Tommaso and I took the day to explore Harran. A city built almost entirely of mud, very cool litle beehive houses and right on the Syrian border. The oldest mosque in the world, though its largely rubble and more kids chasing us screaming "hello, hello". The grand finale though an edible highlight...of dung fired "pizza".

A turkish shave in Shanliurfa, they get real close and look pretty psycho when they whip out the cut throat, but by far the most scary is the flaming brand they beat you around the head with to remove those tiny little ear, cheek and throat hairs. Then back to Istanbul on a leg cramping turkish bus for a mere 18 hours. A bladder delight.

So back in Istanbul, and with Ramadan here it was time to show some cultural sensitivity. So we stayed at home and drank for 12 hours on the first day of ramadan. One the second day we were a little more refined, and headed out for the evening. I love the rooftop bar scene. Tommaso, my nineteen year old travelling companion was out on a mission he was definitely....enthusiastic. It reminds me of the story of an old bull and a young bull on a hill overlooking a field of cows. The young bull says, lets race down to that field and fuck one of those cows, to which the older bull replies, lets walk down there and fuck them all. Istanbul is just one of those places, where the indescribable happens. and Tommaso pretty well summed it up after that evening...."Well I woke up in a five star hotel next to a thirty four year old British Ambassador". Styling.

So I leave istanbul sadly, its been an amazing place. Its an indescribable city, the ships lined up waiting to go through the Bosphorous straight - which are international waters and so you know that some of those ships are carrying heroin, arms, and all sorts of contraband goodies. I liked the tourism sign in Topane though, a huge big banner saying "Istanbul, city of dreams and love" placed interestingly over a gun shop, with its own giant 3 metre pistol replica. Quite ironic.

So a series of flights, via Munich to Barcelona. It was in the passport queue at Munich airport that I noticed something very strange.... Located in an emergency glass break box was a set of heart starting paddles. More to the point there were loads of them scattered across the airport. Perhaps the home of Ocktoberfest and its population of bratwurst munching locals are slightly on the cardiosusceptible side. I wonder who gets to use that in an emergency, somehow I dont think that an episode of ER qualifies one to shout "Clear" and give someone a good zapping.

So onto my next flight, and with great good fortune next to a lovely girl Corinn with a great pout. We chatted, she speaking german, spanish and english. Makes me kind of embarressed as an Australian to be speaking just a single language. Still I do have snippets of loads of languages, that I seemed to have combined into a global dialect of little use... I call it "Sluggish"

We chatted of many things, and talk of parents popped up. She mentioned that her father was 24 and her mother 27 when she was born, following it up with translation of a german proverb for me..."On old horses you learn to ride"...Giddyup Tommaso!

My "sluggish" showed its full uselessness in Barcelona Airport. Not wishing to lug around my stupidly large paraglider for a couple of days in Barcelona I placed it in a safety locker. The attendant could speak no english, me very little spanish, so I hope that its there when I get back. Fingers crossed.

Barcelona is a pretty wild city. The women are gorgeous, and like most European women have that sense of chic about them. Its the sort of place that makes me want to get a man bag. Dinners at 10pm, drinks start about midnight and the clubs go til 8am. Party town. The big highlight to Barcelona though is the architecture, the little pockets of Gaudi that dot the city.

A style that is nothing short of amazing, this organic geometric dazzle, I liken it to a cross between Aliens and Lego. That phrase alone would make most architects cringe. For me the highlight is the cathedral, the Temple de la Sagrada Famila. Its still under construction, as always my postcard pictures always seem to be timed with scaffolding. It seems to be my world tour of big cranes. But what is there already is nothing short of amazing. It has a feel like nothing else, the inside a brightly lit alien mother ship crossed with hemlock stems and thistle indents. The outside shows a different story on each side, each in its own amazing style, and then when you see the pictures of what its going to look like it really blows you away, its perhaps 30 percent complete so far.

The Park Guell, another Gaudi cache commands a wonderful panoramic view of the city with more of that organic architecture that somehow transcends from natural to artificial. Definite genius that man.

Barcelona isnt a place for morning people. It starts to go to bed when I get up. My seven am start offering me a breakfast venue with an interesting assortment of sliced mystery meats and instamatic cappucino. I do have to respect a culture that embraces a siesta though, that post lunchtime snooze.

Tapas here is fantastic, a beer a bar and an assortment of "if we can slice it you can eat it" tasty morsels. I am most defintely looking forward to feasting tonight though, a seafood Paella. That sizzling frypan of rice and seafood, that at the end leaves you with that guilty feeling of knowing you have just eaten the entire cast of "The Little Mermaid".

Yum.