Sport is like sex . . . .

"Sport is like sex, when you stop doing it, you start watching it on television" - Danielle, last night. He said i could quote him.

This morning i made the choice to skip my usual fry up; consisting of bacon, eggs and toast and to brave breakfast on my own in the local town of Noya. In forethought this seems like a good idea, grab a bit of culture whilst being able to practice my Spanish a bit more. In practice its a very different story. I arrived at the restaurant around 11, a good British brunch time. It turns out that this Spanish restaurant apparently doesn't have a proper menu on weekends, and doesn't actually serve food before 1, but in my case, i think because all i was managing to repeat over and over again was "no hablo español" they would make something specially.

This then leads to another problem. The region of Spain im in is called Galicia, its basically what Scotland is to England. Scotland is in UK, the Scottish speak English with subtle differences, but hate to be associated with England. With this in mind, Galicia, has decided to develop its own twist on Spanish. Instead of writing ham as jamon, they like to write it as xamon. You know, just to be difficult. Therefore reading a menu that looked like it had been dragged out of Lord of the Rings becomes a little tricky. After a prolonged hand gesture conversation and a lot of shaking of heads between me the and the waitress, an elderly man walks through the door and announces that he doesnt speak English but he does speak French. To which i reply: "AH! oui bien je parle francais" to which he then replies with the most unintelligible French i have heard and the three of us decide to resort back to a three way frenglish hand gesture conversation. 5 minutes later i gave up and decided to take my chances with the safest looking thing on the 'menu'. I.E. the dish with the least amount of words on the same line. Thankfully it turned out to be a ham sandwich. Never has eating been so difficult.

It also turns out that getting the bus can be just as difficult. I dont know why everything suddenly became so difficult! You get on the bus, you say the town, you pay the money, you sit down.
In Spain no. I get on the bus:
"Boa, por favour"
Blank look
"Boa?, por favour"
Blank look
"English?"
Angry Blank look
This scene continued until i managed to remember the spanish for pen and scribbled the word Boa on a piece of paper, which suddenly reminded the bus driver that Boa was in fact the first town on his route and he knew where it was. Unfortunately he failed to remember that there were in fact two bus stops in Boa, one twenty metres from my apartment, and one a 10 minute walk from my apartment. This leads to Josh being dropped off in torrential rain half a mile from shelter. Its fair to say my cold wont be getting any better soon.