Eurocation: Ibiza Didn't Kill Me

But it sure as hell left some scars...

"Wait... are we going to be able to wear shorts? Yes, but when you are trapped on a boat with 65 year old British swingers it may be to your advantage to have thick pants and a sturdy belt..."


Leaving the relatively cold Geneva we headed for the Spanish island paradise of Ibiza. Granted, it was now in the off season and it promised to be much more low key than it would have been otherwise, but it would be fun to get out of the cold and onto a warm beach with sun that could promise more than just a sunburn for myself, but joy for my eyes. Anyways, hopping on the empty plane Cory and I grab exit row seats across from each other. Lucky for my accomplice, some old fat guy thinks that he wants in on the action and decides to sit right next to Cory. As confused as he was pissed off, I assumed a defensive position to insure that my comfort would be maximized (selfishness can come with rewards). We also managed to meet an extremely interesting couple who sat behind us. They were young, maybe in the approach to 30 years old, and were living the sort of life that people write books about. Roughly three years ago they sold everything they owned except for a bag's worth of clothes. They live season to season, traveling and working wherever possible. The one guy was a tattoo artist and usually came to Ibiza during the busy summer months. He earned just enough to live off of and got to wake up on a beach every day. I think she wrote children's books or taught or something like that. Maybe she was a waitress... regardless it was interesting as hell, and tempting.

When I compare it to my life in the year 2009, I essentially worked for six months and used the savings from that time to travel for the next six months. Granted, there was some help in the way of tuition, but if I were to simply travel and not take any classes I think I could have come close to doing it all on my own. With the current economic conditions, even though I believe they are improving, companies are more keen on hiring short time employees and limiting their long term responsibility and benefit payouts. This could work to my advantage, and to the advantage of my desired lifestyle. Enough rambling, back to the island.

Anyways, so we land and share a cab with the couple to San Antonio Bay. By this time it was late at night and I really just wanted to take a shower and get a drink at the bar next door. Hi lady at the front desk, can I please have my room key? No? What? Confirmation slip? Ummm... So a quick jog down to an internet cafe with a printer and a cursing walk back, I had what the lady needed in the form of a saved e-mail (thank god...) and got into the room. For 20 some euros a night, it was pretty damn sweet. The bed was more of a couch than anything else, but there was a kitchen and a freezer for the liquor. We found a pleasant bar next door and grabbed a small bite to eat. Sangria? Yup! The next day is when things started to get weird...

Waking up we figure we have the energy to walk around the bay to the more happening spot in town. While there were bars on our side, the slow season had forced their doors shut so the points of interest became elsewhere. We started to walk along the beach which turned into rocks which turned into a turn back onto the road. Lucky for us, there was a kick ass breakfast for 4 euros! What? Eggs, Bacon, Ham, Beans, Toast, Sausage, and possibly even a pancake! Seeing as we were on vacation, and in honor of my father, I added a Bloody Mary. Not my favorite of all time but it set the tone for hydration during the day.

The next stop was the pier. We were planning on meeting Shephali in Palma the next day, which was the island north of Ibiza. The easiest way to get there is a ferry which we believed to depart from San Antonia bay. Why wouldn't it? The ferry operator office was there, there is a loading area, seems perfect and fairly close. The office was closed though, but I figured this was just because it was Sunday. Woo... all this walking makes me thirsty... Pina Collada, please. By the beach, we were content to drink our frozen creations and enjoy the growing crowd of females. We ventured down a side street curious of a tattoo parlor, but ended up passing by without going in. Dad, your face on my right cheek may have to wait... Making our way back to the boardwalk, we stroll home before I start to feel the burning of the sun and seek out shade. Cory had already felt it but his non-albino skin can actually make use of these rays in the form of a tan, so his shirt was already off. In the shade, I drank some water and rested on a bench. Dreaming of making the walk shorter, I smiled with envy at the cop riding down the boardwalk on a scooter. Mistake! I didn't think this to be a crime, and I honestly was not trying to incite trouble in any way (definitely not always the case). But, after passing 20 feet beyond our bench, the cop continued to stare at me through his side view mirror... then he stopped... then he turned around. Since we were obviously tourists with my pale skin and red hair (grungy hair, beard, and removed shirt didn't help remove suspicion) we were apparently probable drug dealers. The cop came by, started speaking Spanish, I tried a response, he continued in broken English, and then I was asked to empty my pockets. What? Fine, asshole. I took out my wallet, camera, and phone and put them on the bench. He started going through my wallet and I watched the asshole with an eagle eye. Drogas? Drogas? No, I don't have fucking drugs. This continued for a little while before he decided I was actually just resting on the bench and not trying to sell coke to British tourists.

After the fiasco it is lecture time. Communication was tough, but he managed to tell me not to ever smile at a police officer again. Fed up with this bullshit harassment, I moved to more diplomatic communication. Lo siento pero...I always have a smile on my face! Estados Unidos! He got on his fake little motorcycle and scooted away. Nick, as I know you are going to ask this... no, I didn't have a C in my P. Cory had some laughs and some concerns. We made our way back to the apartment via a shop selling overpriced sunscreen... way overpriced, but it was needed. Cory was exhausted and dragging ass, I was a bit fatigued from the travel... nap time!

haha... funny picture on the bidet...

When we woke up, it was time for a mission. We had two bottles which we had not even touched yet, and a ferry departing at 3:00 AM. Naturally, we checked out early and started at 8:00. Having no place to stay that night shouldn't have been an issue because we were going to be on a boat for 4 hours, granting us enough rest to stay awake until we could get to our place in Palma de Mallorca. Well... it was a problem, and we had a damn interesting night because of it.

We started at the first bar with a pitcher. Usually the first instinct would be to imagine a pitcher of beer. But, this is Ibiza, and their pitchers come filled with Long Island Iced Tea... halleluiah. It didn't take us much time to get through the sweet toxin before we kept walking. The bar was playing The X Factor on a big screen and was hence filled with every British tourist within a mile. Also, worst kebab of my life. I have literally never had anything so bland passed off as middle eastern food.

The next bar was not a bar at all but rather a bench. Remembering the bottles (still at least half full) that we had purchased in Geneva, we broke out the diet coke (thanks to Cory and Diabetes) and started doing a swig swig pass scenario. We were still sitting outside of a bar taking advantage of the live music but there was no point in spending any more money. Remember the cigars? We had them this time and it was time to enjoy. We broke out the Cubans, the good stuff to compliment our absolutely horrible vodka. Anyways, sitting on the boardwalk, drinking from the bottle and smoking cigars, we attracted a little attention. Not from the police, but rather from an old couple and their friend coming out of the bar. The stopped to chat for a little and I could tell they became reminiscent and somewhat jealous of our age. While we were at least 35 years younger than them, they were still living it up in their own respect sailing around the Mediterranean in a damn yacht. Well, after a little talking and joking around, they insisted that we join them for a drink and continued conversation. They suggested their boat and we were right next to the dock so I figured why not.

Walking up to the dock, we found ourselves climbing into a dingy. For those of you who don't know, this is a small rubber vessel made to carry three people from shore to an anchored vessel. There were a few signals going off in my head for sure, but my desire to act upon them was for the most part removed from me. After a little seven minute dingy ride (enough to ensure there was no way in hell I was going to be able to swim ashore in the case of emergency), we hopped on board and looked at each other in disbelief. Well, we figured that if we made it this far, we might as well go below deck and have a cocktail. There, we learned all sorts of interesting little facts.

First, and I actually did smile when hearing this, was that the boat was made in Cape Town! That is good news seeing as it had to have been seaworthy enough to make it up at least one of the coasts of Africa (don't forget the Suez canal before you question me here!). They showed us their multimedia capability, which was quite cool, and their massive bar collection, even cooler. It was at this time that Liz, the older woman with the two men, proceeded to kiss her husband Steve. Everyone was fairly drunk so I had no qualms with the action. What I did have some qualms with was her making out with their friend John immediately after. There were a number of things that came together in my mind at that moment; Liz flirting with both men on our walk to the dock, the hand holding, the ass smacking. All of these suggested one thing, but none stronger than the spoken words coming from the lady's mouth. "Well, you see... Steve is my husband but John is my boyfriend."

Swingers.

There I was aboard a yacht anchored in the middle of San Antonio harbor on the island of Ibiza, drunk and dizzy from the cigars, ten minutes away from getting propositioned by 60 year old British swingers. For those of you reading in France, I believe the correct term is estrangists. Fearful of what might happen, or get asked to happen, I begin praying behind my laughter. Well, whether by miracle or curse, Cory hits a wall in the form of a sugar low. Bud, are you okay? Do I need to get you ashore? Yeah, lets take care of that right away! While ultimately harmless and continually hospitable, I was happy as all hell to get off of that boat. The group left us with chocolates (haha jesus this keeps getting worse) and cigars as parting gifts. The world is a funny place indeed.

Awake and ready for that damn boat to arrive and take us to the next island, we waited at the dock. Now, we were the only ones there and it did seem a little odd that the boat wasn't arriving early whatsoever. But, I was the only one capable of doing anything about it because Cory was seriously passed out, that of course after he blew chunks. I search and I search, nobody in sight, no boat in sight... fuck. Finally, we decide the boat is not coming and start walking back towards the bars. It was at that time we run into somebody who tells us that the port is closed for the winter and the boats all leave from the other side of the island in Elvissa (The Town of Fucking Ibiza, not the island). Well, hell. Lets grab a cab and get our asses over there so we can try to figure things out. The boat departs just as our cab gets to the other port, apparently daylight savings time had given us another hour that we had not taken advantage of. Well, good thing we are now on the other side of the island and already checked out of our hotel... this gives us so much time to... sit?

Our wonderful resting place...

Cory is a zombie looking for the first corner to fall over in, which is what he did. Not pleased with the corner of a parking lot under a lamp post, I search out more secure surroundings and force my accomplice to keep moving. The first thing I find that offers some security is a secured dock with the door ajar. Trespassing? Better than losing all my shit overnight. We head onto the dock and Cory once again passes out immediately. I try to lay on the dock but I cannot fall asleep knowing that I rock in my sleep. Now, you would think that a sailboat is the last place I would want to be that night, but it was my best choice given the situation. I looked for the one most deserted and easiest to jump on. Bingo. I didn't want much, but a little hiding and padded surface was just what I needed. I did not break anything or do more than what I needed to, but I had my place to sleep and gave myself a chuckle as I looked into the stars as I fell asleep. You know who I be thinking bout' baby girrrrl.

Waking up gave start to the rest of the trip and a new sense of invincibility that will have to wait until the next entry. Read on for more! Ooh! Ahh!

Peace and Love from a Boat,
Scotty