Backpacking through Europe in 1994

Day 90 • December 5, 1994
My Last day in Rota, Spain

The countdown had become real. Only ten days left. I could feel it in the way the hours moved — slower in some moments, heavier in others. Today was my last full day in Rota, and even though nothing dramatic happened, everything felt like it carried a little more weight than usual.

I took Jeff’s bike out in the morning and rode through town looking for a ceramic house number the Menjoulous had asked for. I didn’t find one, but I ended up buying a pair of earrings instead, something small I could bring home as a Christmas gift. The streets were quiet, and the old stone buildings caught the morning light in a way that made me stop a few times just to look. Rota still carried the marks of its Moorish past — thick fortress walls, narrow archways, and that particular kind of light that seemed older than everything around it.

When I got back, I slipped into football mode. I watched Nebraska games on the tapes Jeff’s parents had sent — the Kickoff Classic, UCLA, even the recent win over Oklahoma. For a few hours I was just a guy on a couch in southern Spain, getting worked up over plays like I was still back in Kearney. Later, Jeff came home and we played Madden ’95 for a while, talking shit and laughing when the game glitched. It felt stupid and normal and exactly what I needed.

That night I couldn’t sleep as easily as I had the nights before. Tomorrow I would leave. One more long leg of travel before I could finally stop moving. I kept thinking about how close the end was, and how strange it felt to be both ready to go and not quite ready to leave this little pocket of calm I’d found with Jeff and Vicky.

Ten days. It didn’t feel like enough time anymore.

My Photographs from today in Rota, Spain

Moorish Walls

Rota, being near the southern tip of Spain and only separated from Africa by the Strait of Gibraltar, was heavily influenced throughout history in both culture and architecture by the Moors of Northern Africa. The thick stone walls and battlements still standing in the old town are a direct reminder of that long Islamic presence before the Reconquista.

Fishermen at Sunset

The sky over the Atlantic burned orange and gold as the sun dropped below the horizon. Fishermen stood like silhouettes on the rocks, casting their lines into the glowing water. One of those perfect, quiet moments that made the last days in Spain feel like a gift.

Farewell to Rota

The final sunset over the Atlantic. The sky turned deep orange and gold while the waves rolled gently onto the dark sand. A beautiful, quiet close to my time in southern Spain.

DAY 90 / 12-5-94
My last day in Rota, Spain

The countdown is on: only 10 more days. Fuck. I went for a bike ride, looking for a ceramic house number the Menjoulou’s wanted. I couldn’t find one, but I did buy a pair of earrings to use as a Christmas present.

I was in a big football mood when I got home. I watched the Kickoff Classic between NU (Nebraska University) and West Virginia. I knew NU won, but I didn’t know anything else about the game so it was fun to watch. Now really in the mood, I watched NU vs UCLA (University of California Los Angeles).

Jeff got home around 5:30, & had to take the movies back so I went with. We found Madden ’95 there – I couldn’t believe it was already out. Of course we rented it, & spent the next couple hours playing. It had kick-ass stats but played a little jerky, but I can’t wait to try it with Kyle & Skratch.

A shipment came today from Jeff’s parents & included 2 more football games: NU-CU (Colorado University) & NU – OU (Oklahoma University). I watched the NU-OU since I didn’t know the final score & since it was the most recent – only about a week & a half old.

It was kind of hard to sleep, knowing tomorrow I’ll be doing my last bit (big bit) of travelling. One more leg to run before I can really breathe a sigh of relief.

The last picture I took in Spain, at sunset, looking west, across the Atlantic Ocean, towards America, towards home.

Looking Back from 2026

This was my last day in Spain.

I spent part of the afternoon riding around Rota on Jeff’s bike, not really looking for anything in particular. Later, as the sun started to drop, I walked down to the beach one final time. The sky was on fire — deep oranges and reds bleeding into the horizon — and I stood there with my camera, facing west across the Atlantic. That photo ended up being the last picture I took in Spain. I wasn’t trying to make some grand artistic statement. I just wanted to mark the moment. I was standing at the edge of Europe, looking back toward home.

It hit me harder than I expected.

For three months I had been moving — trains, ferries, hostels, strange cities, and long stretches where I wasn’t sure what the hell I was even doing. And now here I was, with only ten days left. The trip was almost over. I had made it through the worst of it. I had survived the cold nights, the missed connections, the loneliness, and the constant low-level fear that I might not actually pull this off. And somehow, I was still standing.

That sunset felt like a quiet acknowledgment. I wasn’t the same person who had left Nebraska three months earlier. I was still carrying a lot, but I wasn’t running from it anymore. I had learned how to sit with myself. I had learned how to keep going when things got hard. And now, for the first time in a long time, I was looking in the direction of home without feeling like I was failing by going back.

I didn’t know yet what the next ten days would bring, or how difficult the final stretch would be. But standing on that beach, watching the sun disappear into the ocean between me and America, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a while.

I felt ready.

Not finished. Not healed. But ready for whatever came next.

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