Well, after my to-ing and fro-ing between New Zealand and Australia to attend orientations, apply for my visa and have passports chase me in both directions across the Tasman, I’ve finally arrived in Spain.

It’s hot, about 30 degrees and I’m so tired I feel almost catatonic. Spent an hour at the airport trying to get a Spanish sim card for my phone. The process itself wasn’t so bad but the two people in the queue ahead were being a bit precious and holding the rest of us up.

I hate queuing and there is usually very little I want badly enough to stand around waiting for it, but there also comes that point where you have already invested time and have to decide to ride it out, which I did, so that’s one job done.

I’d booked a night at Hostel Viky because of its location near the airport and free shuttle service to and from. The rooms are basic but a good size, no lift though so I had to lug everything up three flights of stairs.

Why do I feel like I’ve got more shit now than when I boarded the plane in Brisbane? Its not like I stocked up on duty free along the way. I’m hot, jet-lagged and feeling my age now, I need a drink!

Bags dumped, I wandered down the street for an icy cold beer and snack at ‘100 Montaditos’. Very nice! The beer has gone down a treat but with the heat and jet-lag I’m feeling and probably looking a bit half-cut. Still, very excited to be here.

The bars and restaurants here form a square around the Plaza de las Hermanas Falco y Alvarez de Toledo. It’s a pretty park with a fountain in the centre but it’s the little old men and women, sitting on park benches, that make it special. That sense of community where people come out to sit, to talk, to catch up, is so lacking in our insulated lives back home.

Sure, we have Facebook groups where we share news and sure, when pinch comes to shove, we rally, but it doesn’t beat the real feels of a community that spends time together.