November 15, 2012.
Made it to Madrid, after losing and later reuniting with my backpack in Stockholm. Driven by boredom and several hours to kill I took the metro into central Madrid where I found a city centre more or less occupied by policemen due to massive riots the day before, in the wake of the economic crisis. Street artists in every corner, the one more creative than the other. I spoke fluently in Spanish to one of the locals. She was an infant. After almost getting attacked by SpongeBob and having some weird Asian food that made me wanna puke I took off to the airport again. A liiittle bit too late as usual. But I made it.
Lima. After five minutes of walking around in Miraflores, the area where I stayed (together with about 200 percent of all other gringos) I was sun burnt. Check. The rest of the weekend consisted of great food, great people, many cervezas, a rooftop birthday party and much more. But the traffic and pollution soon reminded me it was time to move on. I could hear the mountains calling.