Nine out of ten of my friends, say they love to travel (*straw poll – results may vary).  But what they really mean, is they like what happens once they get there, because no-one can possibly love the arduous, tedious struggle that involves travelling from Point A to Point B – especially if you come from Australia, where everything is so damn far away.  In our case, Points A to B were OK, but it was Points C, D and E that illuminated why our airfares were so cheap!  Anyway, some 31 hours of flying later, after spending 11 hours getting from Dalby to Brisbane (it’s a long story), we’re finally in España, and it’s bonza, apparently!

For my non-Australian friends, the word “bonza” is an Aussie vernacular slang term meaning brilliant or excellent. ie Q: “how was the barbeque last night?” A:”it was bonza mate”.  But it’s not used much anymore, at least I have not heard it spoken in about 20 years, until Ross said it in Amsterdam.  “What did you say?” I ask him, incredulously (Ross is not a bonza-speaking kind of guy). “Bonza”, he repeats.  And this is where I make a fateful error – telling him that I haven’t heard that word in decades.  Without a word of a lie, he has managed to get the word ‘bonza’, into pretty much every conversation since.  It’s like waking up in a TV episode of “The Sullivans” or travelling with Alf “stone the flamin’ crows” Stewart, from Home and Away!

Anyway, let’s go back some 48 hours, while I’m packing my bag in the kitchen at home.  Both suitcases open, pen in hand, I cross off items from my typewritten list as I pack them.  Ross walks past “oh you’ve typed a list….. that’s so cute” – which is code for, ‘you crazy, OCD woman”.  So of course I LOL, a lot, when 2.5 hours drive time from Dalby, he says to me “oh no. I’ve forgotten my jacket, both of them”.  So it’s off to DFO we go – and it’s the day after Boxing Day, and there are people everywhere, and I’m not fond of shopping at the best of times.  We take a deep breath, and enter the heaving mass of humanity.  Paying for said jackets also highlights another issue, Ross has ‘misplaced’ his mastercard (something that happens pretty regularly) and he is now travelling with only his AMEX (which he assures me will be accepted EVERYWHERE).  For those of you who use an AMEX, you will know, that despite the advertising pitch, they are not universally accepted everywhere (one of life’s biggest fallacies).  I give you Exhibit A, Your Honour – a meek voice comes from the front seat of the cab in Madrid … “Kacka, can I please have your credit card?”

But before Madrid, we spend 4.5 hours in Schiphol Airport, Amsterdam, where the standout feature was “The Man in the Clock”.  A man in overalls paints the time (hands on the clock), every minute, on the minute.  Sometimes the minute hand is quite crooked, so he redraws it (21 past 1 is a real mess).  ON the back of the clock there’s a door, and a ladder.  It looks so believable.  Of course, it’s just a plasma screen showing a 12 hour recording, but it’s mesmerizing.

One of the reasons I watched the clock for so long, is because it’s right next to the airport help desk, who were assisting me (unsuccessfully I might add) to track down my new iPhone 8, accidentally left on the plane (and now presumed lost/stolen).  So now I don’t have a phone, but I do have insurance!!  Losing stuff is sooooo part of Ross’ skill-set, not mine.  He’ll NEVER let me live this down. I can only assume that after extended exposure to his uniqueness, I’ve caught some of his calamity cooties, or something. Sigh.

Madrid, as always is beautiful.  It’s ancient buildings, statues and fountains are lit up against the chill night air.  Christmas lights are everywhere.  We drive down a street under a cascade of blue lights and it’s magical.  To my distress, I’m having trouble remembering my Spanish words.  I want to say “it’s beautiful” in Spanish, but I can’t think of the words.  Ross manages a ‘bonito’ and I remember now… ‘el perro bonito’ – the pretty dog, which I repeated so often last year.  Hahaha – it will all come back to me, I’m sure.

We’re off to bed.  I really want to go out into the streets and eat tapas and drink vino tinto, but I’m exhausted…..and let’s not forget, we do have another 31 days in which to do so.  Tomorrow, mañana, our holiday will really begin.  x