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When I got back from Africa I had the biggest sense of culture shock I’ve ever experienced. I walked around London, bewildered by the buildings, the noise, the lack of friendly conversation, and the pace of life. But I’d barely even unpacked my bags when I found out I’d be hitting the road again within days. My PhD supervisor had applied for time on the Isaac Newton Telescope in the Canary Islands, and he’d been successful, so a week after I’d stepped off the plane from Lilongwe, I stepped onto a plane to Madrid.

My last journey had finished very eventfully, and this one carried on in a similar vein. The flight to Madrid was delayed, and I missed my connection to La Palma as a result. I probably could have got British Midland to sort me out some accommodation, but I saw this not as a blow but an opportunity. I’d never been to Spain before, so I jumped at the chance to see a bit of the capital before heading out to the islands.

I bought a Spanish-language guide book to Madrid. I’d learnt some Spanish in Central America so I was looking forward to practising. I headed for the centre of town and found a place to stay on Puerta del Sol. I spent the afternoon looking around Madrid, enjoying the 35°C August heat.