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All of the stories of the countries we've visited so far - Ireland, England, France and Spain, are indexed here now, because, plain and simple, I'm a nerd. So if you missed a week and couldn't be bothered clicking back, they're there now for your clicking pleasure.

Want to know something about our travels? We still have more adventures to come in Spain, France, Netherlands, Germany, Czech Republic, Italy and Greece - 5 weeks down and 10 to go! If there's something you've always wondered about those countries - the food, culture, music (the cocktails and beaches, maybe?), we'd be happy to take the challenge of searching for the answer, just message us!

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Summer Singalongs

Outside a tent each night, a few spaces away, a group of friends sit and play guitar and sing. Some of them are completely tone deaf but we only hear those voices late at night once the drinks have been flowing. Until then, one or two of them, who know all the words to all the songs, sing along and sing well. Everything from classic rock to Adele’s Rolling in the Deep, they know it.

Amongst the drunken slurs, sounds of tripping over tents, snarling winds and general drone, the singing is a welcome reprieve. Courts offers me one of his ear phones but I’d rather listen to the singalong. It reminds me of times when we used to all sit around and have singalongs on Summer afternoons, or over Winter roasts.

One or two who knew all the words, more and more joining in until everyone in on the chorus. Chorus closes, verses resume and slowly so does the chatter amongst everyone else, glasses clinking, knives and forks scraping, chips being dipped, dogs and cats being patted and played with until once again the energy builds, the pre-chorus triggers sub conscious recognition and the room builds again into a chorus of combined love for music, good times, good friends and good food and drink.

Last Summer, the guitars didn’t come out. Everyone was too busy or too shy, the previous ringleaders no longer present for various reasons, in different countries or mindsets. The core though, still here. We still love music, food, drink, each other. We are not lacking in very skilled guitarists. When I get home from the European Summer, it will just be easing into Summer Downunder. This Southern Summer, I’m buying a new barbeque, a new stereo, a new chilly bin and dusting off the guitar.

www.flickr.com Penelope_nz's Benicassim, Spain photoset

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Boredom Strikes

Five nights down, two to go. If we make it through one more night without being fallen on in our sleep, it will only be 50/50 odds of it happening as a farewell gesture on night seven. There’s not much to report because we’ve been beaching out, Courts has been in the ocean as many waking hours as possible and I’ve swam in the Mediterranean Sea four times. Mum was quite proud of Courts for getting me in the ocean at 6pm the first time I swam, knowing I’m not much one for oceans or cold (and yes, by my standards the ocean is often cold even in this heat). She would be shocked if she knew that today there were waves and I went in twice.

Courts thought it was hilarious to watch my expression as the waves I despise so much loomed over us and then gently tossed us behind as they passed through to break over other people’s heads. For me it was a necessary evil as the heat intensified (and the ocean actually got warm enough for me to consider it not-cold)  and we stayed deep enough to avoid most of the breakers.

The only problem now is that without hotel TV’s, English language books, battery power for music and audio books or the blinding hangovers that seem to keep everyone else occupied, we’ve run out of things to do and we got bored for the first time since we’ve left home (long queues not counted). After a long mid-afternoon walk home from the beach - made longer by the fact that three perfect days of lovey-dovey coupledom (being united by hatred for a place does wonders for a relationship) had to give way to an argument at some point – I even had a cold shower at camp, finally washed my hair for the first time in Benicassim and relished in using the Spanish Leave-in Conditioner we deciphered at the Super Mercado. Skip back to the bit about disliking the cold to understand why I hadn’t been convinced to shower long enough to wash my hair since San Sebastian, but heat and boredom lead to crazy ideas, and washing my hair was one of them. The three wasps hanging around the button I had to push every 30 seconds made for light entertainment and then it was a snooze in the tent before some writing and the nights festivities.

The previous night we went into the festival for the first time. We saw a comedy hour (the only part of the festival Courtney actively wanted to see) and then half of The Paris Riots set*before Brandon Flowers from The Killers did his solo set. It was awesome to walk around and eat vendor food and see bright lights and screens and take it all in. Courts did a good job of pretending well, not to like it, but to not-hate it, and even sang along when Brandon Flowers closed with a Killers song, though he’ll kill me when he reads that I told the world he knew the words. Brandon Flowers was good until halfway through his set when he kind of seemed to just give up and let his back up singers do the hard bits. He gave me the impression that he just really doesn’t like his job, and I don’t think he’s ever spoken to his band mates if their chemistry is anything to go by. Still, the bass player was into it and it was cool to hear the songs live.

Best of all was just that vibe I’ve been craving, it made the mad crush to get out totally worth it. They’ve really just sold too many tickets this year and don’t have the infrastructure to support their big ambitions – we left with the intention of going back 2 hours later for The Strokes and just couldn’t be bothered dealing with the crush to get back.

So we’ll see how tonight goes, I’m seeing Mumford and Sons because AnnMarie back home said I had to, and The Arctic Monkeys afterwards if I can be bothered with the crazies for that long. We’re considering heading back to Valencia tomorrow before the big finale – Portishead and Arcade Fire will make this whole ordeal worth it and then we can Speedy Gonzales outta here and say Hola to Barcelona.

*Note to Squish – worth looking up if 6 live songs are anything to go by, let me know if they record well xx

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Eating in Spain

I don’t consider myself a fussy eater. I used it, and I guess I am, but maybe the point is I either don’t allow myself or haven’t been made to feel like one in a long time. I don’t eat any seafood or fish except tuna, and I suppose I am very fussy with meat, it’s just that I’m so used to eating whatever fits in with everyone else that I forget how fussy I am.

The deal is, that when I was around 6 or 7, I remember hating the fatty parts of chops and steaks. We ate mostly mince or sausages anyway because it was cheaper and we were kids, and other than that the family preference tended to be chicken. So I didn’t grow up eating meat meat and like those of us that aren’t French may think eating frogs and snails is gross, I just don’t like meat.

I can’t just be nice and clean cut and rule out ‘meat’ and be a vegetarian though, that would be too easy. It’s the flavour of blood and the texture that I don’t like, but I can happily eat salted meats like corned beef, bacon or ham, and I have no problems with flavoured mince (tacos, chilli con carne, hamburgers) or sausages (although they’re not really meat are they). The only thing I don’t like is just meaty meat. Steaks, chops, casseroles, they’re all out.

The thing is, I eat everything else. There isn’t a fruit or vegetable I won’t eat. Throw a carb my way and I’ll take it. Dairy, no problem. Three out of four food groups I’ll try anything and if I wouldn’t buy it for myself, I’ll still happily eat it if it’s in front of me. I’m more than happy to eat extra servings of the veges served at dinner, or the salads and breads at barbeques. I can cook meat for others no worries. If meat might be an issue I simply say I’m vegetarian or only eat chicken and people don’t have an issue with that because it’s fairly common nowadays.

So for 20-odd years I’ve lived this way and on the odd occasion I’ve had to explain myself but generally speaking it’s been easy goings and I’ve got on fine. Ireland was easy, England’s food was awesome. Once I figured out the word Poulet (chicken) in French, life was easy in France too. Spain, well, that’s a whole other kettle of fish.

Fish - literally, because if you don’t eat seafood, you’re not faring well in Spain. 90% of every menu includes seafood, and no one eats chicken. It took us forever to figure out ‘Pollo’ is Spanish for chicken because they just don’t eat it. It’s been easier in Benicassim, perhaps the number of English tourists here warrants more chicken dishes, but San Sebastian I found chicken twice total, out of every menu we looked at, which is lots, because we perve at the menu of every place we pass.

In Sant Mateu, on the way to Benicassim, our very lovely restaurant/hotel hostess wrote out a note for me that reads ‘Please recommend a dish suitable for a vegetarian’ in Spanish. Funnily enough as soon as I had it, we got to Benicassim and I haven’t had to use it, but that was after a particularly difficult experience in Sant Mateu itself when I was tired and over-hungry. I take after my Mum in that as soon as I’m over-hungry – which can happen in the click of two fingers – I feel shaky and sick and I need to eat now or I get very agitated. I couldn’t read the menu, Courts had taken forever in the shower while I ate salami from the packet to try and tide myself over, the English speaking hostess was on a break and her impatient Spanish speaking boss wanted us to order yesterday. He, as with a lot of wait staff in Spain, wanted us to order the second we sat down and tried to sell us on a set menu in order to force us to make all our decisions at once. Set Menus are very common and very good value throughout the European countries we’ve visited so far, but in this case I was tired and couldn’t recognize any words except for the Queso y Jamon York (Cheese and Spanish Ham) Pizza, which is what I got but only after the English-speaking hostess came back and explained to him I didn’t eat seafood or meat. The look on his face was kind of puzzled because the town was tiny, they didn’t get tourists often if ever, and not eating seafood or meat is just not Spanish.

It makes me wonder, all this, if I had grown up with seafood and steak, if I had grown up in Spain, would I like this food? Or is it ingrained in me that I eat this way, like a baby fussy from the very start with solids? One bright side of Spain is that every table has a paper tablecloth over the linen one, so on one occasion I was able to draw a fish with a cross through it for a waitress that didn’t understand. For now, I’m making do, and I’m trying everything I end up with – even if it means leaving a small pile on the side of my plate for Courts and eating the Paella around them when a drawing of a fish doesn’t translate to ‘seafood’ and I can’t draw langoustine.

What challenges have you had with food while travelling? Are you a foodie or fussy?

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