I saw the sun rise above the city center this morning here in Cadiz.  It’s a bittersweet feeling in regards to my visit.  I arrived with two Americans from Los Angeles, Valerie and Chris, who let me tag on to them after we strolled the streets of Barcelona for a night.  They were Americans, which was great because I had lost my energy to speak to Europeans.  For me, it takes much concentration to understand what the other is trying to say.  5 weeks on the road is plenty of time to attempt to communicate.  So, I was tired when I met them randomly in front of the bus station.  Something inside me felt bad because I was not as entertaining as I could be.  Travelling for this long has made me not care about if the other is having a good time or not.  However, I still was respectful and considerate toward them.  Maybe I was even too polite.  Valerie was quick to respond, witty and very outgoing.  This may be why I felt a little bad—I couldn’t seem to keep up.  They were considerate of my lethargy and didn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to.  They eventually left, but my memories of tapas, beers, sleeping in front of the closed metro gates and the exhausting 5+ hour train ride stays with me.

I was having a great time being alone after staying with Uli for about 2 weeks.  I had much to think about.  I wanted to feel safe and secure about where I was.  Feelings of loneliness set it, but I maintained composure.  My trip to Europe was supposed to be fun, but between the fun I learned much about myself in the process.  Not only did I cry, laugh, and thoroughly enjoy myself, but I also discovered that I may not be a fully honest person—neither to myself, nor others.  I didn’t/don’t intend on lying about things but it seems to be a subconscious act.  But at least I know now.

I felt OK in Cadiz, well enough to party.  So some hostel mates from The Melting Pot and I went out for cervesas and tour the night-life scene.  At the bar, I met a small group of people, who ended up being English teachers.  We spoke in Spanish.  Bueno conversacion.  Vibes were good so I followed them out of the bar and into the night.  They later told me they were headed to a club.  I was game.  Three guys and two girls—they were all from the UK.  I’m not gonna lie, the blonde was a knock out.  I chatted her up and kept her interest just enough for her to come back for some more conversation…

Now at the club, the vibes change along with the music.  They brought me a beer, I accepted, cheered, and then I started to feel more adventurous.  The music was fun—beach boys flavor with a hint of Latin tempo, mixed with upbeat fun stuff.  I started to dance.  Club goers noticed me with a day pack and travel sweater.  Locals were casual and ready to party.  They accepted me.

We took pictures.  Fun was had by all.  I began to feel sleepy and proceeded to get my pack from coat check.  I say goodbye to the Brits and go in for hugs and shakes.  I get outside and prepare for the long walk to my bunk bed.  I tell myself that it was a good night.  I reach for my camera but to my surprise and fear, it wasn’t there.  I always keep it there.  Then the whole night flashed before my eyes and I realize what I did wrong.  I was too loose.  And I did not keep my belongings safe.  I fucked up.  But it’s all good.  So then in order to get over this loss, the next day I went for a walk by myself.  Saw the water, explored the city, exercised, jumped up some trees and practiced parkour.  It was great.  Oh yea, and I played a snare in a drum circle on the beach at sunset with 15 percussionists.  That really helped me forget about getting pick pocketed.  Bittersweet.


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