Barcelona

We crossed the border through those beautiful hills and down into the ugliness of La Jonquera with its sex shops, duty free mercats and cheap hotels.

We whiled away northern Catalonia, passed by the steaming industries of Baranola and arrived in Barcelona in the middle of the night.

The coach was full of Finnish Brucers who spoke perfect English.

There was a tense moment just after the border when the driver pulled over and told us we had 30 minutes, locked the bus and disappeared.

Everyone rushed to the banos to pee and the shop to buy beer to forget or coffee to keep awake.

The police arrived in a flash of blue lights, took a photo of the bus' registration plate and asked to see all our passports.  They frisked the only North African boy aboard, ('emptying his pockets 'til the moths flew out' - Tierna (witness)), then left in a blast of blue.

The bus driver appeared out of the blue and said vamos and off we went..

Issac came to meet us, a linen angel, and took us home down streets I hadn't seen for 15 years.