Balearic Adventure: Spain for the Holidays, Part III

Thrilling Heroics is about personal development & lifestyle design for college students and young professionals. We talk about freelancing, leadership, personal branding, blogging, social media, personal growth, travel, and more. If you like what you see, please share your comments and subscribe to future updates.
Optimize your Life, Rock your Career, and Make the World your Playground!

Sat, Dec 29: After cleaning up the apartment and preparing for our flight to Ibiza all day, we caught up with Meye once more this evening, to give her a piece of climbing equipment that Ryan had left for her as a gift. The four of us wandered a off the beaten path to Granja Dulcinea—one of the two chocolateries in the area most popular with the locals. We waited in line for a half hour and then sat down for some xiocolate and churros. Delish! Meye says we must come and meet up with her again on our return trip—5 January is the celebration and parade on the eve of Three King’s Day—when children in Spain traditionally received presents (as opposed to Christmas day).

We rushed out of town to catch our 9:55 PM flight from Barcelona to Ibiza. And while we didn’t know it at the time, it turns out that we boarded the wrong train, even after we could reasonably gather that two metro workers had pointed us to it. It was the most crowded train I’ve been on—the guy who conveniently placed his ass in my face for the majority of the ride definitely needed a change! We still thought we were heading in the right direction toward the airport, but once it got to about t-minus 30 minutes, we were worrying: shouldn’t we be there by now?

It was at this time that Paul also realized he had misplaced his passport, and was frantically searching his bags to find it. After looking through everything twice, he was fairly certain he had left it hidden in our apartment. Moral of the story: don’t hide your passport away like your secret stash kids, you might forget it if you’re leaving in a rush! So we’re tripping about if Paul would even be able to board the flight with us or whether he would have to catch up a day or two late. Meanwhile, it turned out that no, we weren’t on the way to the airport, we were on the way to the absolute middle of nowhere! It seemed reasonable that a free train to the airport would be so busy, but why everybody in Barcelona goes here in the middle of the night, I will never know! And not only was this the middle of nowhere, but it was pretty ghetto too! Oh well, so now it was blatantly obvious that we were not going to make it to the airport in time to catch our scheduled flight—we waited patiently for the return train and used Tim’s Blackberry to search the net for solutions to our little predicament. Over the phone, Clickair (a subsidiary of Iberian Airlines) told us they wouldn’t refund our tickets, but if we came in they would give us a 20% discount on new tix. Oh well, 500 bucks on my credit card well spent! It’s not a true adventure until something goes wrong.

We spent several hours running around Barcelona like chickens with our heads cut off—only chickens with 40 pound packs on our backs—and we missed the 11 PM ferry to Ibiza by a matter of minutes. We missed the internet cafe. So we grabbed a pizza at a local vendor. Que pasa nada. Plan D: we finally gave in to our destiny, checked our bags at the Hotel Arts across town (where we’ll stay next week), and decided to stay up all night and catch the 6:45 AM flight in the morning. No point trying to find reservations and sleep at this point. At about 1 AM we went to Shoko Restaurant & Lounge Club across the street and enjoyed some DJ music for a while. I also struck up conversation with these three local hotties—Yanina and Lupe were two of them, don’t remember the third’s name—a big accomplishment for me with my extremely limited Spanish. Anyways, with them on our arms, we easily got into the big disco next door, Catwalk, and danced until 4:30 in the morning.

Sun, Dec 30: We taxi’d it to the airport by 5, and Tim and I bought new tickets for the 6:45 plane, but Paul had to track down the policia and fill out a lost passport report to get approval to travel without it. Then the fuckers took my laptop lock! Because, of course, laptop cables pose a dangerous terrorist threat to Ibiza! In summary, we barely made the 6:45 flight, but at last we were all on the same plane and destined for the Balearic Islands!

This is why we were meant to be on this plane! There was this incredibly gorgeous Barcelona girl and two friends that I took a seat right next to. Smokin’ hot—easily a 9 or 9.5 if you ask me. So when the time was right, and I finally grew a pair, I leaned across the aisle and asked them about themselves and for tips for a first-time trip to Ibiza. Jennifer, Ester, and Maria. Turns out that Hottie has a house in Sant Antoni, the other side of the island from Ibiza Town, and I got the scoop on what beaches and sunset bars to look for. I also left with two of their phone numbers, so it all worked out alright. Maybe we’ll catch up with them for New Year’s Eve…

We checked into the Hostal Parque. The streets were dead at 7AM, but it turns out that our hotel is right in the center of the winter-time action. Plaça del Parque fills up with locals enjoying coffee and lunch in the afternoon, and lights up with a carnival and live music at night. And we have a balcony that overlooks the whole square and the old town—Dalt Villa, very pretty by night.

Later that night, we spent a few hours wandering around looking for this place Bar Incognito with Lori, a gal we had met at the nearby internet cafe. Lori is from San Francisco, and she’s on a month-long hiatus from work as sadly, she just had a miscarriage—traveling on her own to work some things out before she goes back to real life. Bar Incognito turned out to be VERY incognito, and unfortunately closed for Sunday night. But at least we found the location for clubbing tomorrow night, and some good restaurants on the marina. Back at Plaça del Parque, it definitely seems as though we picked a good central spot with lots of cool-season traffic—we came back to find some pretty cool live music and relaxed at Cafe Bliss on our square for some late night chorizo & wine before calling it a night.

Mon, Dec 31: I met up with Lori for some brunch at Cafe Bliss again, and for some sightseeing. The two of us hit a few clothing shops, where she helped me pick out two nice designer shirts in the local style, and then I joined her in the hot tub back at her fancy hotel the Royal Plaza. Later Tim and I spoke with Ester, the reception girl in our hotel, who helped us find a primo spot for New Year’s Eve dinner. After sharing some holiday sangria, the three of us walked across the marina, where we dined at Trattoria del Mar, an Italian resto right on the water. For 95 Euros each, we were served a fine seafood dinner—caviar, oysters, crab cake, prawns, tuna, and more. The Spanish tradition is to eat 12 grapes when the New Year starts, one for good luck for each month of the year. And of course there were the normal noisemakers, hats, masks, silly string, and kisses on the cheek.

Once dinner died down after 1AM, we went to Pacha, one of only two of the big clubs open for New Year’s Eve. Everyone was supposed to be there. And everyone was! We waited in line for a while to get in, waited even longer in coat check. Pacha’s supposed to have 15 bars, and all of them appeared to be open. I don’t even know how many dance floors, but this place was pretty huge, and cavernous. It was multilevel, and seemed to burrow down into the earth. The music was good. Dancers were amazing. We somehow bumped into a few gals from the US and chatted for a while. All good times, and we ended up back at home and in bed by about 5 or 6. Just in time to get four hours of sleep and go back out again in the morning!

Tues, Jan 1: After a little shut eye, we had a morning glass of champagne to ring in the new year, and caught a taxi to the next club. That’s right, the dancing goes all night, all day, and all night again for New Year’s here on Ibiza. We arrived at DC-10 by about 11AM—the earliest I’ve ever been clubbing. This is the all-day hotspot that all the locals recommended, where the party starts at 6AM and goes until 3AM the next day. And slowly but steadily, everyone came out in style, with their sunglasses to protect them from the sun’s penetrating rays, and with tequila/orange in hand. It was a very interesting mix of all demographics. We met this one gent Alberto, a friendly, gentle guy probably in his 40s that spoke flawless English. Several telltale signs gave him away as one of the bigger drug dealers at the venue, but he was very relaxed and nonaggressive, and actually held a very interesting conversation with us about his experiences in the US, about education, and spirituality. Interesting dude!

Later, we finally had some blue skies and sunshine and were able to explore the Dalt Villa, the old walled village just adjacent to our square, toped with a centuries-old Catedral at the top of a hill. Tim scaled the crumbling ancient wall, and as we climbed up to the beautiful vista point, my camera batteries powered down! The view was spectacular, but I was almost regretting it—almost wanting to turn back, afraid to finish the trip because I had no way to capture the amazing shots of the bay, the cliffs, the ocean, and lighthouse. This is what the Balearic islands are all about! The weather was absolutely perfect. The three of us sat on the edge of the wall and enjoyed the chill, relaxing sound of the waves for about 15 minutes. We kept pressing towards the cathedral at the summit, and we later found some fun local kids that played around with us for a while. A wonderful, beautiful last afternoon on Ibiza.

Wed, Jan 2: Wednesday morning, we were scheduled to fly back to Barcelona, but I woke up at about 5 AM with food poisoning. I won’t go into details, but this was one of the worst days of my life. Tried to make the best of the afternoon by chatting with Ester at the front desk while the guys went out shopping as we waited to leave for the airport. I had to work hard for it, but we finally arrived at the Hotel Arts in Barcelona—very primo, on the 21st floor overlooking the sea and the city, and with a killer Bang and Olufsen sound system to enjoy our chill Ibiza CDs on.

Thurs, Jan 3: Today was a day of rest, and all we really did was set out to retrieve Paul’s misplaced passport at the old apartment. It’s awful nice to have a free room at the 74th rated hotel in all of Europe (earned with Paul’s business travel credits), but the downside to staying at the Ritz is that everything costs money, and it’s out of our league! Can you believe, a bottle of Jack Daniels costs 120 Euros here!? Is that what it means to be rich? To be willing to pay an obscene, complete unreasonable premium on everyday things? It’s a great room, so I’m not complaining, but it’s kind of the place you go to stay in your safe tower, high above the city, not really to experience a place, but to grace it with your presence for a few nights and drop a few cool grand.

So, I broke the rules and bought some groceries and some Wok to Walk, which should last me a few days. There’s no kitchenette, but with a little ingenuity I can make meals for the next few days. Paul and I ran some errands while Tim went to pick up his French girlfriend, but the skies opened up over Barcelona and started pouring rain like crazy so I retired for the day to care for my upset stomach and brewing cold.

What Next?

 Subscribe to Free Updates!

 Stumble This Page »

 Bookmark This Page »

 Email This Page To A Friend »

 Leave a Comment »

Support Thrilling Heroics

If you enjoy the free articles on this site and find my writing helpful, consider buying me a cup of coffee! You'll help keep us online and ensure that the Thrilling Heroics community thrives.

(Click here to make a PayPal donation that supports the Site!)