bet on who would chunder first on the trip. That's right. I'm gonna own that.

Fell into bed and slept like a log.

Sunday morning arrived and I felt wonderful but was surrounded by some seedy heads. Sunday was the opening ceremony for the San Fermin festival and so we all donned our white pants, white t-shirt (most of us chose to wear the Topdeck one in case we lost each other in the crowd) and red waist sash. We were not to put our red neckerchief on until the cannon had sounded at midday. We arrived into town just after 10am and, as a group roughly 14 strong, we made our way exactly where we were recommended not to go - into the town square. Along the way, we purchased our first bottle of sangria for the day (1.5L for 3 euros) which was then carefully poured into our sangria sacks for optimal drinking and sangria squirting. In the town square, things were already beginning to get crazy. Drunk Spaniards with their home made sangria in giant 5L or more bottles. Buckets full of sangria and large cups, ready to be thrown at all and everyone. Anyone who ended up on someone else's shoulders was instantly doused with sangria. Anyone who was even in the square simply ended up covered in sangria. We were squirting it at each other and throwing it, and getting caught in cross-fires from other groups. It was crazy and mental and insane. Someone decided it would be a good idea to begin throwing empty (or mostly empty) bottles of sangria into someone's balcony (the town square was lined with tall housing blocks). This resulted in hundreds and hundreds of bottles flying through the air - until the balcony was filled. They then started on the adjoining balcony. I could see the residents inside - they were laughing. They weren't mad. This was all part of the crazy.

A couple of giant inflatable balls joined the fray. More sangria throwing. More people. Squishy squishy. Until it was almost midday and the crowd had become the single biggest mosh-pit I've ever experienced in my life. I was separated from the group and surrounded by about five 6'+ enormous Spaniards who were holding up their red neckerchiefs and chanting San Fermin! San Fermin! I was a fraction panicky as I desperately did not want to fall over. I held onto the back-fat of the Spaniard in front of me as the crowd grew closer and closer and more and more frenzied. Jumping, pushing, screaming, as it drew closer to midday. San Fermin! San Fermin! People emerged onto the balcony of the main building and the crowd settled slightly - awaiting the cannon to be fired and the start of the festival. And...boom! San Fermin! Everyone pumped their red neckerchiefs in the air and tied it around their necks. Jumping, dancing, screaming, sangria, white, red, pink.

After the boom, the crowd dispersed slightly and I spotted Robbie in the crowd. I pushed my way over to him and found the rest of the group. We continued to drink sangria and pour sangria and slowly made our way out of the fray which had begun to thin (but only slightly, just enough to move). The whole experience was completely crazy.

We tried to go to the main square but ended up in a smaller, more family friendly square. We stopped here for a while to catch our breath and exclaim how incredible that all just was and admire our sangria stains. A band marched past us, followed by one of the coolest drumming bands I have ever heard.  Sidetracked, we stopped and danced for a while as the drummers, enormous smiles on their faces, drummed in unison incredibly catchy beats. I wish I knew what they were playing so I could find that music again. It brought such happiness! The drummers continued on and we made our way to the main square.

It was like herding cats - there was 14 of us, an enormous crowd to battle through, and people stopping along the way. The streets were soaked with sangria and cider and piss and basically miscellaneous liquids as the cleaners used high pressure hoses to just wash it all away...

In the main square, we needed 3 things; 1) more sangria, 2) bathrooms and 3) food (not necessarily in that order). We had some tapas and other food, waiting in line for the toilet for about half an hour and then some of us caught the coach back to the campsite because we were bushed.

What a mental day. After a while back at the camp, I mustered the energy for a shower - one of the sweetest showers I have ever had in my life, albeit lukewarm-to-cold and having to press for water every 15 seconds. Ahh, the stink of clean. We continued partying and eating and drinking and went to bed rather early - it was going to be a difficult 5am start the next day so we could secure good places for the first Running of the Bulls.

To be continued.

Lake at the campsite
1.5L sangria for breakfast, opening ceremony of San Fermin
Before: shiny white and clean
After! 
The houses lining the town square 
Sea of white (and slightly pinkish)