It’s another long one, boys and girls! I think I treat my writing the same as many other parts of me. Like, if my hair wants to curl up one day and fall flat the next, I try to work with it either way. Or, if I start a painting that isn’t turning out like I wanted, I just keep rolling with what’s happening and hope the result looks ok. This post started as a play by play story and so, here we are with a long recount.
One thing I meant to do much sooner was spend a relaxing weekend on a beach and soak up the final days of the lingering summer warmth. Initially, I pictured Bilbao – I read about some beautiful beaches up that way and looked forward to seeing a bit of the north of España. Before I knew it, though, October was steadfastly approaching and the weather up north was no longer ideal for the beach. Also, I was in the midst of a dilemma wondering if $250 for a flight and 2-night stay in Brussels for a Lola Marsh concert was worth the expense, particularly, since spending so much on Munich.
It’s a curse and a blessing to always think about the practicality of spending money…
I was supposed to see Lola Marsh at Pukkelpop in 2016, but missed their time slot. So, I thought it would be cool and funny to see them in Brussels. But after a couple of weeks of price checking and feeling uncertain about the cost I started looking at “everywhere” searches on Skyscanner to see if there was another appealing destination for less money.
Ibiza and The Canary Islands surfaced and I was suddenly again intrigued by a beach getaway. I selected Ibiza for the price and sheer ease of a 1-hour flight to a 30-minute bus ride to a hotel on a beach. I think not working has brought a little more spontaneity back into my life, because I planned nothing more beyond which flight to choose and which hotel to stay at. I kept thinking, I’ll just play it by ear; if I feel like renting a car, then I’ll rent one or if I feel like just lying in the sand in front of my hotel, then I’ll do that.
It was mid-afternoon when I checked into the hotel and headed out for a dip. The views were beautiful around Figueretes, but the beach wasn’t anything spectacular. The water was blue, but murky, and there was a lot of dead seaweed accumulating in pockets nearby detracting from the overall beauty. I was disappointed but it easily convinced me to visit a different part of the island the next day. I did a little research and decided Cala Conta and Cala Bassa were the perfect destinations being only a 35-minute walk from each other. It was really difficult to pick based on pictures, because all of the well-known beaches around the island looked equally stunning, but this decision allowed me to check out two different ones.
I spent the evening wandering around Ibiza and eventually found myself at the main port captivated by the setting sun’s colors and the night lights of the marina. I chose a bench on the dock and sat staring out at the boats and distant hills feeling so at peace with the moment. I sat there until the sun was gone and a full moon surfaced from the east; bold, bright and so much larger than I remember seeing it before. I think I could have sat there all night.
Eventually, I left and found a restaurant, by chance, near the Portal de ses Taules. After dinner I watched some people walk up to the draw bridge and followed them wondering where I was going. I passed through an archway that led to a myriad of restaurants and shops down little alleys. I followed the main path until I found a woman sitting on a step smoking and asked her if I could buy a cigarette. (I can get carried away as a social smoker, so I keep reminding myself how disgusting it is and to not buy another pack.) She refused my money, handed me one and we got to talking. We chatted for maybe an hour in our best Spanglish before she needed to close up her dress shop.
The next day I enjoyed a leisurely breakfast at Parc de la Pau then, after gathering my things from the hotel, followed Google’s instructions to the bus stop 17 minutes away. Instead of taking me to the main station, Google instructed me to cross over a busy road and walk several minutes out of the way to a bus stop that didn’t list the line I needed.
Real conversations with people as I searched for my stop:
At the wrong bus stop…
Me: Perdon, hablas inglés?
Woman: No. *smiles*
Me: Ok, puedes dime dónde autobús de línea tres?
Woman: Creo que…. Allá abajo. *points*
Me: Muchas gracias! *sprints away*
1 minute later…
Me: Perdon, hablas inglés?
Woman: Yes, a little.
Me: Great! Do you know where the bus stop is for Line 3?
Woman: *looks around* I think you cross the bridge over there and it’s around the corner.
Me: *points* Just over there? Thank you!!
A few minutes later…
Me: Perdon, señor, hablas inglés?
Only bus driver at the station: No. *smiles*
Me: *chuckles* Ok, buscando autobús de línea tres.
Only bus driver at the station: Ah, este aquí!
Me: Oh, yay! Cuanto?
Only bus driver at the station: *says a bunch of words I didn’t pick up except for ‘billete’ and points towards the nearby building*
Me: *panicked expression* Oh, no. (Knowing I have to catch my transfer by 12:30 or wait through the lunch break until afternoon services resume at 3:30)
Only bus driver at the station: *says something about 5 minutes before he leaves*
Me: *sprints away, finds ticket box and sprints back to bus*
Only bus driver at the station: *laughs* Eh, buenos días!
Me: *laughs* Buenos días, gracias.
About an hour later we arrived to Sant Antoni where I had time to poke around some nearby shops until my transfer.
If I had known what awaited at the end of the Cala Conta bus line, I would have booked my stay there. A feast for the eyes and, without doubt, one of the most unbelievably gorgeous places I’ve ever visited. The brilliant blue, crystal-clear water gently rolling against the tawny rocky coast with views of islets left me awestruck in a surreal daze. No picture I saw online looked half as lovely. Excitement overcame me as I followed a rocky path down to the soft sand where sun bathers sprawled and the edge of the water greeted my toes.
My La Tomatina goggles came in handy for a second time when I broke through the water’s surface to discover what I’d hope to see by my hotel: sea life. I can barely explain in words the absolute child-like joy I felt as I dipped my face in and out of the water capturing short breaths and watching silver fish slowly swim all around me. I think it’s the happiest I’ve felt during this whole adventure. I swam around for over an hour watching the world below wafting weightlessly with the current.
It was about that time I realized it was noticeably windier and the sun lost its game of peek-a-boo with the amassing clouds. Towel-less, I anticipated to rely on the sun to dry me off. I decided I better go in case the weather doesn’t clear. Back atop the cliff the coastline views were even more gorgeous as the clouds dominated the sky and their casted shadows somehow brought to light deep, rust colored hues from the rocks. I took one last picture and veered east where the road would lead me to the next destination.
It was a quiet walk down a gravelly, sandy road with fields of overgrown wildflowers on either side. As I drew closer to an intersection to switch roads, the scenery transformed to private lots hidden behind walls and trees. The intersection was confusing and there were two signs pointing the way to Cala Bassa… in different directions. I chose the one that looked more like a road and soon a car passed from behind me. It pulled over about a 5-minute walk ahead and I watched it sitting there for a minute before growing concern urged me to make sure I was going the right way. Technically, there wasn’t a wrong way, but I had chosen the longer path, so I turned around to take the quicker one. (Thank you, little red car!) Every new road thereafter became more difficult to navigate by flip flops and unfit for any sort of motorized vehicle. The pavement was nearly gone and the ground showing through was tawny rock, similar to that of the coast of Cala Conta. I wondered how easily the neighboring homeowners got around and if I was trekking an abandoned road. Eventually, I came to a main street and Google assured me Cala Bassa wasn’t much further.
It’s such an enchanting feeling to stumble out of a shrouded place and be rewarded with breathtaking views of shimmery blue water and distant rolling hills. I walked along the coast to the beach and dipped my toes in the freezing water. The clouds nor wind had abated during my trek so I decided to have a bite instead of another swim. I walked to the opposite side of the sandy shore where rock resumed and a little restaurant was serving beer and pizza. I ate, drank and inhaled the views for a long while. As the sky grew ever darker, I decided my day was coming to a close and checked the bus schedule. Quickly I made my way back toward the road unsure of where exactly the stop was located. I saw a sign where a couple of people were standing by a rotunda, but asked a man in the nearby parking lot if he knew where I could wait for the bus. He pointed and I gathered he was saying the stop is right where I thought, but he used so many words to do so, I wanted to be sure. I asked if it is very close and his eyes widened and he pointed and laughed. I’m pretty sure he said, yeah, we can see it right there so I repeated I can see it and laughed with him. The timing of the bus was perfection. Moments after boarding the dark clouds finally released what they’d been threatening all afternoon.
Back at the Sant Antoni station I saw the number 3 ready to depart as soon as I left the Cala Conta line. I ran up to ask the driver how much time I had before he needed to leave. He was leaving right at that moment, so I took my time walking to the ticket booth… to find it closed. Immediately my ears perked up when I heard a woman at another booth ask about Line 3. I couldn’t make out the answer so I asked the ticket seller as well and she said I will need to purchase one from the bus driver. I wondered again how in the fuck does this system here work, but at least it was a short wait as the buses back to downtown Ibiza were running every 15 minutes. The highlight of the ride back was the rainbow peeping through as the weather began to clear.
I took it easy the rest of the evening and had a so-so dinner close to the hotel. I slightly regretted the dining choice when it came time to pay and the waitress said they didn’t accept credit cards. Oh, shit, I thought, I won’t have enough to use the bus lines tomorrow. Because yes! I was already planning to go back to Cala Conta and bask in its beauty until my very late return flight to Madrid. I followed up dinner at a pub around the corner and made sure credit cards weren’t a problem. I chatted with the bartender and told her a bit about how I came to be in Madrid. I’ve found when I do this it invites people to tell me how much I will love visiting their home country. Had I ever considered visiting Serbia before meeting this woman? Nope, but now I’m curious.
A cold front blew in that night and, although it was sunny the next morning and I found a Deutsche Bank ATM (B of A customers still get to pay international transaction fees), it was chilly and I decided against going back to Cala Conta if I wasn’t going to swim.
I checked out of the hotel at noon and walked along the beach until it disappeared into rocks. I followed an old road uphill past homes and gardens soaking in the gorgeous views across the sea toward the edge of Punta del Calvari. From there I turned back to the city to wander around and thought I’d try to visit the woman I met at the shop during my first night. I found her and it was another delightful visit of Spanglish – and English when her friend from Switzerland showed up. I soon said goodbye and left them to talk while I wondered what on earth to do to kill a couple more hours before seeking lunch. Some 1o minutes of meandering later I was face to face with the contemporary art museum. Sometimes the universe truly provides.
After lunch I had had my fill of aimless wandering and figured I’d just go to the airport a godawful number of hours early and work on my Spanish lessons. The airport bus stop was easy to find since Line 3 drops off across the street from it (and Google accurately told me how to get there).
You may not be surprised to hear that I fell in Ibiza. No, it wasn’t while I was climbing around slick rocks along the beach or the busted-up road on the way to Cala Bassa. It wasn’t even while I was walking up and down stairs around the city (because we all know about that love-hate relationship). No, no. I fell at the bus stop. As I explained to one friend back in Houston, the “enclosed” space of the stop had window panes on two sides, but not on the back. One could just walk through the stop as if walking under a scaffold. But be forewarned, there is a bar near the ground connecting the two sides with panes. I didn’t see the bar. The good news is it was one of the more graceful falls I’ve ever had. My right foot kind of hooked around the bar which made it feel like I was falling a bit slowly and I was able to catch myself with my hands. Since my foot was hooked and held up, my knees didn’t touch the ground and my hands didn’t skid around and get cut up. A week later the top of my foot is still bruised, but the rest of me is fine. I’ve been watching a lot of Archer lately and think maybe I should seek out someone like Dr. Krieger to fix my feet.
I loved my short experience on Ibiza. And! There’s still a chance for me to catch Lola Marsh in Latvia or Israel. We’ll see.
(Serious side note; shocked, but glad to hear there were so few injuries from the tornado that touched down on the island last night.)
Final thoughts in pictures:
