As most of you know by now, I’ve moved back to Barcelona. As I am writing this at 3:20am, it is fairly obvious I have had no trouble re-acclimating myself to the time norms around here.
It was somewhat of a complicated process to move from Italy to Spain since shipping and moving services are so expensive. I decided to rent a car instead and drive across Europe. Renting a car only one direction was ridiculously expensive so I opted to drive back as well. Fortunately, my dear friend Laura from High School decided to fly over and make the trek with me so we just made it a vacation.
Before Laura came over however, I spent three days in Roses on the Costa Brava of Spain. My friend Nico has a vacation flat there and invited some friends for the week he would be there. I was out there with my Italian friend Barbara who coincidentally knows Nico from when they both lived in London years ago. Random coincidences between the people I know occur constantly.
Roses is the vacation spot of the French. In August when all of Europe goes on holiday, the French go to the Spanish coast, the Italians go to the Spanish Balearic islands, the Germans go to the Northern Italian coast and the Spanish, well I haven’t figured that out yet. Unlike the rest of the Europeans, I haven’t found large conglomerations of the Spanish outside of Spain. But Roses was ALL French. I barely heard any Spanish spoken while I was there.
I basically swam in the sea, lay on the beach, made dinners with my friends and relaxed. Oh, I did trip on a step with slippery bricks downtown and rather than drop the bottle of wine in my arms I bloodied my knee and elbow and jarred my shoulder. But I saved the wine. Don’t tell me I don’t know my priorities. Here are some photos of the place.
The Dali museum is the next town over. We went there too. It was way too crowded but interesting. What a loon he was. I like how he improvised on other artists work and styles to poke a bit of fun at them, doing works in pointillism, cubism, impressionism and even baroque style paintings.
On with the story. From Roses, I took a bus to BCN to meet Laura. She hadn’t received ANY of my text messages so I found her checked into a four star hotel in the middle of nowhere, rather than the decent and adequate (cheaper) hotel downtown in the middle of everything. Long story short, we spent a few days in BCN while deciding how the trip would proceed and getting Laura acclimated to Europe and the many miles of walking that would be done. She didn’t exactly bring appropriate shoes. So she mostly wore mine, but we ended up trading entire wardrobes by the end of the trip anyway.
We decided to fly to Ibiza first instead of hit the road since there was time. While Laura was jet lagged for most of the time we soldiered on and forced ourselves to enjoy it. The photos document the difficulties we had to put up with.
We just relaxed there, though we did do a lot of scooter riding from one side of the island to the other. Ibiza is known for its crazy parties and giant clubs but we just didn’t get into it. We swam a lot and rode around on the scooter, and when we tried to get into the party mode it felt like just that – trying. So when we left it was sober, unlike many others on the plane at 6am.
To be continued…