Financial Responsibilities

I peddled uphill on the shoulder of a busy highway, my legs burning, my butt raised off the seat struggling to get to the crest without stopping. Motorists passed me on their morning commute. Although exhausted, I was glad I wasn't one of them.

I’ve worked less than 12 of the last 43 months, but I haven’t forgotten how I felt on those drives to work: the tedium, the apprehension, the feeling that it was pointless while simultaneously feeling that it was just a necessary part of life, something everybody did, and therefore something I shouldn't be complaining about. If only I knew then what I know now. 

Recently someone asked me, “How can you just walk away from your financial responsibilities?” It confused me for a moment, partly because it seemed judgmental, but mostly because I didn't know what financial responsibilities he referred to. Food and toothpaste? Is it so unthinkable that someone could have no financial responsibilities? I would have been equally confused if he asked, "how could you just walk away from your lawn mowing responsibilities?" 

Before doing this, however, I never would have guessed how inexpensive living could be, so I thought I'd give a quick summary of what I have spent in the last 8 days:

2 Kilos of Muesli with dried fruit... €3.18
1 Box of Cereal… €1.15
4 Liters of UHT Milk... €2.48
1 Package of Chocolate Donuts… €2.00
1 Large loaf of Bread... €1.00
4 Fresh Baked Bread Rolls… €1.00
1 Package of Hot Dogs... €1.38
1 Package of Ham… €2.00
1 Package of Cheese... €1.80
1 Package of Butter…€1.00
2 Packages of Pasta... €1.79
2 Containers of Spaghetti Sauce... €2.00
2 Cans of Soup... €1.78
Two Bunches of Bananas... €1.20
8 or 9 Oranges... €1.53
Dozen Eggs (hard-boiled or scrambled for breakfast)... €1.35
2 Bags of Peanuts... €1.18
10 Packets of Instant Coffee… €0.75
1 Tube of Toothpaste… €2.99
1 Bottle of Stove Fuel… €1.59

Food and Supplies Total… €33.15

Converted into U.S. dollars, that is about $38.34 or $4.79 per day for 8 days of food and supplies. Now extrapolate that out to a month. My other typical monthly expenses include my cell phone, at $17.35, and about one night per week in a room to do laundry, charge batteries, and get a proper shower. This varies, but the total cost of my last four nights indoors, two in an apartment and two in a nearly empty hostel, cost $71.72. 

So, the grand total for one month of cycling around Spain, staring at rugged mountains, camping on empty beaches, having time to watch the sunrise and set, experiencing the culture of a place I've never seen before, and not ever having to commute to work… $232.77.

Round it up to $300 for other little expenses or if you want to eat a little better than that or stop at the occasional restaurant. 

I don't regret spending those mornings driving to work, for what has always been a meager salary. Without it, the last 43 months wouldn't have been possible. Had I known how simple and inexpensive a great life could be, however, none of it would have felt so pointless. Financial freedom isn't about making more money. It's about having more money than you need. I could have spent the last 43 months making more money, but it has been a lot more fun figuring out how to just need less. 

One more thing, here are some photos of how I spent those eight days and a few days before:

     

My bed for the night of the Quadrantid meteor shower. The full moon was too bright, but I still saw three.

Love locks can be found on bridges and lookouts all over Spain.

Southern Spain became more mountainous and remote

A wetlands nature preserve

A monument for the victims of a terrorism

 Remote camping spots are very easy to find in Southern Spain

A long exhilarating 10% grade. Totally worth the cycle up.

Fishermen in Isla Plana, Spain

The mountainous and remote Southern Spain, a perfect wintering spot for a vagabond.

This was a difficult ride up, but the view and the ride coming down the other side was fantastic.

The view from the top before a long fast ride downhill.

Spanglish

(Photo: The only picture I dared to take on the avenue)

I saw my first bikinis on a Spanish beach on the potbellied, retired and elderly men and women of England. Some lay in beach chairs bronzing the oiled skin of their distended bellies. Others stood on the shore in packs of two to four chatting with their arms crossed on a stack of breast and belly rolls. The more modest, properly clothed, lined up on benches with shopping bags sitting between their feet, watching people go by through the lenses of sunglasses that looked like welders goggles or in the shade of wide-brimmed sunhats.

“What did I stumble upon?” I thought as I peddled up this crowded coastal tree-lined avenue in Benidorm, Spain.

I weaved around motorized carts humming along at three miles-per-hour. People at tables under tiki parasols ate lunch while a man with a guitar played acoustic British rock. A chalkboard sign at a busy beachside restaurant advertised a five-euro Full Irish Breakfast special. When I passed Piccadilly Bar, I had to wonder why this community in Spain tried so hard to give an English experience to their English tourists. What was more perplexing is why it worked.

I've passed dozens of all but abandoned coastal towns where you could have an apartment and an entire beach to yourself for $25 a day or towns on the coast with plenty of restaurants, attractions, and shops for under $100 a day.  I understand the desire to find warmer weather in the winter, but I couldn’t help but think, if you’re going to Spain, why not go to Spain?

And was that a pan flute player playing ABBA covers? That's even more confusing. I decided it was time to get back on the road.

- - -

Meanwhile, a few miles later... "See that girl, watch that scene, diggin' the Dancing Queeeen---Ahh, stop singing that, Ryan!"

New Years Eve in Valencia

I heard that Plaza del Ayuntamiento in downtown Valencia would be packed at midnight, but when I began riding toward downtown at 10:30 pm, the streets were nearly barren. I rode down one way streets whenever it was quicker, because there were no cars on the roads. It's ordinarily difficult to navigate a bicycle on the crowded streets in Valencia, so this was a surprise. 

Plaza del Ayuntamiento has been packed as Time Square whenever I ventured that way, so I expected a huge crowd on New Years Eve, but when I arrived there were only a few dozen people. Everyone must have been in the pubs properly celebrating with alcohol and tapas, because an hour later it was shoulder to shoulder. 

There is a tradition of eating twelve grapes at midnight, one for each chime of the clock on City Hall. Unfortunately, I couldn't find any grape salesmen open late. I stood in my language-barrier bubble as people crowded in around me holding wine glasses full of grapes. 

Admittedly, the video below is not very exciting, but I thought you might like to see what happens in Valencia on New Years Eve. It's why I rode downtown, just to see what happened. Actually, that's largely why I'm in Spain in the first place.

Favorite Photos from Valencia, Spain

Valencia Cathedral, which is said to house the Holy Grail

Indoor pubic Market in Valencia, Mercat Central de Valencia

Left: Ajuntament de Valencia building, Right: National Museum of Ceramics

The Valencia City of Arts and Science

I believe it's supposed to look like an eye with the reflection in the water. 

I could see it in his stance and bared fangs. He didn't want to race me. He needed to.

Valencia is full of perfectly weird and wonderful statues, fountains, buildings, and playground equipment. This is Gulliver Kids Park, from Gulliver's Travels. Here is the Google Earth view from above. And I thought our park's witches hat ride was cool.

The Stand

I woke in a field, not far from the highway and commercial buildings. The longer I go without anyone hassling me about sleeping outside, the less I try to be stealthy.

I rode toward a tourist town on the coast. Months away from tourist season, it was strangely empty and quiet, like a ghost town. It's too cold for beaches and bikinis, so the movement virtually stops. I can ride down the street drifting from lane to lane on wide roads with no cars or people in sight. It's like a post-apocalyptic world.

I've always loved novels like Stephen King's The Stand, where disaster strikes and the protagonist is left alone to roam nearly empty cities after the complete collapse of human society. In a way, my love of those novels is related to my love of backpacking. It simplifies life. Just pick a direction, go, survive.

With very little effort in these dead towns, I can pretend I'm in one of those post-apocalyptic worlds. Sometimes it seems a zombie might come around the next corner. Actually, sometimes I see a person or persons in the distance and my imagination kicks in. I wonder what I would do if it was a zombie or a lawless roving gang. I see towers like this one and think things like, "We should have sentries stationed up there 24x7."

I could imagine the children playing here before the Government created that damn virus in their secret underground laboratory. Why have we been so foolish?! Why did we think we could play God?!

I could have setup my camp in the middle of this road and bothered nobody. Is it weird that I'm a little disappointed that the tourists will come back in a few months and this isn't post-apocalypse? 

My Christmas in Spain

This is what 35 euros (about $42) buys you on Christmas Eve in Valencia, Spain. One night in an amazing apartment and a chance to remember what it is like to live in a real home, not made out of nylon or shared with several other people.

I didn't realize until staying here just how much I missed having my own place. It's been three-and-a-half years since I had my own kitchen to cook meals for myself with my music playing, singing or dancing around ridiculously, or had a floor to slide around on in my socks and generally just act like a fool. 

I'm not going to lie, I absolutely loved it. More than I ever thought I could love it three-and-a-half years ago. I even enjoyed washing dishes and doing laundry.

It's been my goal for the last several Christmases to do nothing. My annual gift to myself is to just sleep in, maybe cook myself breakfast, and just do whatever I want without guilt, so that's what I did. I even got to laze on the couch watching the only English channel on television. 

By the way, I now I know what it feels like to only have Telemundo, so have a new sympathy for Mexican Americans.

This is the view from my balcony. There was a city to explore, but it could wait. I wasn't going anywhere. Actually, I stayed an extra night, so it would have to wait even longer.

Peñiscola Old Town and Castle

That castle on the highest hill in Peñiscola, Spain is Castillo de Peñiscola, built by the Knights Templar around the start of the 14th century, give or take a few years. It looked interesting, so I needed to see if I could get closer.

To be honest, I didn't read much about the history of this place, so I don't have a lot to say about it. I just wanted to walk around and take pictures. 

Once home to Papa Luna, aka Pope Benedict XIII from 1415 to 1423. Actually Antipope Benedict XIII since he is not recognized by the Vatican as a legitimately elected Pope. I'll be honest. I just read that on Wikipedia.

I do know this is the Portal de Sant Pere (Saint Peter's Gate), because a sign told me so, but I'll always remember it as the moment right before I stepped in dog shit.

You ever have those days on a vacation where you just don't want to spend your time gathering all the information about a place and just want to walk alongside your bike, look at things, and maybe take a picture of a duck or two?

Hah! Greenhead is drinking water!

You might be asking yourself, "Another door picture? What's with this guy and doors?" I wish I had an answer for you. Hey, I can see my reflection in the glass!

Wow, this post is really going off the rails. I hope you like pictures.

This is a display window outside a shop. The expression on my face was a lot like these figurines while I walked around here.

This is the town of Peñiscola. Stop snickering. It's pronounced peˈniskola. You're so immature.

There are times when I want to learn about the history of the place that I'm standing and then there are times when I just want to turn my brain off and enjoy the blue water and the warm sun on my shoulders.

This was definitely one of the latter days, and Spain is really great for that. 

Next stop, somewhere south of here where I hope to accidentally find something else interesting to look at, and hopefully have a better blog post for you.

What's There to Love About Spain?

Apart from not being able to have a conversation with anyone, and therefore spending far too much time in my own head, there is a lot to love about being a vagabond on two wheels in Spain. For example, although I can only count to ten in Spanish, that's all I need to count how many rain drops I have felt in several weeks.

I also love the buildings and how different they are from home, but neither are what I love most about Spain.

Nor is it all the boats at the many harbors, although I do love how they make me romanticize about uncharted adventures in the same way I used to romanticize about long distance walking.

Of course, it's easy to love the beaches, which are mostly empty this time of year, especially when it's time to setup my tent.

And how riding my bike beside farmland reminds me of boyhood

Except that there are acres of orange groves with a backdrop of mountains on one side and the sea on the other.

And how could I not love the sunrises, and how they happen around 8:15 so I'm actually awake for them, without needing an alarm clock. 

I just open my eyes and there they are. It's always a surprise. Then I realize I'm covered in dew.

Sunrises change the landscape in such unique and dramatic ways, but because they are so fleeting, they demand that I try to silence my brain and be present for them.

That is always a challenge, but I still try, because even though the average person will get about 28,000 sunrises in their lifetime, I know that will still not be enough.

Although there is a lot to love, it would be dishonest to say this lifestyle didn't leave me worrying an awful lot about money, my future, and of what comes next. Then I remember that it's because of this lifestyle that I'll never be able to say the words, "I wasted my life." And that is what I love most about being a vagabond on two wheels in Spain.

Uno Mas, Por Favor.

I stopped at a roadside restaurant to get something to eat, actually restaurants are no longer in my budget, but I needed to recharge my batteries and I'd have to order something to do that. 

It had been a few days since I spoke to anyone in person, other than "hola" and "gracias" to cashiers in markets, so when I pulled off the road to do something as ordinary as have a meal in a restaurant, I had forgotten about the language barrier. It wasn't until I walked in and heard all the Spanish chatter that I suddenly remembered I didn't know how to order food or ask if I could use an outlet. 

I looked on the tables for a menu, so I could order by using a combination of Google Translate and pointing, but there weren't any, so I just sat at the bar. Two men were playing cards at the table in the corner behind me. I saw an outlet next to them. A waitress came up to get my order.

"Habla ingles?" I asked.

"No," she said.

"Café? Coffee?" I asked, wishing I knew how to say "Cup of". She nodded then walked away to give my order to a bartender. 

I plugged in my phone and took a seat all the way at the end of the bar. I wanted to be as unnoticed as possible. The bartender set a cup of coffee in front of me. 

Coffee in Spain is fantastic, very high octane and delicious. It's more like an espresso in the states. I'm no aficionado, but coffee is more than a drink to me. I don't react to the caffeine, but getting a cup of coffee is like being given extra time. If I'm not quite ready to start my day, I have coffee instead. If I need a break from work, I go to the coffee room. It's like a socially-acceptable smoke break that nobody questions. If I don't want a conversation at dinner to end, I order a coffee. If I need to charge some batteries and give myself more time to figure out how to say "Can I see a menu?" in Spanish, I get coffee.

I settled in around the tiny steaming cup and relaxed. I had time to think now. I pulled out my journal to write. 

When I felt like I overstayed my welcome with just the one cup, I got the bartender's attention.

"Hablos ingles?"

"No."

"Puedo... ver... un... menú?" I said slowly.

He held up one finger then walked away to talk to an older man wearing the same uniform. A few minutes later the older man came over to translate the hand written menu in his hands. 

Initially I didn't understand him either, but in his sentence I picked out the words,"en francés, ingles?"

Oh, he wants to know what language I speak. "Ingles," I said. 

He told me they had a set menu for €11.50, which is out of my budget but I let him continue.

"It uhh... to start we have salad with... something something mushroom something something." I couldn't understand every word.

"For the meat err, uhh rabbit. And snake." He looked up at me and paused then continued. "Also, uhh, octo... puss? Yes, octopus."

I stopped him there by waving my hand and saying, "no, gracias."  

"No?" 

"No." 

I couldn't spend my whole day's budget on one meal and still not be sure if the thing I'm chewing on is a tentacle or a snake. He walked away seeming a little perturbed. 

I pulled out my phone and looked up how to say, "I'm sorry," in Spanish. Deciding I would need to use it frequently, I committed it to memory by whispering it aloud to myself, "lo siento, lo siento, lo siento." 

I still wanted to charge my phone, so when I made eye contact with the bartender again, I lifted my coffee cup and said the one thing I knew how to say that would give me more time, "Uno mas, por favor."

The Bronze Mermaid

When I saw the untarnished part of this mermaid statue's hand, I thought of the countless number of people who have stood here to put their hand to hers, looking into her eyes. I didn't know if it was some kind of tradition like Lincoln's nose in America, but it seemed kind of peaceful and sweet. I felt compelled to do it myself. That's when I noticed her untarnished nipples.

My Plan For Spain

When I flew to Barcelona, my intentions were to leave my bike with Hilda and walk the Camino de Santiago in Northern Spain, the most popular long distance walk in the world. Although December weather is considerably better here than in England, the north can still rain three or four days per week and temperatures can drop below freezing at high altitude, where I may also find myself occasionally walking on snow.

I've hiked in much worse conditions, but an insightful friend of mine said, "Aren't you super sick of the rain though? I mean that's one of the main reasons you flew to Spain. It'd be like breaking up with someone just to start dating someone exactly like them."

I couldn't argue with that. I'm ready for warmth and sunshine. Not only for comfort, but with this lifestyle, it also means a lot more freedom.

I left Barcelona without a plan, so my first night I ended up sleeping on a beach under the stars. With no one else in sight, I walked up and down the beach as the waves swelled and crash. In one direction, the masts from dozens of boats were dimly lit in the security light of a nearby harbor.

In the other direction, a train occasionally passed behind the pillars from a tunnel cut into the cliff side. I stayed up long enough to watch the constellation Orion slowly drift from the eastern sky all the way to the west.

That's what I want for my trip in Spain. I don't want big goals or elaborate plans. An elaborate plan might be in order if your adventure is to ski to the North Pole or fly around the planet in a hot air balloon, but when you just want to roam and explore, goals and plans can be stifling.   

Although I'm on a bike, I'm not rushing. I want to take the time to ride leisurely around cities...

...or walk beside the bike down narrow village streets (such as in the town of Sitges, pictured)

I want the benefits that come with the slowness of walking, but move quickly when I want.

I'll be without a schedule or a feeling that I must rush to any particular destination. I don't even really want a destination. 

So every day when I wake up in some random unpredictable place in Spain, I'll keep my plan very simple: get on my bike and keep the sea to my left.

Bones Festes!

I was walking down the street heading toward La Rambla when all of a sudden...

...a parade happened.

No wonder there were so many people and children in the streets

It was a Christmas parade obviously

But there were also some rip-off Disney characters as well

Alright, I swear the Beast was trying to see how close he could get to copping a feel without anyone noticing, but we noticed. Well I noticed.

Lately, whenever I decide to walk somewhere in Barcelona, I immediately realize I was already there. This is the other side of a statue of Christopher Columbus I had already seen. I really need to pay attention to the names of things when I'm wandering around. I think this means it's time to leave Barcelona and head south toward the next big city, Valencia.

¿Hablas inglés?

When I told a friend back home that I was going grocery shopping, she replied, "Take pictures!!! I'll never be grocery shopping in Spain!" Before reading that, I was feeling a bit nervous about heading out into a Spanish-speaking country. She snapped me out of it and reminded me that every moment here is an adventure. I even like saying it. "What am I doing tonight? Not much, just doing a little grocery shopping in Spain."

I love the produce shops here. I want to take a picture every time I pass one. Even if I'm not particularly hungry, I sometimes go inside to buy something. "Una manzana, por favor!"

Although, I occasionally try to say something in Spanish, this is usually followed by the person assuming I can communicate with them further, to which I have to go back to my standby, "No hablo espanol. ¿Hablas inglés?"

It's somewhat of a game for me to get out of the store without the shopkeeper knowing I'm monolingual, for example:

"Hola," I said to the shopkeep at the register.

"Hola," he replied and scanned my groceries.  

"Cinco setenta y tres," he said. I know that's my total, but it came off his tongue too fast for me to understand. I looked for the cash register screen for a total, but didn't find it fast enough to make it seem natural. Thinking quickly, I just handed him a ten euro note, which I knew would cover it.

"¿Necesita una bolsa?" I think he said next, thanks to using Google Translate later.

"No, gracias," I said nonchalant, betting he was asking me if I needed a copy of my receipt. 

"¿Necesitas una copia de su recibo?" he said while pointing at the receipt printer.

"Oh, no," I thought. "I think he was asking if I needed a bag that first time. Err, I absolutely need a bag for all this. Don't panic, just fill your pockets and carry the rest out in your hands. He'll think you're environmentally conscious."

"Gracias. Adios," I said, hands full, pockets bulging. Success.

Not speaking their language is a shame really. I'm going to miss out on a lot of opportunities to talk to the locals and fully experience their communities and culture. I will try my best, but it won't be the same.

Or maybe bocce ball is so amazing that it can transcend language barriers.

I think I'll just have to keep things really simple. "Tú... yo... ping pong... ahora!"

At least there are apps to help out along the way. Although that particular sign is relatively obvious without translation, tools like this may save my life someday.

A Backpacker's Life Shop

Thank You Maureen for my Barcelona Hostel!

Thank you Maureen from Fishers, Indiana for contributing to my blog and trip! 

You said to use it for whatever makes me comfy, and right now that happens to be a roof over my head, a bed, and a shower.

And to be able to experience Barcelona without wondering where I will be sleeping. 

By the way, that chair on the left is where I sat and watched Spanish-language soap operas with two women who don't speak English.  It was a good time.

Your contribution allowed me to stay three nights at the Cool and Chic Hostel in Barcelona. I don't care for the name either, but it was one of my favorite hostels on this trip!

As a thank you, I'll be sending you a signed copy of the "A Backpacker's Life" book as soon as it's complete in 2016. Thank you so much, Maureen!

Aimless in Barcelona

Nothing makes you feel like you're on vacation in an exotic place quite like palm trees.

Except maybe seeing parrots in the wild

Previously, I've only seen a Quaker Parrot in my or my dad's pet stores  <-- shameless plug

After leaving the beach, I just walked toward anything on my map that looked like something. I ended up in Parc de la Cuitadella.

Since I was aimlessly wandering, this fountain came as quite a pleasant surprise.

I checked my map again to find the next closest thing that looked like something.

And stumbled upon something interesting a couple of blocks away...

Arcul de Triumf

A Pretty Good Day

After so many gray days in the UK, I walked around sunny Barcelona feeling a lot like this.

My only goal today was to walk to the Mediterranean Sea and find out what there was to see. 

I'd see boats 

A lot of boats

And one of these things

I'd see the sky bluer than I've seen it in months

And palm trees

And beaches

And palm trees on beaches

All in all, a pretty good day

The Barcelona Metro

I find that subway systems around the world are basically the same.

But only Spain has this guy. I saw him with his accordion in the car next to the one I was about to board, so I switched. It seems the other passengers didn't appreciate him as much as I did. I gave him what was left of my day's budget, which granted was only three euros, but he earned it.

How do you  not love this guy? I've played this video over and over. It's like getting a shot of joy directly into my brain. 

Thank you for your generous donations!

I've worked hard to save for this adventure, so I will be in no immediate threat of having to hold out a cup, or choreograph a dazzling street performance to obtain enough money to fend off starvation. Your donations, however, will allow me to hike further and so keep this blog updating and entertaining.

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Exploring Barcelona

This owl is perched on top of the Rotulos Roura building at the junction of Ave Diagonal and Passeig de Sant Joan. It was used as an advertisement in the 70s, but became such an iconic site in Barcelona, it was restored about ten years ago.

Exploring Barcelona on my own was a little intimidating at first, since I don't speak any Spanish. I have had to rely very heavily on, "No habla Espanol," and "¿Hablas inglés?"

For the most part, I'm not any different in other cities, since I tend to keep to myself anyway. I walked to another Antoni Gaudi building, his masterpiece, the Sagrada Família. 

Construction of the church began in 1882

It isn't expected to be completed until 2026, a century after Antoni Gaudi's death.

I've never seen a more spectacular building. It has so much going on, that I couldn't figure out how to properly take its picture.

Next I walked to another one of his buildings, the Casa Batlla. When I arrived, I quickly realized that I had already been there with Hilda. I guess I should have paid attention to where we were on the map. Oh well, it's worth a second look.

I had nowhere to go, so started walking south toward Plaça de Catalunya

 After the gray of England, I'm happy to finally see some color in Barcelona