the balearics

first off, the balearics ball. as in the verb to ball, to wreck shop, to trump others with sheer dope quality.

i arrived in ibiza by plane last tuesday, escaping the rainy sh*thole that was barcelona for two days straight. getting off the plane after a brisk 1 hour flight, the weather in ibiza was noticably clearer and warmer, and it felt wild and intimate- appropriate for an island in the middle of the mediterranean. (i can't spell mediterranean for the life of me, and it really irks me, as i am, by nature, an excellent speller).

after a bus ride and a lot of crap-lugging, i found cal's apartment in the very center of ibiza town. cal is a berkeley grad and santa barbara native- cousin of kara valeriano, hence my connection- and has been teaching english to primary school kids in ibiza town for the last 7 months. cal and his roommate chase, a texan from lubbock (hell yes), kindly received me in their sweet apartment for four looney days and nights, where i was introduced to la vida ibisenca. it consists of sun, spaniards, bocadillos (sandwiches of jamon y queso, or cured ham and cheese, among other things), cafe con leche, paddleball, canas (beer), bare-breasted women, and stunning turquoise water. i got a tan and got to befriending my intelligent, good-natured american hosts. i was even allowed in as an honorary member of their weekly poker night- me and four hot dudes, plus beer, olives, and a 5 euro buy-in. im proud to say i held my own.

a few sun-splattered days and booze-saturated nights later, i bid adieu to my new buddies, and set off (running) to catch my ferry to mallorca. i made it just in time, still tipsy from beer and bocadillos, and found myself a seat next to the window. i snuggked up for a riveting onboard feature: he's just not that into you. thank you, douchebag producer and director, for letting me enjoy an oversaturated all-star cast play their types all too well (scarlett johannson= the seductive mistress, drew barrymore= the ditsy hippie chick)...why am i talking about this...

i arrived in mallorca sans plan. it was the most disorganized id been all trip, but id adopted the 'dont worry until you have to' mentality. it was 10pm when we docked, and i walked toward the bus stop with 40 euros and advice to go to arenal- a nearby beach community with cheaper and more available hostels than palma proper.

the bus didnt seem to be coming for the first hour, and i started inquiring of taxi drivers the going rate to arenal. the answer was 'at least 17 euros', basically my night's room rate, give or take, so i held off committing for a while.

two guido-y looking guys noticed my lonerhood and obvious distress, and asked me where i was trying to go. i said arenal, but that my goal was merely a cheap place to stay, and that my real reason for coming to mallorca was my friend kelly (from the hostel in barcelona) lived in an apartment in alcudia (on the north shore). they lit up. "alcudia! WE'RE going to alcudia!" turned out they were from germany, and their italian father owned a restaurant that catered to tourists on the marina in Port d'Alcudia. They had just arrived to begin their annual six-month stint working 7 days a week in their father's restaurant. they insisted upon giving me a ride to alcudia. i was overjoyed. we began talking, and i learned they were brother of 26 and 23 years old, the younger being the one with a spiky blow-out and unbuttoned shirt revealing a rosary. the older brother, denny, asked me out of nowhere if his younger brother sergio resembled a guido. i tactfully asked if it was a compliment or an insult. he replied "a compliment!" and i quickly said "yes. absolutely." sergio began to wax poetic on his love for the show jersey shore, and namely his high esteem for mike "the situation" (though he had purposefully gotten his hair cut two weeks prior in the exact style of DJ Pauly Delvecchio). He then jovially explained that when the two of them first saw me, he motioned to his brother, saying, in true mike form, "looks like we've got a situation". I chuckled forcedly, mentioning my genuine love for this, the trashiest show on television, while hating for a moment being a girl.

they were very sweet, despite the guido 'do and 'tude. but when their father pulled up to pick them (and now me) up, he drove a tiny car with his wife and young daughter already in it. it quickly became clear that i would not be going to alcudia with them tonight. they gazed at me wistfully and apologetically, and after an awkward greeting with father and wife, i dove into the ferry station, now actually somewhat frantic, and had a mini-cry on a bench. the taxis were now all gone, there was no bus to arenal, it was midnight in palma and i was all alone.

i sucked it up, grabbed my bags and started walking toward town. after fearing for my life a little bit while walking through a park and psyching myself up to beat the shit out of anyone who tried to touch me, i found a main road, and finally, a taxi. he was a really sweet man in a pimped out new van who really wanted to play me some authentic flamenco music on the way to arenal. i mentioned i was in need of a hostel, and he dialed something into his gps. he seemed to know where he was going.

we got to arenal and circled around for 20 minutes looking for hostels. the beach was within reach. i considered camping on it but was afraid id get in trouble. jail in mallorca wasn't part of my ideal beach vacay. i scrounged up the address of a place i had written down earlier, and we finally arrived in front- i have never been so relieved to see the 'hostal' sign. however, i was horrified to see the meter- 26 euros. i pathetically explained to my kind driver that i only had 40 euros, and feared my hostel could be upwards of 25 so late at night. i said i thought i could only afford to pay 15, but gave him 20 because i felt bad. he calmly and happily handed me back 5, saying it was his pleasure and good luck. i was saved.

i walked into the hostel to see george, from republic of georgia, and asked desperately if they had a room for one person. he replied, "yes of course" and led me outside to the reception in a nearby sister hotel. i was treated kindly and calmly, just like the taxi driver, and was led back to my room by george. we walked up to the second floor to number 21, where he opened the door to a single room with two beds, a private bathroom, and balcony, for exactly 20 euros. I was ECSTATIC. not to mention, the beach was literally a 60-second walk from the door of the place.

the following day, i awoke at 9:30am to take advantage of my free hostel breakfast, which always sucks, though I still always have a twinge of hope that it will be huge and gourmet. Afterwards i walked out to the promenade to take in the beach and the am crowd. it didnt take long to learn that german tourist own arenal. it is theirs. there is no spanish spoken nor written on signs or menus. it is german, everywhere, on everything. i blended in only until someone tried to talk to me or sell me something, and i proudly responded in spanish, which quickly deterred them. the white girls didnt do that here.

i dove back to the hostel for a swimsuit and spent the rest of the afternoon on the beach. by this point, i was starting to look genuinely tan, like people who beach with a real sun-sucking fervor, and you can see it in their eyes...

i later went for a run on the beach, showered, and went to look for some dinner. i found a nice place outside facing the beach, and watched the sun set while skyping with my mom on my iphone while i drank a beer and ate pizza because the restaurant had wifi. oh, technology.

i ended up having a beer later with a nice lithuanian guy, and we spoke about his 11-year relationship with his girlfriend Ramona, and how they would get married in 2 months, but that he had just come to Mallorca to start working and he missed her terribly. it was refreshing to hear someone talk about his loved one of eleven years with such loving desire and joy. i ended up at a dutch bar talking with hilarious dutch bartenders and dancing to techno jams. i asked for water and got free beer, and woke up late and hungover.

hunger forced me out of bed, and i sluggishly packed my stuff, knowing i would be taking the bus to alcudia at some point in the day, but my first and most crucial goal was to get coffee and a croissant in my face as soon as possible. i had that times two, and dawdled around, fatigued, till i got some water and my act together. i emailed kelly for some advice on the bus, as the info from internet and locals was wildly unclear, and kelly responded with exact directions. an hour later, i was on the local bus en route from arenal to the bus station in palma, with a crushing headache surrounded by seven drunk as hell middle-aged german women, laden in tourist schwag, literally yelling into my ears. 55 minutes later we had reached the bus station. i slept all the way to alcudia.

i arrived at kelly's apartment, where she and her roommate lanie were making soup and biscuits for dinner. it felt so good to be in a house with people. it was comforting, i always forget how different it is. we chatted and had dinner and a special beverage of mashed quinoa, cinnamon, and pineapple juice from their spanish roommate cristina.

i feel bad because not only did kelly give me her bed for the night, i completely commandeered her computer and skyped with sam for three hours. she is really the sweetest thing. tomorrow morning we willgo to the alcudia farmers market, and then I will get back on the bus to palma, and then a bus to the airport to make my 2pm flight to Barcelona. In Barcelona I will stay with a friend named Duro, who says we will go to an art opening. Then I have to be at the train station in Barcelona at 7:30am on Wednesday in order to get to Cannes by 7pm. Twelve straight hours on the train. The festival starts Wednesday and I will stay with Carleton, a good friend from high school, as his film is screening there and he rented a house for the week.

Planes, trains, and autobuses for 48 hours and then Cannes...wooohooo!