Signing-off in Spain

Our final Spanish fix came in the form of Barcelona, Spain's second largest city and, ironically, probably the most un-spanish city in the country.

With a palatial pad at our disposal – we were staying in student accommodation, complete with our own bathroom and kitchen – our time in Barcelona was chilled to say the least.

Most of our time was spent wandering up and down La Rambla, dodging dorky tourists and street performers while hunting for the perfect Barcelona magnet.

With the first test of the Ashes in play, a lot of our time was also spent frequenting the various Irish pubs of the city, drinking beer and cheering on Ricky Ponting and Co with all the other Aussies who were also in Barcelona. Side note: Is there anyone actually left in Australia? Or have all the bogans left our shores on a mass 'embarrass Australia' mission?

Having tasted tapas in Seville and Madrid and pinxtosed it up in San Sebastian, it was time for us to divulge in yet another Spanish cuisine – paella. A yummy rice dish filled with fresh seafood was just what the doctor ordered. For those of you who know me well, yes, I eat seafood now – travel has forced me to get out of my chicken-schnitzel comfort zone.

After doing a bit of net research, we decided to head to the waterside suburb of Barceloneta for our paella experience, and boy did we pick well. A delicious, gigantic dish of creamy rice filled with prawns, mussels and crab was at our eating disposal. We cleaned it up in record time (Craig put in a mighty effort) and decided that we officially loved Spanish food.

Having done not a whole lot of sightseeing, our last day was spent madly running around trying to fit in all the Gaudi architecture. The highlight being the Sagrada Familia (pic below left), which, despite building starting on it in 1882, is still not complete and probably won't be until at least 2026 – the downside of the Spanish siesta, I reckon.

After four cities and 14 days our time in Spain was up. Verdict: Totally rocked our socks.

Sunsets and sangria in San Sebastian

When we first started looking into San Sebastian accommodation, it was pure devastation. The cheapest beds we could find were €30 each in a crummy hostel. Waaay over our budget. We toyed with the idea of scrapping San Sebastian, until Craig 'Magic Touch' O'Shannessy stepped up to the keyboard.

We didn't know how it could possibly be so cheap, but the second it popped up on the computer screen we couldn't book it fast enough. A private room, complete with plasma TV and DVD player at San Sebastian's highest rated hostel... score!

It turns out that they forgot to change the rate over from low to high season prices: our luck was a changin'.

It says a lot about a place if the weather is crappy and we still fall in love with it. With the top temperature hovering around 21° and the sky drizzly and overcast, there was still no denying that San Sebastian really has it all – beaches, stunning architecture, cobbled streets, a small-town feel and, of course, there's the pinxtos.

The San Sebastian way of eating tapas (or as they call them, pinxtos) truly rocks. The formula is simple: cover your bar with delicious portions of an array of dishes (everything from seafood to chorizo sausage to vegetarian fare) and let your customers snack the night away while downing copious amounts of beer and sangria – genius!

We had a brilliant night hopping from one bar to another, indulging in the tiny treats and making sangria-induced plans to one day open up our very own tapas bar in Sydney.

Of all the places we have been in the world, San Sebastian is the one place we could see ourselves actually living in. And as the sun beat down on our last day there (just as we were about to catch our bus to Barcelona), we hoped that one day we would be back.

Blood and glitter

Ah, there's nothing like being back in Western civilisation! Clean streets, easy-to-navigate public transport and toilets that don't require you to hold your breath until pass-out point.

As much as we loved Morocco, we were more than ready for some serious cleanlinesss – enter Madrid.

Stepping off the plane was like stepping into a completely different stratosphere, things were just, well... easy. The ATM we used actually dispensed money, we found our pre-booked hostel easy peasy and we cooked up a yummy risotto as we were back to the land of supermarkets and self-catering facilities.

We hadn't heard anything particularly magical about Madrid, so we went in with no expectations, which is probably the best way to go into any destination.

Mardi Gras was in town, so one night after devouring some delicious tapas and downing some beer and wine, we inadvertently stumbled upon the main parade. It was glitter and hotpants galore as we followed the the party procession through the streets, sipping on gigantic sangrias. Once the revelry died down on the main drag, we headed back to our hostel, coming across an awesome drum band along the way, they had everyone dancing in the street and an en cour was demanded when they tried to finish up.

Our time wasn't all party hardy, it was also a sportsfest. First there was a tour of Real Madrid's Santiago Bernabéu stadium – the pitch was dug up and there was construction taking place for Ronaldo's big unveiling (bummer!) but the museum and trophy room were pretty cool. We'd missed way too much Wimbledon in Morocco to miss out on the men's final, so it was off to an Irish bar to cheer on Federer to his 15th Grand Slam title in a nail-biting match against Andy Roddick. They finished up just in the nick of time, as we had tickets to the bullfight that night and we were running out of time to get there.

The bullfight, while totally gory, was an awesome experience. The fanfare, the theatrics and the traditions made it an experience to remember. While the bull never stands a chance – it gets stabbed numerous times before the torro even starts the one-on-one fight – they are bloody tough buggers and don't give up until their very last breath.

With numb bums (concrete seats) we left the bullfight a tad early as we had an overnight bus to catch. Destination: San Sebastian.

The heat is on!

Having just endured the worst London winter in over 18 years, we were ready for some serious heat. And boy did Seville bring it!

With highs reaching 45° Celcius, our poor pasty bodies didn't know what hit them. To combat the heat, we guzzled several litres of water each a day as we wandered the seriously gorgeous streets of this southern Spain city.

With many streets off limits to cars – they're too narrow – Seville is a pedestrian's paradise. Seeking shade whenever we could, we'd find ourselves walking around in awe of this stunning city. 'It's a good-looking city, hey?', 'It is a pretty cool city but, don't you reckon?', 'It's such a nice place.' Were some of the inspired and insightful comments we'd make to each other throughout the day.

Of course our first stop in Spain wouldn't be complete without a touch of tapas, so we headed out one evening to sample what Seville had to offer. Forgetting our phrasebook, we had to rely on whatever the Spanish speaking owner recommended to us, which worked out great, and we ended up sampling a number of tiny treats and washed them down with some local beer and wine.

Also on the agenda was a tour of the local bullring, where we learnt all about the traditions of bullfighting. Unfortunately, we left Seville on the morning of a fight – Craig blames me for that planning blunder – so the tour alone had to satiate our curiosity.

After three nights in scorching Seville, it was time to turn the thermostat to the max in Morocco!