Lost

Walking along the cobblestone streets in the heart of Basque country, no shoes, a sore head and little memory of the night before. I begin to think an impromptu road trip from my friends township in the south of France after a lot of wine, coke and sheesha was not made for the best laid plans. 

My feet becoming sore as the hot August sun heats the footpath, my stomach increasingly becoming queasy thinking of the hygiene factor from not wearing shoes. 

Nothing is familiar to me at all; all of these buildings, waterways,  nothing is registering in my mind as somewhere I have been before, which in not so many words means; I am fucked. 

There's a clearing in this concrete jungle and I spot the universal symbol for information and assume I am at a 'touristy' hot spot. Jackpot! Its the Guggenheim, not that I have been here in the last 24hrs but I do remember it was one of the top 20 things I wanted to see when coming to Spain. 

Surely here, I will find someway to get in contact with Lucy. Thank f**k for facebook and the Gen Ys' need to be contactable 24/7. 

After a long, broken conversation with the guy at the door of the Guggenheim, his understanding of my situation becoming clear to him with a laugh at my expense, to be fair I don't blame him for laughing. I was laughing somewhere inside, deep inside. I was able to borrow his phone to log in to my facebook and message Luce. 

I ended up having to stay for a while whilst waiting for her reply, so I waited with Davide, who turned out to be a student in the Bilbao, he was from Granada which I found out was way down south and he missed his family. He was pretty cute, if my attire was better, my breath didn't smell like an ashtray and my hair didn't look like I had been through a typhoon I probably would have tried to have a crack, but alas I was appreciative just for his generosity of his phone.  

I refreshed the news feed and saw that I had a new message, it was from Lucy and they were on their way to pick me up. 

Another 20 minutes later I was reunited with my friends, in the car and on our way to someones cousins house. I wasn't listening to close to the details, I was just stoked to see familiar faces and to be on my way to a shower, fingers crossed! 

I first met Lucy a couple of years ago when she was travelling Australia and got a job at a local restaurant that I had been working at intermittently through my travels. We became friends after a staff party of drunk antics followed with a brutal hangover. We had bonded over the passion for travel and adventure. I was and had been fascinated with the idea of a nomadic life since a period of time before I could remember. The thought of making my dream of traveling like a glorified 1960s hippy had always struck a chord with the romantic in me. This is where it all began.  

Author's Note

Bit of a blurb. More to come. Feedback welcome