Murcia and Internet

Murcia is a great connection between the modern, and the old. Sandy colours fuse Murcia together with its surroundings: every time I visit this place, I feel like someone founded a city in the middle of a desert. Over 30-degree temperatures make Murcia lively either in the mornings, or in the evenings. We still keep behaving like tourists - Bjarni goes around wearing his Hawaiian shirt, with his straw hat (bought here for a few euros to protect the sensitive Icelander from the sun) on his head and sunglasses (similar story) on his eyes; I walk the town in my new, super-comfortable flip-flops and sleeveless vests, trying to find a hat and sunglasses that would gain my approval. Our escapes from the sun so far have ended in different ways: either we spend an hour in the 37-degree heat waiting at a bus stop for a bus home (Asia and Pedro live outside the strict centre of Murcia, but apparently they are not bothered by it, as "soon the motorway will be built and one will be able to drive to the town in an even shorter period of time"), or we hide in an Irish (!) pub, where there is at least beer and free internet.

Being with Bjarni, I've definitely learned one thing: internet is important and there is no point in protesting when Bjarni feels like looking for it. Equipped with this knowledge, I courageously wander around Murcia, patiently halting any time Bjarni announces it's high time to check whether there's a connection here (using his phone). I think I can say now that we've stopped almost everywhere in Murcia. Where it was and where it wasn't after all. Surely, it is in the cafe by our Spanish school, where we enter every day at 8 a.m., asking for two toasts with tomatoes, two fresh orange juices, two coffees and two coca-colas. Surely as well, it is on the bus stop where our 30A bus stops. Without any doubt the internet is also in what must be the only Irish pub in Murcia and on the steps outside a house not too far away from the main square. It is not where it is supposed to be though, all those places that we are told have free wifi, don't. And we still don't know whether it is in an internet cafe we visited by chance: a small, cramped place with only a few computers, shelves full of broken electronic equipment and an old, around 70-year-old man, looking more like a electrician than an computer specialist. A man who, seeing Bjarni's laptop, says with his broken English: "Internet es Internet, another Internet - no, never!"

We end up in the Irish pub again...