Profile
Blog
Photos
Videos
First official blog entry, how exciting
Well, second techinically, I did write a blog entry from Ibiza yesterday but I appear to have deleted it by accident...
Anyway! Ibiza was...crazy. I adapted to the night out/day recovering cycle by becoming nocturnal for the week. Yesterday was the first time I'd been up for the day before about 5pm and that was only because I had to check out by 12pm.
I managed to spend an entire week in Ibiza without going to a single major club which is pretty impressive (or a waste, whatever). It's very, very similar to Magalluf but with a better nightlife (surprisingly enough). I had a LOT of fun going to the smaller clubs and bars though (well, so I'm told and as far as the photos indicate). With standard club entry set at around 30 quid and drinks, extortionate, we decided it would be far more sensible to drink £3 litre bottles of Rushkinoff vodka on our balcony or on the beach before heading out to free clubs. It wasn't. Well, in theory perhaps, but once you've shotted cheap knockoff imported spirits for three or four nights running, you'll start to see why it's maybe not so wise. Try it, I dare ya.
My girls from home and some Scottish guys we have been hanging out with all week in Ibiza have all disappeared home now (er, something I said?) so I am officially abroad alone for the first time...eek! Well, so far it's gone swimmingly. Not.
Kat and Luce left Monday evening around 10pm and I retired to our hotel (Marco Polo) room to sort my life out/plan a rough itinerary for the next couple of months/sleep off my hangover/plan the murder of whoever is responsible for Sky News being the only English speaking channel available on Spanish TV. Two guys we'd met in the 70s,80s and 90s music bar (say nothing) came round for a bit and then disappeared off out again before coming back to wake me up at 4:30am to warble drunken nonsense at me for a good hour before finally permitting me a peaceful,ooh two hours further slumber before my 8am wake up call. Surprisingly enough, said wake up call failed to rouse me so when I woke up an hour and a half late I had to rush around like a loon packing before my 10am check out. Oh and find accomodation for the next night and/or a way to get to Barcelona.
That was yesterday morning (although it feels like a decade or so ago). I asked at the hotel we'd been staying with all week (for 14 quid a night, meals included) how much it would be for me to stay one night in a single room and they said that as of that very day we are officially in peak season and they would therefore charge me £35. "Well, sod that" I thought, so off I traipsed into San Antonio in search of somewhere that would take me in without charging a criminal rate. I trekked around for over three hours in 35 degree heat with a heavy backpack and increasing desperation but San An, it appeared, had sold out. Eventually I found a place called Hostal Monta which was only asking about 25 quid (still ridiculous for a hostel if you ask me) but as I strolled off confidently to collect the rest of my stuff from the bagage hold in Marco Polo, I took one disastrously wrong turning after another until I was completely, helplessly, hopelessly lost. Incidentally, I think maps are a seriously underrated utensil. I was looking for any sort of landmark I recognised or even something more obvious as a marker like a mountain range or the coastline, but my surroundings were being exasperatingly unobliging. "Right, pot luck it is then" I decided, my (grossly pitiful) resources of logic exhausted. By this point, it was obvious I would never again be able to relocate the moderately extortionate hostel it had taken me hours to find, even if I did somehow miraculously manage to recover my belongings -and bearings- again. Incredibly, I did eventually stumble upon an area I recognised (miles from where I guessed I was, mind you) and almost crying with relief I fell upon a shady cafe and gulped a gallon of icy water. That was when I opened my bag and discovered, you guessed it, a map. And not just any map, a detailed San Antonio street map from which I was very clearly able to see my one initial misdirectional err which very nearly cost me my sanity so very early on on my travels this summer. Maybe I'm a glutton for punishment but I was curious so I walked back to find the cheaper hostel, following the map this time. Just when I was beginning to think it had only existed in some sort of affordable accomodation parallel universe or as a mirage; a desperate backpacker's oasis, there it was. A mere 15 minutes walk from where I had started out. Of course by now I couldn't be arsed with doing anything more strenuous than gently lifting and pointing the remote to heighten the air conditioning whilst lying spread eagled on a nice cool, comfortable bed. The thought of going back to Marco Polo collecting all my luggage, then dragging it all the way back to Hostal Monta and, thereby, increasing the following morning's walk to the port by a further 20 minutes, all for the sake of a tenner, was not a tempting one. "Oh sod it, Marco Polo it is". How. Completely. Pointless.
I walked up to the receptionist, considerably more dishevelled and far less haughty and indignant than that morning as I humbly requested a single room for the night. Good times.
So that was yesterday.
- comments