I am down to my last few days in Spain, currently writing from our final stop, Madrid. Since leaving Sevilla last week, I have seen Granada, Ibiza, Formentera and Madrid (tomorrow we will day trip to Toledo and hopefully Cuenca as well), then Tamara and I fly our separate ways on Wednesday--her to Amsterdam (or possibly Ibiza again, more on that later) and me to KENYA (great big sigh of happiness and content!).
Granada was a fantastic city that I hope to visit again for much longer. It´s beautiful, ancient, friendly, and is considered one of the most tolerant and open-minded cities in Andalucia, and Spain in general (racism and xenophobia are not uncommon here, though that can be said for most places of course). I can´t say too much about our stay though because, out of our 2.5 days there, I was horribly ill and bedridden for a full 24 hours of it. SAD. We were supposed to hike in the Sierra Nevada mountains that day. We also didn´t get in to see the Alhambra (which is what Granada is most famous for) because, unbeknownst to us, you need to book tickets for the ancient Moorish fortress weeks in advance. Ah well...next time!
We trained it to Madrid for a night and stayed with a fantastic young Serbian couple whom we met via Air BnB and have fast become friends with. Then we flew from Madrid to Ibiza, party capital of the world.
Ibiza.........I guess I didn´t really know what I was getting myself into. I think of myself as a pretty social, fun loving person. I enjoy going out drinking and dancing as much as, if not more than, many of my peers. But I was not prepared for Ibiza. First off, I can generally take...oh...about 1 hour of house/techno/trance/eurojunk before I need to hear something GOOD (meaning hip hop, RnB, or reggae), and unfortunately, Ibiza is nothing but house music, everywhere, every second of every day, on the beach, in the club, at dinner, in the taxis. Is there such a thing as techno detox? Cause I may need that. Secondly, I´m sorry, but it is NEVER okay to charge me 80 euros just to get into the club, then another 14-20 euros per drink. I don´t care if the DJ is David Guetta (which it was...and yes it was sort of cool to hear his set...but not 100 euros of cool). I had no idea when we flew there that I would be in debt for the next 30 years because of it. Third, when all you have is a glass or two of sangria in your bloodstream, it is beyond irritating to be surrounded by several thousand people tripping and raving and coked out of their skulls 24 hours a day. Yeah...not just in the clubs. People are f**ked up in broad daylight too. You can tell who has been there for more than a few days because they just look WRECKED.
Basically, my overall opinion of Ibiza boils down to this: it´s for spoiled rich kids, club junkies, and burnouts who partied in the 60s who don´t mind slapping down 1000s of euros for what is essentially an expensive way to kill braincells to a thumping beat. I´m never going back.
Alternatively...Tamara loved it! But she could dance to house music for days straight if we could figure out a way to feed and hydrate her intravenously without interrupting her moves. So clearly that party scene can be enjoyed, even by people who don´t fit my mildly judgmental prior description. So to anyone reading this who still wants to go, perhaps you should talk to her.
We did make a day trip to Formentera one day, a beautiful haven of beach perfection just a 25 minute fast ferry from the Land That Good Judgement Forgot. But I can get to equally, if not more so, beautiful beaches throughout Africa for about 3000 times less than what I shelled out for this trip.
Can you tell I´ve gotten a bit paranoid about my finances? I´m going to be broker than I could have imagined when I get back to the States. Beans in a can and Ramen it is...
Of course, no travels of mine would be complete without some sort of transport fiasco. This time around, it was a missed flight because of my inability to read military time. So we had to spend an extra 15 hours in Ibiza. I nearly murdered the entire Ibiza airport staff. Tamara went clubbing.
Back in Madrid, we are staying at a lovely little hostel in the center of the city. Tamara is having her first bunkbed and shared bathroom experience since freshman year in Witte Hall (and coping very well I might add!), and I may have a warped view of how much I love this city because I am SO HAPPY TO BE OUT OF IBIZA. I would probably be singing the Siberian tundra´s praises right now if we had ended up there.
Last night, our first night back, we saw an incredible acrobat/aerial/burlesque show called Soap, then met up with our Serbian friends, and their friends from Toronto, for churros and chocolate near the Puerta del Sol. Today we did a wonderful walking tour of the city, had a late paella lunch, and will be heading out for a tapas crawl in a few hours. REAL tapas, unlike what we are used to in America, means every time you order a drink, you get a small plate of food for free. There´s an interesting history to it, but I´ll bore you with everything I learned on our tour today if you ask me when I get back. Basically, Tapas in Spain are like the ultimate happy hour (and a great way of soothing my wallet woes), and I plan to make all my remaining hours on the mainland as happy as possible.
Granada was a fantastic city that I hope to visit again for much longer. It´s beautiful, ancient, friendly, and is considered one of the most tolerant and open-minded cities in Andalucia, and Spain in general (racism and xenophobia are not uncommon here, though that can be said for most places of course). I can´t say too much about our stay though because, out of our 2.5 days there, I was horribly ill and bedridden for a full 24 hours of it. SAD. We were supposed to hike in the Sierra Nevada mountains that day. We also didn´t get in to see the Alhambra (which is what Granada is most famous for) because, unbeknownst to us, you need to book tickets for the ancient Moorish fortress weeks in advance. Ah well...next time!
We trained it to Madrid for a night and stayed with a fantastic young Serbian couple whom we met via Air BnB and have fast become friends with. Then we flew from Madrid to Ibiza, party capital of the world.
Ibiza.........I guess I didn´t really know what I was getting myself into. I think of myself as a pretty social, fun loving person. I enjoy going out drinking and dancing as much as, if not more than, many of my peers. But I was not prepared for Ibiza. First off, I can generally take...oh...about 1 hour of house/techno/trance/eurojunk before I need to hear something GOOD (meaning hip hop, RnB, or reggae), and unfortunately, Ibiza is nothing but house music, everywhere, every second of every day, on the beach, in the club, at dinner, in the taxis. Is there such a thing as techno detox? Cause I may need that. Secondly, I´m sorry, but it is NEVER okay to charge me 80 euros just to get into the club, then another 14-20 euros per drink. I don´t care if the DJ is David Guetta (which it was...and yes it was sort of cool to hear his set...but not 100 euros of cool). I had no idea when we flew there that I would be in debt for the next 30 years because of it. Third, when all you have is a glass or two of sangria in your bloodstream, it is beyond irritating to be surrounded by several thousand people tripping and raving and coked out of their skulls 24 hours a day. Yeah...not just in the clubs. People are f**ked up in broad daylight too. You can tell who has been there for more than a few days because they just look WRECKED.
Basically, my overall opinion of Ibiza boils down to this: it´s for spoiled rich kids, club junkies, and burnouts who partied in the 60s who don´t mind slapping down 1000s of euros for what is essentially an expensive way to kill braincells to a thumping beat. I´m never going back.
Alternatively...Tamara loved it! But she could dance to house music for days straight if we could figure out a way to feed and hydrate her intravenously without interrupting her moves. So clearly that party scene can be enjoyed, even by people who don´t fit my mildly judgmental prior description. So to anyone reading this who still wants to go, perhaps you should talk to her.
We did make a day trip to Formentera one day, a beautiful haven of beach perfection just a 25 minute fast ferry from the Land That Good Judgement Forgot. But I can get to equally, if not more so, beautiful beaches throughout Africa for about 3000 times less than what I shelled out for this trip.
Can you tell I´ve gotten a bit paranoid about my finances? I´m going to be broker than I could have imagined when I get back to the States. Beans in a can and Ramen it is...
Of course, no travels of mine would be complete without some sort of transport fiasco. This time around, it was a missed flight because of my inability to read military time. So we had to spend an extra 15 hours in Ibiza. I nearly murdered the entire Ibiza airport staff. Tamara went clubbing.
Back in Madrid, we are staying at a lovely little hostel in the center of the city. Tamara is having her first bunkbed and shared bathroom experience since freshman year in Witte Hall (and coping very well I might add!), and I may have a warped view of how much I love this city because I am SO HAPPY TO BE OUT OF IBIZA. I would probably be singing the Siberian tundra´s praises right now if we had ended up there.
Last night, our first night back, we saw an incredible acrobat/aerial/burlesque show called Soap, then met up with our Serbian friends, and their friends from Toronto, for churros and chocolate near the Puerta del Sol. Today we did a wonderful walking tour of the city, had a late paella lunch, and will be heading out for a tapas crawl in a few hours. REAL tapas, unlike what we are used to in America, means every time you order a drink, you get a small plate of food for free. There´s an interesting history to it, but I´ll bore you with everything I learned on our tour today if you ask me when I get back. Basically, Tapas in Spain are like the ultimate happy hour (and a great way of soothing my wallet woes), and I plan to make all my remaining hours on the mainland as happy as possible.
I. Love. Dancing.
ReplyDelete