I don’t think I mentioned it yet, but every time I’ve thought of the city of Segovia in the last few months, a certain kind of music has blasted itself triumphantly into my head. ‘Hail, hail Segovia, land of the free and brave!’ I’m not sure where exactly the music comes from, but my faulty memory wants to narrow it down to either The Princess Diaries (hail hail Genovia?), or something from the Marx Brothers. Possibly it’s a combination of the two? Anyway. In my entirely-sane-and-together head, Salamanca doesn’t have a theme song. Which I guess is another point against Salamanca*. (*I don’t know if you’ve heard, but they also don’t have an aqueduct).

I’m gonna take a quick pause in the ‘journey through Tapas-land’ to give a photovoyage of last-last weekend’s journey to Malta.

Segovia is all about that aqueduct. As you come into town (providing I guess, you come from the right direction), you’re hit in the face with its staggering ginormousity. BAM!

Valladolid. Valladolid. Valladolid. It took us three days (plus four years of knowing Mercedes) to work out how to pronounce the name of the city we were in.

Hey guys. I’ve done it. I’ve officially swum in the Dead Sea. Of course, by ‘swim’ I mean more ‘floated awkwardly and painfully’. But still. It HAS been done. And I can happily and confidently say, that I never ever ever want to do it again. But more on that later. First. The Desert.

Getting out of Israel this time was harder than last time. Have you been to Indonesia. Why did you go to Indonesia. Why were you in Morocco. Do you know anyone in Morocco. Is that the only time you went to Indonesia. Why were you in Turkey. What is the name of your boyfriend. Do you know a Turkish person. How often do you see that person….