Island Blogging

Well...it has been quite a while since I've written anything I know. Initially it was because I hoped Kathryn would write a blog seeing as she was more invested in our activities than I was, but then we just got busy and I got a bit lazy. So to catch up from the last post...Kathryn's cousin Iris came to Lille to visit as part of her multi-country European backpacking vacation. It was great for Kathryn to see family and I think it was great for Iris to escape the hostel-hopping and get a real room and bed to sleep in for a couple nights. Since there really is only so much to do in Lille, we caught the train to Bruges for a day trip. If you have ever seen "In Bruges" with Colin Farrel you have a pretty good idea of what the city looks like (minus the crappy acting). It has a very storybook/fairytale feel with the architecture apparently modeled after gingerbread houses. We spent the day walking around the city and in between the canals until it started raining.  Then we ducked into a cafe for some lunch and a few Belgium Beers. After lunch we went searching for the acclaimed chocolate museum where they have a life-sized statue of Barack Obama made entirely out of chocolate. Unfortunately by the time we got there it was closed so better luck next time.

Our next big event came at the beginning of our final two week vacation at the beginning of April. Two of Kathryn's friends came to Lille to visit. They all met while studying in La Fleche back when Kathryn was a junior in high school. Ingrid (on the right) came in from Norway and Claudia (left) came from Dresden, Germany. They only had the Easter weekend to stay but we made the most of our time. Kathryn took them on a tour around Lille, and showed them the more renowned sights. Then they spent the next day walking around Vieux Lille checking out the boutiques and shopping. Kathryn was so happy to see her friends and mentioned numerous times how almost nothing had changed (in terms of appearance or their friendship) even though it had been roughly seven years since they were last together.

The week after Kathryn's friends left we took a second trip to Amsterdam because the prices were cheap, and staying in the Brit's house was driving us both crazy. Amsterdam was a blast, and even though the Rijks museum was still under construction we made the most of our time there. And of course hit up Bird Thais restaurant for some of their amazing curry. Thanks to the pedometer on Kathryn's ipod we calculated that in two and a half days we walked over 30 miles covering almost every street in the entire downtown area of the city.

When our vacation ended we had approximately 8 days of work left, and they were spent mainly saying goodbye to teachers (and having classes cancelled because students were preparing for exams). As the year wound down we were very excited for the second half of our adventure, and especially to get out of the house we were living in. After eight months of hearing them stomp up and down the stairs, scrape wall-paper at 1am right above our room, and just generally disregard our presence to the point of almost obscene inconsiderate behavior, we needed a change. Come May 3rd we had our room completely packed up and were practically sprinting to the train to get to Paris for one night before our flight to Greece the next morning.

Our flight to Athens went very smooth (other than the slight complication of Kathryn having to carry her 50lbs backpack/computer bag/purse), and as soon as we landed everything came rushing back. I ushered Kathryn through the airport and onto the metro and in 40 minutes we were walking into the heart of Syntagma Square just outside the Greek parliament building. Everything was perfect starting with the weather. When we left Paris the temp was hovering around the upper 50's, but in Athens it was around the low to mid 80's. We first went to the Athens Centre (the school I attended back in 2007) to pick up the key to our apartment. We are staying in a little studio not far from the school or Platia Varnava, where I lived before. The apartment is great. It's not very big but it has everything we need including a great balcony that over looks the entire city, and we can see all the way out to the sea.

Our first week and a half were incredible. I acted as tour guide showing Kathryn around the city and spouting off all the historical/archaeological information that I could remember. We also ran into a friend of mine from my program who, while here in 2007 met a guy, fell in love, and has subsequently been jet-setting back and forth between Athens and Seattle for the last three years. It was a real surprise to run into her, and it worked out great because we now had some friends to go out-on-the-town with.

Due to the fantastic weather we have already spent a couple days just lounging on the Athens beaches. Kathryn has a pretty good tan going that she is proud of, and I am starting to catch up. There will definitely be a lot more beach days in our future before we have to leave. Other than seeing the sights and going to the beach (and of course enjoying the delicious Greek cuisine) Kathryn and I had a job interview for English teaching positions at a school in Athens. The interview went well, but it was very short. Luckily they are looking to fill a couple positions. We don't really think we have much of a chance but it was a good start if we are going to try and find gainful employment here (however difficult it may be with the economy crunch they're in right now).

This past Saturday Kathryn's sister Marlena and her boyfriend Ryan arrived in Athens to spend the week with us. We had put off seeing the major sites until they got here. Their first day they crashed early to try and get over their jet lag. So the next day we were out the door for a visit to the most popular sites in Athens. We started off with the Temple of the Olympian Zeus, then moved on to the Acropolis and Parthenon, and rounded out the day with a visit to the newly built Acropolis Museum. The museum is a brand new structure with tons of artifacts and statues recovered from the area, and the coolest part is that it's built with glass floors. It was constructed directly over the ruins of an ancient Greek and Roman village. So as you are admiring the pottery, jewelery, weapons and statues you can stop every couple feet and look down at the ruins of an old bath house/domicile etc... It was a great experience for everyone, and it was the one thing that I hadn't already seen previously because when I was here in 2007 they had just begun construction of the new building.

That just about takes us to this moment now. I am currently sitting on the deck of our hotel room on Santorini looking out at the rolling hills and palm trees to my right and the Aegean Sea and an adjacent island to my left. We all took the ferry here together on Monday, and Marlena and Ryan just left for the airport about 30min ago for their flight back to Athens. Kathryn and I had planned to take a ferry back tomorrow (Thurs. May 20th) but the Greeks have planned a general strike for that same day so we have been "forced" to spend another two days here. We are not complaining! Yesterday we rented ATV's and went cruising from beach to beach checking out what the island has to offer. On more of the southern part of the island not far from the airport is a little town called Kamari that had a beautiful black sand beach where we spent the day laying in the sun (and trying not to step on the burning hot sand). We also drove up to the highest point in the town of Fira to watch the sun go down and paint the sky and clouds magnificent shades of orange, pink and red.

Today we took the ATV's over to the northern tip of the island to the town of Oia (pronounced "eea"). Most likely any picture that you have seen from Santorini was taken in Oia. It is the picturesque postcard city of white-washed buildings accented by the famous blue roofs and shutters. We did a lot of walking, Kathryn and Marlena did a bit of shopping and then we stopped for lunch of Greek salad, moussaka and lamb chops, just outside the city at a little Taverna perched on a cliff over-looking some of the island's vineyards and the sea.

Kathryn has been enchanted by Greece as I was on my first visit. In an attempt to prolong our time here tomorrow we are planning a mini job hunt by going to some of the island's hotels with resumes in hand, asking about possible summer employment. We have been told they hire a lot of English speaking workers for the summer to cater to their UK and American guests. We are not too picky when it comes to the job as long as we can find something to pay the bills and give us the summer experience of a lifetime.

Yah Mas,

Jordan and Kathryn

P.S. - I'll add photos from Santorini as soon as we transfer them from the camera to the computer.

La Bande de Bergues

In the North of France the grand finale of the Carnaval season (which lasts approx. 3 months and includes somewhere between 30 and 50 different celebrations) is capped off with La Bande de Bergues. Seeing as we had missed all the other major celebrations – i.e. Carnaval de Dunkerque which is the largest – because of our trip to Spain, this was something we couldn’t pass up. We had been invited by one of the other English assistants to meet him and some of his students there. They had a much more intimate understanding of how the festivities were coordinated so it was a great opportunity to have locals showing us the ropes. From the little bit of information we could gather before the event it was quite clear that to arrive sans some kind of bizarre costume would definitely be frowned upon. The general idea for a déguisement for the men is to come up with the most sleazy um…”lady of the night” outfit possible, and girls usually sported flashy bright colors, or dressed as an animal.

Seeing as this was another relatively last minute decision – and we were already low on funds from our Ibiza trip – we had to scale our costumes down to a simple wig/hat ensemble (one of Joel's students was nice enough to help Kathryn out with a bit of face paint to get her more in the Carnaval spirit). The town of Bergues is only about a one hour train ride from Lille, and SNCF was obviously prepared for debauchery when selecting the train to use. It looked like a Paris metro train that spent the last 10 years rusting in a junk yard, and as the hour of departure grew closer it became clear they knew what they were doing. Wave after wave of red-lipped, faux fur coat wearing, dirty wigged partiers began pouring onto the train, sloshing bottles of liquor and beer, and disregarding the posted “Non Fumer” signs.

The train ride was a great introduction to the kind of people we could expect to encounter for the rest of the day. As the train was pulling away from the station three French guys – dressed to impress – sat down across from us, and began applying the finishing touches to their costumes. Including lipstick, rosy cheek makeup, and…well just take a look ----->>> They were really pumped for La Bande. They even explained the reason for the celebration and the story behind dressing up like prostitutes. Apparently the tradition started hundreds of years ago with the fisherman of the town. They would come back from weeks or months out to sea, and would be in the mood to party. They would get all liquored up and dress as women to attract the ladies of the town out to join them. Seemed logical.

Another thing our friends on the train taught us were the words to some of the songs everyone was singing. As soon as they stepped foot onto the train not a moment passed without someone belting out a song, and the rest of the group joining in. Everyone knew all the words to every single song. There had to be close to a dozen of them. This came in handy later in the day because they were the songs of Carnaval, and all of them were constantly being played and sung by everyone throughout the entire festival. They were blasting from speakers aimed out people’s apartments that overlooked the streets, and played by roaming miniature marching bands that circled the city.

It turned out to be a beautiful day with hardly a cloud in the sky, but even with the sun shining it couldn’t have hit more than 30°F all day. As we began to pull into Bergues station the train started going nuts banging on the ceiling, stomping on the floor and rocking the train car almost to the point of tipping it off the tracks (I’m sure it never came close to actually derailing, but they were going wild). One by one people poured (some staggered) off the train and instantly formed a line along the fence to “relieve” themselves. This was something that became quite a common sight along the streets of Bergues as Port-o-Johns were few and far between. We also heard a story from someone we met there that a friend had gone into one of the scarce portable toilets, and had it subsequently turned over on its side by a drunken group of partiers. After hearing that bit of information we decided to avoid them at all costs.

Waiting for us on the other side of the tracks was our friend and a couple of his Seconde students. After introductions we headed off to one of the students homes where a group of friends met up before all of us heading out into the insanity that was La Bande. First I want to make it perfectly clear that everyone was dressed up. Men, women, children, young, old, and really old it did not matter so I was happy that we at least had something of a disguise. Another thing was that cheap faux fur coats were a dime a dozen; so next year if we get the chance to do this again I’ll most definitely be sporting one of those (both for the fashion and the warmth). We spent the first hour or so mingling in the Grande Place where a majority of people we congregating before La Bande started. We had a couple of drinks and met a few other assistants who had ventured into town for the celebration. Finally we were dragged off by the students leading us around to go find La Bande.

Now I’ve mentioned this Bande a couple times now, and if you are unfamiliar with it I’ll explain: La Bande is a big march of almost everyone in the village. It is led by one of the aforementioned mini-marching bands. Everyone links arm-in-arm in rows that stretch from one side of the street to the other, and then begin marching while singing the different songs of Carnaval. There must have been about 20,000 people all dressed up. Another tradition of La Bande is to carry around one of two things: either an umbrella (but not just any umbrella). I’m talking about an umbrella that has been duct-taped to the end of the longest pole that one can find. Some people we carrying umbrella’s that had to reach over two stories in height. The second option was to carry a similarly modified feather duster. In fact these we so common that there were signs around the train tracks cautioning to be aware of one’s umbrella because if they came in contact with the electrified wires overhead that powered the trains there was the probability of electrocution.

Another tradition of La Bande that caught us relatively by surprise (we had been informed about it just not told when it would occur) was called Le Rigodon. It is part of La Bande and occurs rather spur-of-the-moment which made it very difficult to avoid. The way it works is at certain points during the march everyone comes to a stop. This usually happens in streets that have people hanging out windows waving and taking pictures. Sometimes (I’m guessing if there isn’t enough people there to watch) they pick the pace back up again and continue on their way. However, there are other times when all hell breaks loose, and I did notice that there is a certain song that is played when this happens. The band starts playing again and instead of everyone continuing forward, the people at the front begin pushing backwards while the people at the back start pushing forwards. What results is utter chaos. Everyone gets smashed up against one another almost to the point of asphyxiation, and then starts moving as one back and forth stomping on each other’s feet and legs and occasionally jumping up and down. If it weren’t for the shear lack of space countless participants would end up trampled on the ground. Being a bigger guy I was less concerned for myself, and more concerned for the teenage girl behind me. She was smashed so tight I was worried she couldn’t breathe, and at times I could tell she was literally lifted off the ground while moving with the crowd (this happened to Kathryn as well which was the last straw for her, and after that we decided to hang towards the rear of the pack to keep out of the ruckus).

La Bande continues for most of the day, but we could only take about an hour or so of marching along with them. We spent the rest of the day as spectators as we explored the city of Bergues. It is actually a really interesting village in itself. It is one of the oldest towns in the Pas de Calais region of France, and is still totally surrounded by a medieval wall and moat. In fact we had to cross a drawbridge (guarded by cops stopping people with open containers of alcohol from entering before they had consumed them) just to enter. Our train was scheduled to take us back to Lille at about 9pm that evening, but on account of the freezing cold and biting wind we decided to catch an earlier one. All together it was an immensely fun time, great company, and a whole lot of drunken weirdo French people dressed up as dirty hookers. I can’t wait to do it all again next year!

A bientôt,

Jordan and Kathryn

Y-M-C...Jesus?

Kathryn and I accepted an invitation to Paris to round out our vacation with a weekend in the La Ville-Lumière. Soon after we returned from our holiday trip to Chicago we had gotten the urge to revisit the city. At the suggestion of my friend Yann we planned this to be that weekend. The reason was a 25th birthday celebration in his honor had been planned for the 20th, and it was an offer we couldn't refuse. Our anticipation rose days later when we were informed the party guests we required to find celebrity déguisements, and seeing as we missed out on Halloween this year it felt like we had been given a second chance.



Our train arrived in Paris Friday afternoon, and since the meteorologists in France seem to be just as oblivious as those in Chicago (predicted thunderstorms, had sunny clear skies) we took advantage of the nice weather to marché around. We started at the Bastille and finished blocks away from Gare du Nord where we rested our weary feet on the terrace of a café to enjoy the espresso and people watching. As dusk rolled around we met up with Yann who had just finished working, and made our way back to his parent’s home for a quick bite to eat. The meal was speedy because we were in a rush to get back out the door and over to the local soccer pitch where Yann’s community team was playing a friendly match against another from the area.


The game went well until late in the second half when Yann’s team appeared to run out of gas, and let up two quick goals with only minutes left in regulation. However, we’ll have to qualify the game as “incomplete” because at 10:30pm – on the dot – the field flood lights went out and the game ended slightly premature. Even though a comeback seemed highly unlikely “it ain’t over till it’s over,” so in my book I won’t chalk this one up in the loss column.

The following day Yann was preoccupied with preparation for the evening’s soirée so Kathryn and I took the train in to the city to walk along Le Rive Gouche. We also took the opportunity to stop into the Musée d’Orsay, and thanks to our work visas we were entitled to the EU under-25 discount of free admission. The museum was under construction so the top couple floors were closed off, but they had moved the most well renowned paintings by Monet, Renoir, Van Gogh and the sort to the main galleries on the first and second level. We spent a good couple hours walking around checking out the artwork, and dodging tourists (the place was packed and from what we heard in passing a majority were American).

When we got back the house had already been “party-proofed.” Chairs were set up along the walls on the veranda, tables had been moved out of the way, and anything breakable had been relocated to somewhere safe (an art perfected back on High School days). Yann was just putting the finishing touches on his Tommy Lee costume which included multiple press-on tattoos. His girlfriend Marion dressed as Pamela Anderson to complement the Motley Crue drummer. With only about an hour before things kicked off Kathryn and I quickly changed into our costumes as Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt.

The party was a major success. Every one of the guests showed up dressed to impress and aside from two French “celebrities” that we had never heard of there was: The Joker, Charlie Chaplin, Mario and Luigi, Brittney Spears, Marilyn Monroe - just to name a few - and the whole group was rounded out by Jesus, Mary (who was actually pregnant) and Joseph (Mary’s baby’s daddy). As the night went on everyone mingled and it gave Kathryn and I a great opportunity to further practice our French skills. The highlight of the evening (for Kathryn and I) came after a few bottles of champagne had been laid to rest, the lights dimmed and Jesus got up to lead everyone – including Mary and Joseph – in an emphatic rendition of YMCA. In actuality the only part of the song that anyone knew the words to was the chorus, but when it came time to spell out Y-M-C-A they really put some force into it (probably to make up for the lack of vocals during the rest of the song). The party wound down close to 4am, and being out of the party scene for a little while now I’m not sure if we could have lasted much later anyway.

The next day we embraced the opportunity to faire la grasse matinée, and made it down in time for lunch. That afternoon Kathryn was pretty wiped out so she took a “nap” (for four hours) while Yann, his Dad, Marion and myself played nine holes of golf at their club. It’s always a treat to play golf with Yann because it brings back such great memories. The very first time we took him to play when he visited Chicago was an outing filled with golf-cart football, lots of mulligans, and a whole lot of swearing in French.


We got back home just as Kathryn was waking up from her – let’s call it a petite dormir – and Yann’s Mom had hors d’oeuvres set out. We enjoyed a bottle of white wine while watching les Jeux Olymiques (the only footage we saw of the games), and waited for dinner to be ready. Our train left Gare du Nord just after 11pm and we were whisked back to Lille with just enough time to catch the very last tram heading towards Wasquehal. It was definitely the perfect end to a very eventful deux semaines de vacances.


A bientôt,

- Jordan and Kathryn

P.S. – Kathryn thought it would be helpful to italicize the French words to make it easier to pick them out, and so you wouldn’t assume I just didn’t know how to spell.

Nightmare on Fernhead Road

The first speed-bump we encountered came shortly after landing. We had flown into London-Stansted airport which is about an hour by train outside of downtown. By the time we got through customs (which took longer than it should have because I apparently wrote my name on the incorrect line of the immigration card and the border officer was quite anal about the placement), onto the “Stansted Express” train, and back into the heart of London it was 12:40am. Not extraordinarily late but the underground ceases to run at 12:30am so we had to hail a (famously expensive) cab to get us over to Kathryn’s friend’s apartment.

While in the cab on the way to the flat Kathryn dialed the roommate’s number to inform him that we were en route, and would be arriving shortly. First try – no answer, second try – no answer, eighth try – no answer. So we try Kathryn’s friend…no answer. By this time the driver pulled up to what we assumed/hoped was the correct building. Now the problem was that we had the address but not the apartment number, and we had been under the impression that someone would be there (and hopefully waiting) to let us in. After trying the roommate two or three more times with no avail Kathryn got out to go ring the bell.

Seconds after the buzzer sounded a woman yelled into the intercom that we needed to leave and the police had been called. This obviously gave the impression that we had the wrong building so Kathryn very kindly apologized and began walking back towards the cab while trying to call her friend. Before she had even reached the street a “creature” (that could best be described as a cross between a character from “Where the Wild Things Are” and the real life version of the bus driver from the cartoon “South Park”) emerged from behind the plate glass door of the apartment building hurling fowl-mouthed insults our direction.

“What tha [expletive] do you fink you’re [expletive] doin’ ringin’ my [expletive] bell in tha middle of tha [expletive] night!” “You’d betta get tha [expletive] outta ‘ere ‘cause I called tha [expletive] police and they’re on their [expletive] way right now!” etc…

At this point I stepped out of the cab and – as calmly as possible – explained that we were searching for our friend’s flat, and reminded her that no one wanted to be out in the middle of the night (and she should watch her language, shut her mouth, and go back inside). The cabbie made a comment about having a “pleasant introduction to London,” and drove us down the street to an ATM so we could take out money to pay for the ride. It was about this time that Kathryn finally got a hold of her friend and explained our situation and that we believed we had the wrong address. She, unfortunately, explained that we had the correct building, but when you ring the buzzer for their apartment the ringer sounds in the landlady’s flat as well. So we had the taxi take us back to the building where he left us with parting words of: “make sure you have someone to let you right in because this isn’t the type of area to be hangin’ out in or wandering around in during the daytime, let alone the middle of the night. Drugs and whatnot.”

This time as we approached the building the roommate finally answered his phone. It was a welcomed relief until he uttered the only words we got from him the whole of the night, “The landlady says you pissed her off and so she won’t let you stay here.” Then he just hung up! So here we were in a “dodgy” area of London, in the middle of the night with no ride and nowhere to go. We called back Kathryn’s friend who told us there was nothing she could do. We asked if it was possible to stay with her at her friends place, we didn’t even need a bed; a floor to sit on for a few hours would be enough. She said no. This was when we started getting a little nervous because using a French cell-phone in London costs about 1euro a minute, and we were quickly running out of talk-time. The friends next suggestion was to take a taxi to the airport and sleep there; when we reminded her that we were leaving by train she said go to the train station, (it was closed for the night). Finally she asked if we could just stay outside, obviously out of the question. It was at this point that phone gave out and we were left completely stranded.

It was now 2:30am; Kathryn had been shivering uncontrollably so I gave her my coat to wear over hers. This left me in nothing but a track-jacket carrying both our bags, Kathryn was crying, bewildered that: the landlady had no compassion to let us inside (and that she said she’d stay up until 6am to make sure we were not let in), the roommate had no balls to defy her (or even the decency to call us back to tell us what was going on), and we were left to fend for ourselves with little money and no phone in the ghetto carrying luggage.

Always the calm voice of reason I explained that there is no use trying to find logic and reason behind illogical and unreasonable actions, and we started walking. When the cab took us to the cash machine we noticed a police station on the corner so the plan was to get there and hopefully find some help. As luck would have it only three blocks away we found a 24hour cab stand with some very helpful attendants. They let us come inside to warm up and then drove us about ten minutes away and helped us find a hotel for the night.

I want you to picture the nastiest, ugliest, dirtiest hotel you have ever stayed in…this was probably worse. The walls were cracked and the carpet was stained unusual colors in a number of different places. There was a sink in the room but no bathroom. To use the facilities you had to go down the hall, turn the corner, go down another hall and squeeze into the toilet room on the right with a door that would not close, or the “shower” (by shower I simply mean a drain in the floor and a hand-help water spout) on the left that was missing a door altogether. All this luxury for 45pounds(approx. $80) a night.

We slept in our clothes to avoid catching any diseases or bugs from the bed, and took off bright and early the next morning. The biting wind and cold from the previous night had turned into snow by morning. Since it more or less felt like we hadn’t slept at all a breakfast of a double whopper with cheese at the train station was the perfect dinner/breakfast. That and a large latte from Starbucks got us in the perfect mood to return to Lille, and we couldn’t have been happier when we finally made it back to our room on Rue du Molinel in Wasquehal France. 

I can’t say it was the perfect end to our vacation, but it was one more unforgettable event in a week that will forever be etched in our memory.

A bientôt,

Jordan and Kathryn

Winter in Ibiza - Our Final Day

We have finally reached the end of our week long vacation to Ibiza. The final day (including the trip back, and the night in London) turned out to be the perfect gradual reintroduction to Lille. To go from a place as warm, relaxing and enjoyable as Ibiza right back to Lille would have been a major shock to our systems, and could have left us longing for days past. Our night in London made sure we would see Lille in a whole different (incredibly welcoming) light. Even though at the time the forthcoming events were more traumatic than humorous we were well aware that sometime in the near future we would look back and laugh. But I’m getting ahead of myself. The day started out great (well aside from Kathryn hurting more than ever from her flu symptoms).


After we returned the rent-a-car to the dealer we packed everything up which only took about five to ten minutes (in an effort to avoid baggage fees that cost 4x as much as our flight we stuck with carry-on sized bags). We asked the lady at the front desk which direction to take to get to the bus station and then we were out the door. In her broken English the woman made it seem like the station was miles away on the edge of town, but by following signs we found it in no time. The bus was an amazing alternative to taking a taxi (2euros compared to 30), and proved just as quick and reliable. In about 30min we were off and wandering around Eivissa, the largest city on the island.

It turned out to be a smart choice saving this city for our final day. It had much more of an inner-city feel. The buildings were taller than anywhere else, and the streets were surprisingly crowded with bustling pedestrians. Being the gentleman that I am (and due to Kathryn’s illness) I shouldered the load of our bags as we traipsed around the city. First up on our list of things to do was check out the overwhelmingly large castle-type structure that we had spotted as we initially flew onto the island. This task was easily accomplished since the fortress (Dalt Vila) towered over the city. It could easily be spotted once we made it to a clearing not totally surrounded by office and apartment buildings.

Apparently the name simply means something like “Upper Town” or “High Town” and that is exactly what it is. The town is surrounded by enormous stone walls and is built at the highest point of the area with the back protected by a massive cliff face. From the top it offers unbelievable views of both the city itself and the harbor and sea that it defended. Once we entered through a gate we began hiking along the top of the outter wall that rose at a relatively steep angle (this made ever more difficult by the 30+lbs of awkwardly slung backpack and computer bag I had over my shoulders). We climbed up as high as possible before our path was impeded by scaffolding and a crane. As beautiful as most ancient European structures can be it takes a keen historical imagination to picture them removed from the renovation work that normally obstructs a significant portion of their exteriors.

The town was built as a series of successive levels culminating with a massive church at the very top. We spent the next hour or so weaving our way along the narrow streets between homes and shops that seemed as lively as…well a town not enclosed in a medieval fortress. Every now and then either through a door left ajar, or looking down at a lower level we could see many buildings opened up to magnificent courtyards and interior plazas. Another great aspect was thanks to being a national monument every couple hundred yards or so the city had placed plaques with historical information about everything from construction and empirical occupation to significance of individual buildings and churches. We easily could have spent hours searching around the town and visiting the sites and museums. Unfortunately our vacation was running out of time, and we decided it would be best to eat a big lunch before heading to the airport incase (foreshadowing) it was our last opportunity to have a decent comfortable meal.

Lunch was once again delicious. We found a little Mom-and-Pop restaurant whose dining area looked similar to how I’d imagine an old Spanish grandmother’s sitting/sewing room. The server was very nice and helpful using the bit of English that he spoke, the food was homemade, the sea bass fresh, and the beer cold. After lunch we parked ourselves in the sun on the terrace of a little café down the street from the restaurant to enjoy a cappuccino before catching our bus to the airport.

To this point everything was going quite smooth. The buses were quick, efficient and cheap, and I even made it through security without losing the bottle of shampoo we bought that was stuffed in my bag.

A cause de the cheap price of our plane tickets we had no control over the hours of their arrivals and departures, and the only flight back landed us in London at about 11:20pm. This proved to be a problem for the simple fact that Eurostar’s last train to Lille left sometime around 10pm. In anticipation of this prolonged layover Kathryn had contacted her friend’s older sister who is studying in London to see if we could possibly pass the short couple of hours at her place before our train departed the following morning. I know it’s hard to tell from all the fun adventures we are having here, but as English assistants’ salary-wise we are living slightly below the poverty line to the tune of 792euros per month. This coupled with the extravagant prices for hotels in London drove us to the request, and it was graciously accepted.

While at the airport Kathryn phoned her friend to confirm what time we would be arriving, and to once again double check everything would be OK. She informed us that she had arranged to stay at a friend’s flat that evening so we could have her room and more than just a floor to sleep on. She also gave us the number of her roommate and instructed us to give a call when we got there and he would let us in. Sounded great.

Winter In Ibiza - Just Winging It

First and foremost on our list of things to do was to re-rent the car for one last day. There were still a number of points around the island that we needed to visit, and accomplishing that would take wheels. After the paperwork had been updated we took off in the direction of Santa Gertrudis de Fruitera, a small village in the center of the island. It was there that we hoped to find Bar Con Costa which had been recommended to us by the bartender at our hotel. He described it as the best baguettes on the island, and seeing as we had been eating rather exquisitely the past couple days we figured a cheap sandwich lunch wouldn’t lighten the wallet much.

This day was the very first we had without sun, but even with the stratus clouds hovering overhead the weather was temperate. A sprinkling of rain fell while we drove down the winding back-roads in search of the town, but it had subsided by the time we arrived. We parked on the outskirts and walked the rest of the way in, but Santa Gurtrudis wasn’t made up of more than an old church in the main square surrounded by a few shops, restaurants and bars. We had our fingers crossed that the bar would be open because the man who told us about it warned that they were not open Tuesday’s, and even though it was Monday there was always the possibility.

Lucky enough Bar Con Costa was one of only two establishments open in the entire town. From the outside it looked cozy and inviting, and we could see a fire blazing in a fireplace just through the door. As we entered a few things became quite apparent. The first was that the interior in actuality was much larger than it appeared. There were dining areas that swept all the way though the back, up two flights of stairs, and they easily could have accommodated a hundred patrons or more. Secondly it was obvious our barman friend from Hotel Puchet had not been exaggerating when describing the specialties of the restaurant. Hanging over the bar were at least two dozen cured ham legs ready to be sliced in to baguette sandwiches.

We followed the server through the main hall up a few stairs where they had another large circular fireplace that was situated in the center of the room surrounded by tables. We took our seats against the wall looking out at the bar in an optimal place for Kathryn to warm herself without feeling any draft from the open entrance door. At the recommendation of our server we both ordered jamón ibérico baguettes which were brought out within minutes. I am at a bit of loss as how to describe the sandwiches which were simplistic yet extraordinary. A few superb slices of ham over cheese and tomato then drizzled with Spanish olive oil and toasted. I have said it before a couple of times, but always follow recommendations from locals. I have yet to eat a meal this good for such a reasonable price in Europe.

After lunch we still had half a day to kill, and so we pulled out our map and randomly chose to visit an area called Punta Grossa just north of Cala Sant Vincent. As we were winding along through the forest heading east we drove past a large butte that appeared to offer a spectacular view of both the island and the sea. There were no specific signs designating how we might be able to reach the summit, but we passed one road that was heading in that direction so we turned planning to follow it as far as it would take us. That happened to be over three quarters of the way up. The street just kept turning and winding and in almost no time we had reached the top. It was a great view, but the most intriguing part was a sign marked “ES CUIERAM 425-125 A.C./B.C.” and designated by the Consell Insular d’Eivissa i Formentera. We weren’t sure what it meant, and even though the sign said “closed on Monday’s” we decided to follow the arrow on foot. It took us to a path that ran along the side of some cliffs and eventually opened up to a labyrinth of closed off caves that had been dedicated to the Goddess Tanit dating back to the time of the Phoenicians. The carved out caves opened up a space of over 200m² and four different worship chambers. It was really interesting and a little eerie since we were all alone on the side of a cliff looking at a 2500 year old sanctuary that was covered with a number of candles and offerings left by recent visitors.

After coasting down from our impromptu archeological hike we got back on our way to Punta Grossa. The journey required a keen eye for posted signs as well as the guts to drive past a construction site where heavy machinery was being used - apparently - to tear down the side of a mountain. When we reached the vantage point we were afforded a 360° view of beaches, forest and the sea. We were perched on a 100m cliff looking down on mostly deserted land except for two extravagant mansions that were built on top of an adjacent cliff.

During our drive home we stopped in Sant Carles for a café at the only open bar in town. By the time we left it had started raining again so we decided to call it a day and return to the hotel for our daily siesta. Even though it was overcast and a little more subdued, our last full day on Ibiza couldn’t have been better. We were dreading having to leave, and returning to cold snowy Lille. One good point was that our flight home didn’t leave Ibiza until almost 10pm the next evening so we would have ample time Tuesday to explore the one city on the island we had yet to visit: Eivissa.

-Jordan and Kathryn

Winter in Ibiza - Southside Beach-Hopping

Having checked out a majority of the north the day before, Sunday we reserved for exploring what the southern half of the island had to offer. In the pre-trip research we learned the south was known for its numerous and beautiful beaches. The sun was shining and the sky was clear so we just started driving south and took the very first road towards a beach. The map we had been given was rather rudimentary and did not include precise directions to towns or beaches, rather an approximate representation of where certain towns were located. This being the case we started off sans plan, and figured we would just go with the flow. The tank of the car was full so if a road looked interesting we would follow.

As in France, most places on the island were closed (more so than usual) because it was Sunday. It seemed that gave locals more opportunities to get out and enjoy their surroundings. This was evident by many more cars on the road, and more of the beaches occupied by families spending time together having picnics or fishing. The first beach we stumbled upon, Cala Bassa, was the closest south of Sant Antoni. It was the biggest beach we had come across yet, and it was definitely a major tourist stop during the summer. The actual sand was flanked on both sides by rocky outcroppings that some local families had posted up on with their fishing poles to relax in the sun and hopefully catch some lunch. There were also several signs advertising lounge and umbrella rentals, but being the offseason the only things laid out on the sand were twigs and leaves blown over from the forested area behind the beach. The water was crystal clear, and warmer than you would expect for being the middle of winter.

The next stop on our beach tour was Cala Corral about 15-20min farther south. It was a little more secluded and really a combination of two or three different beaches separated by natural sandstone cliff walls. This gave a better feeling of isolation even though there were a few more couples here. It also provided a wind barrier so you could soak up the sun without getting chilled by gusts blowing in off the Mediterranean. There were also a few restaurant/bars built up along the edge of the beach and water, but they were totally abandoned and offered a great lookout point. We decided to return later that evening to this same beach to watch the sunset thanks to the fact that it had an unobstructed view due west of the island.

The signs we had been following all along were directing us towards Cala Tarida, and after these two slight detours we finally made it to our originally planned destination. Cala Tarida was one of the biggest beaches on the island, and this was apparent when we got a good view it from the cliffs overlooking the city. This beach was totally surrounded by hotels (both standing and under construction) and restaurants, but they were also closed for the winter. Like the rest of the island, Cala Tarida was a ghost-town that obviously exploded with visitors in the summer. Instead of hiking down to the main beach we went off the beaten path and walked along the massive cliffs that lined the bay. It gave an unbelievable panoramic view of beaches, cliffs and the sparkling sea, and eventually led us to the edge of a rather hidden cove at the bottom of a cliff about 100ft. high. With a little bit of effort and some sure footing we could have made it down to the bottom, but without being able to actually go in the water it seemed like a waste of time. So instead we found a good spot to dangle our legs over the edge and warm up on the rocks while discussing options for lunch.

The next “larger” city of Cala Vadella was a short drive away so we decided to check out the beach and town to try and find some fresh fish for lunch. The drive took us up and down the cliffs along the coast until we pulled into Cala Vadella. On our map it looked like one of the bigger towns on the southern half of the island when in reality I probably could have hit a golf ball from one side to the other clear over the entire town (and that’s taking my slice into account too). We parked the car on the side of the road (just out of the way not in a spot or anything because that’s how Europeans do it) and began walking along the beach. We weren’t expecting much based on the level of activity in the area, but there were two restaurants that had just opened up for the lunch hour; it was about 2pm. We chose the one that had seating available just off the sand, and would allow us to eat in the sun. Of course soon after we sat down the first real clouds of the trip rolled in. It was still warm and the clouds weren’t dark so there was nothing to complain about.

After our incredible meal of seafood from the day before both of us were in the mood for some more fresh fish. We asked the server what they had and he told us about three or four different fish that had just been brought in a few hours ago from local fisherman. Perfect. The only problem was that he only knew the Spanish names for the fish so we asked if there was one in particular that stood out as the best. In true European fashion he shied away from giving us a direct answer, and said it all depended on what our taste and personal preference was. We told him we love everything so he recommended one that we eventually found out was grouper. They started us out with more bread, olives and a homemade garlic butter spread that was difficult not to fill up on. Next they brought out fresh rolled sushi for an entrée as a compliment of the house. Until that point we were having a nice quiet and relaxing meal. There was only one other family at the whole restaurant with us, and they were Spanish with a new puppy that occupied most of their time.

Just before our main course was brought out, all of a sudden a British family of about fifteen or more people rolled into town. We could hear them laughing and shouting from around the corner (one thing we’ve learned from the family we’re living with is Brit’s don’t have much respect for their volume around others), and just as we had feared they flopped down at a table on the other side of the terrace. Here we are on a practically deserted island, in a town with but one road running through it, and somehow they found us. I guess it was just a taste of what the island is like in the summer when the rest of Europe (mainly England) invades.

We did our best to ignore the ruckus being made on the other side of the restaurant, and that was made much easier once our food was delivered. The fish was cut into four pieces and each of us was given a part from the top half and a part from the tail half. It was covered in a balsamic wine reduction sauce and accompanied with a mélange of potatoes, onions and peppers all sautéed together, and some roasted zucchini. Had it not been for our amazing lunch the day before this would have topped the list of meals we’ve had in Europe during our five months here. The only thing I regret is not getting the name of the restaurant, however given the size of Cala Vadella it would be impossible to miss should we ever find time (and funds) for a return trip.

Following lunch we were once again in the mood for a late afternoon siesta to help energize for the evening. We drove back to the hotel following the main roads this time rather than taking the more scenic route along the coast, and made it back in half the time. No matter where you are on the island it will never take more than 30min of driving to get where you want to go (that is depending on your own driving and navigation skills).

That evening after getting cleaned up and Kathryn taking a siesta, we drove back over to Cala Corral for the sunset. It seemed we had made the right choice as to which beach was best because there were already about three or four other cars parked waiting for the sun to begin going down. Unfortunately the clouds from earlier in the day had only partially cleared so we were left with a slightly worse show than the night before, but by no means disappointed. Once the sun had gone below the horizon it turned the sky and clouds a magnificent hazy magenta that was totally unexpected.

The rest of the night was spent walking the beach near our hotel and looking for a restaurant to stop in for tapas. The first place we came to looked very promising with a wide array of dishes posted outside. However, as we were approaching the dining area we noticed a portly Spanish lady holding a microphone then all of a sudden she belted out: “This is grrrround contrrrrol to majorrr Tom!!” (Imagine the “r’s” being rolled in a Spanish sort of way). We just turned and walked the other direction. Eventually we settled on the place we had eaten paella at the other day. They had an assortment of tapas that seemed light enough seeing as lunch was still fresh in our minds (and stomachs). They brought out four little tapas plates that we ate (and finished), but didn’t ask what they were until the meal was over and we were ready to leave. The first was like a fancy tuna salad, the second was warm, cut up octopus with an interesting vinegar sauce poured over the top, the third was some chorizo and tripe, and fourth was described to us as “hands of pig.” Well we said we’re always up for trying new things. The meal was memorable to say the least. I’m not saying the dishes were terrible or inedible, just not something we would order a second time.

Hasta luego

-Jordan and Kathryn

Winter in Ibiza - Exploring the North

Before we ever left for our vacation Kathryn and I had discussed the possibility of renting a car (depending on prices) to have a better opportunity to explore the little island, and after the recommendation of our server it was a necessity. We figured Saturday would be perfect because we could have the car for the weekend. There was a little flyer for rent-a-cars at the front desk of the hotel and after breakfast we inquired with one of the hotel staff about how to go about renting one. The woman at first didn’t understand what we were asking, but when we pointed to the sign she said (in a rather matter-of-fact voice) that they were closed because it was Saturday. I mean what good business that specializes in tourism amenities closes down for the weekend? At first we were slightly discouraged and worried that we may have missed our chance to go exploring, but the woman seemed to recognize our trepidation and told us about a couple different companies within walking distance that most likely were open.


With our hope renewed we walked not two blocks down the road when we came upon another rent-a-car place with a very charismatic and helpful attendant. He hooked us up with a very affordable little European-style mini Chevrolet, and provided a map. Next he suggested that we check out the north of the island the first day (then drew out a convenient route to take us past the most interesting towns/beaches), and see the southern half the next. It sounded like a good plan so we hopped in the car (started off nice and slow so I could get the feel of driving stick-shift again since it had been a good two years) and took off north partially following the path we walked the previous day towards Santa Agnès.

We had planned on stopping in Santa Agnès but it was such a small town with nothing more than a church, and the weather was so warm and the countryside was so beautiful that we just kept on driving. The road twisted and turned first through some farming communities where we saw old Spanish couples walking through rows of olive trees carrying chainsaws and pruning their crop. The trees were just starting to bloom, and they were covered with tiny whitish-pink flowers. Next the road narrowed and we began climbing in elevation up into the more “mountainous” central region of the island (I use quotes because for someone coming from the Midwest they were mountains, but someone from say Oregon may not see them the same).

The first stop on our trans-island journey took us to the town of Sant Miguel de Balansat. It was the first town we passed that had a “main” street, and more than one restaurant/bar. Unfortunately our reason for stopping was less than ideal. When traveling by airplane recently it has become common for Kathryn to get sick, and this time was no different. She contracted a flu-like virus from the flight over so we stopped to find a “Farmacia” to stock up on aspirin and throat lozenges. Luckily as bad as she felt, just being in such an idyllic setting with warm sun beaming down constantly gave her the strength to power through the illness, and she never let it slow her down (well that and at least an hour or so siesta each day).

Once Kathryn was sufficiently medicated we got back in the car and followed the signs down towards the coast and the Port de Sant Miguel. One of the best parts of our excursion was the feeling of isolation, and that we had the whole island almost entirely to ourselves. When we got to the port the surrounding town was totally deserted save for one tiny bar/café right off the sand. There was also an elderly gentleman combing the beach with a metal detector. After basking in the sun for a few minutes we discovered a small trail leading around the edge of the water that then went up the hill and along the cliffs that lined the bay. We followed it for about five minutes or so before it opened up into a very secluded second beach that was surrounded by miniature boat houses. There was also a large concrete slab about 100ft. from the water that in the summer appeared to be built up into a bar to cater to all the tourists.

Leaving the Port de Sant Miguel we headed to the most northern point of the island and a town called Portinatx. This town, like most of the others we came upon, was all but deserted. After pulling multiple u-turns and one wrong turn down a one-way street we found a decent parking spot, and walked down to the water. The beach once again looked like a major tourist destination in the summer months ringed with bars, hotels and restaurants, but at this time there wasn’t another soul in sight. While relaxing in the sun on the beach we noticed a very faint stone lookout structure in the distance, and decided that even though it looked relatively far away we could probably hike to it. So we crossed the beach and began walking in the general direction of the tower (if you look very closely in the picture you can see it on top of the hill). The path we chose took us through some closed down resorts and along some cliffs overlooking the water, and after about 45min the structure finally came into full view. There were no identifiable markings or plaques explaining the history so I can’t tell you the exact purpose for it, but based on the location (and the fact that we saw about five or six others around the island as we were exploring) leads me to believe it was an old sentry/lookout tower strategically positioned to observe and guard the island from invaders. Unfortunately the exits were sealed so we couldn’t climb inside and see the view from the top.

By this time we were starting to get rather famished. We thought back to the meal we had the day before of paella as well as the recommendation from our server. He had mentioned that the restaurant we needed to try was also on the northern part of the island, but he also told us that it gets so busy you need to call ahead for a reservation. Since technically it was in the same direction we were going to get back to the hotel we figured it couldn’t hurt to swing by and check to see if they had a table available (if so great, if not we would just make a reservation for the following day and come back).

The name of the restaurant was Restaurante Pou d’es Lleó and it was in the town of the same name. The town itself we never saw, but by following the well marked signs we made it to the restaurant in about 15minutes. By the time we arrived lunch was just getting started (it was 1:45pm) and they had a number of tables open. The first lady we asked for help spoke no English, and she called over a gentleman who knew enough to tell us where to sit. The first encouraging sign was that all the customers there were Spanish; the second was the size of the menu. They had three different options, either paella, grilled fish or a type of Spanish fish stew. If a restaurant’s menu is that small it means they have perfected their craft, and you cannot go wrong with whatever you decide to order. Our choice had been made for us by the server who recommended the place. Underneath the name of the restaurant that he had given us he had written “Bullit de Peix” so of course that’s what we got.

While waiting for our food they first brought out some baguette with a garlic butter spread and a small bowl of Spanish olives. It was so good I had to remind Kathryn (and myself) not to fill up on bread before the actual meal arrived. Next for our first course came a fish soup, but this was not your ordinary run of the mill fish soup. This was a bowl filled with Spanish risotto rice, covered in a thick but not too creamy fish soup that was filled with bits of octopus, mussels and was garnished with crab legs. It was the best soup I have ever eaten, better than New England clam chowder, better than South Carolina she-crab soup, just unbelievable, and it was only the first course. For the main dish they brought out a platter of different fish boiled in a special sauce of Spanish seasonings, and laid over a bed of potatoes also drenched in the amazing sauce. The fish was perfectly cooked, fell apart off the bones and melted in your mouth. Even having already gorged on everything that had been brought before it (and Kathryn exclaiming she was full following the soup) we polished off the entire tray. As I watched Kathryn picked through the discarded bones that were left over making sure every possible scrap of fish had been eaten I was overcome by a feeling of disappointment. This was without a doubt the best meal I have eaten in Europe, and even though I had eaten to the bursting point, I was disappointed that it was over. Then when the waitress came back to clear our plates she uttered some of the most beautiful words I have ever heard: “Poquito mas?” What we hadn’t realized was the meal was all-you-can-eat, and after about a minute of waiting she brought out an entire new tray of fish. Kathryn was full but I finished it all until I couldn’t imagine eating another bite. It was heaven, and if someone local ever recommends a restaurant again I will fall over myself to get there as fast as possible.

Once we regained the ability to walk after such an amazing lunch we drove back across the island to our hotel for a much needed siesta. Kathryn was still fighting off her flu so we spent about an hour or so relaxing in our room until the sun started to go down. At that point we both rushed to get dressed and make it down the street to the bay to watch the sunset. Being a little groggy and still quite full from our lunch we made it just in time as the sun was starting to go beneath the horizon. Up to that point the sky had been virtually cloudless all day, but it seemed at just the right time a few tiny clouds blew overhead at the perfect moment to be turned vibrant shades of red, orange and pink by the descending sun.

As the day before we rounded out the evening with cerveza’s at the hotel bar. The north of the island had a character totally its own, and while it did have beautiful beaches it was very rural and mountainous. Sunday we planned to hit the southern region of the island which is known for having more numerous beaches. While at the bar we did a little chatting with the bartender because we were in there rather early and no one else had wandered in for dinner yet. He was an elderly guy, and we talked about everything from U.S. and European politics and the healthcare systems, to the fact that his son is studying marine biology in Valencia Spain, and his daughter is 30 and still living at home with him and his wife. He was a really nice guy, and in the course of our conversation he mentioned a little bar he recommended for us to try in a town that is just about dead center of the island. So you know what that means.

Hasta mañana,

-Jordan and Kathryn

Winter on the Island of Ibiza

Yesterday we returned to cold and snowy Lille France from 6days/5nights on the island of Ibiza (which is just off the south-eastern coast of Spain) where the temp stayed in the mid 60's all week and the sun was shining all but one day. We flew with Ryanair from London-Stanstead airport directly to Ibiza for 4pounds each way. We had five and a half glorious days in Ibiza, and one frighteningly disastrous night in London that all contributed to this totally unforgettable trip. One sign of an amazing vacation is a feeling of overwhelming need to return, and by lunch time of our first day we could not stop talking about two things: when we'll be able to come back, and a need to learn Spanish (we had a very basic understand of the language thanks to what had been picked up from the kitchen staff at the restaurants we used to work at, and from Taco Bell commercials). Every day brought different adventures, scenery and cuisine, and it is for these reasons that I am breaking up this trip into five or so different blog entries.


Our first major task was getting to the airport in London, and I know how boring it can be reading about the actual travelling parts so I just want to offer one piece of advice then move on. If you ever have to go to England/London, no matter what the reason, make sure to do your due diligence, and plan out each detail well in advance, or the city will absolutely devour your wallet.

Our plane touched down in Ibiza just after 9pm local time, and we carried our bags onto the plane (to check them would have cost 3x what we paid for the flight) so it didn't take long before we were in a cab headed towards our hotel. The place we stayed at was in the second biggest city (which isn't saying much) of Sant Antoni de Portmany located on the western side of the island. We stayed at Hotel Puchet (Putxet) which was only about two blocks away from the beach and marina. It was a decent sized hotel and our room was clean and comfortable, but we didn't plan on spending much time there anyway. Something that did stand out about the hotel, and really everywhere on the island, was the geniality and kindness from everyone we encountered.

The trip started off with a lot of intrigue and anticipation. Neither Kathryn nor I really knew what to expect. Ibiza is internationally recognized as the party capital of Europe for about six months of the year, and February is not one of those months. Winter in Ibiza was described to us as a time when the locals take back the island. Approximately 75-80% of all the restaurants, bars, shops and hotels had closed their doors for the off-season which gave the island a very peaceful and calm ambiance; something that is unheard of once the weather reaches the mid 70's. Driving in the pitch black of night from the airport to the hotel did not ease our minds. We were still very excited to get our first real views of the island so once we dropped our bags off in the room we went out to explore what little of the area we could before crashing (wearing only light sweatshirts because it was still in the mid/low 50's). The hotel, being so close to the water, we quickly found a boardwalk that ran along the bay. We followed it all the way around until we got to the marina, and that was about the time Kathryn started getting cold so we turned back towards the hotel to call it a night.

Breakfast was included in the price of our hotel room so we got up nice and early to ensure we didn't miss out. It was slightly confusing at first because we were expecting some kind of buffet set out like is customary in many European hotels, but instead there was just an instant coffee and juice machine. So we got our drinks and sat down. Soon a server came over, and after we kindly explained "no hable Español" he preceded to list off the breakfast options in broken English. We settled on simple bacon and eggs on baguette toast, and after a few cups of coffee we were out the door ready to get our first glimpse of the island.

Having an idea of what the harbor/bay looked like at night we figured the boardwalk would be a great place to begin our morning urban-hike. Even though it was only about 9am there was no real need for a jacket, and after an hour of walking the clouds were blown away and we were blessed with warm sunlight for the rest of the day. Once we had rounded the bay the path began weaving its way around the coast and past some of the closed and barred hotels that lined the waterfront. We walked along the water until the pavement ended, and then turned up into the hills, and began following signs in the direction of Santa Agnès. This took us up through some sparse residential homes surrounded by open fields and rows of olive trees until we stood at a round-a-bout overlooking Sant Antoni.

By this time we had already hiked a good couple miles so we turned back down into the city and headed towards the hotel to change clothes (it had reached the mid 60's before noon). During our descent we passed the famous "Egg" statue of Sant Antoni that sits in the middle of one of the intersections. It wasn't anything too spectacular, but I had read about it on a couple of websites before we came here so it was an interesting landmark. As we were walking back through the city signs of the islands infamous party scene were evident everywhere. There were flyers and posters in the windows of almost every shop or business, or plastered on the walls of buildings at busy intersections; massive billboards rested on the sides of the road advertising special deals/promotions, or celebrity DJ's that regularly headlined a club. We tried not to take much notice since all the clubs were closed for the winter anyway.

After shedding a couple layers back at the hotel we ventured out to try and find a restaurant open for lunch. The street our hotel was on, as well as the boardwalk, was lined with dozens of bars and restaurants, but they were all closed for winter. After about a half hour or so we stumbled upon a nice little place called Restaurant Koppas that was open, and had an outdoor seating area so we could have lunch in the sun. Our table looked out onto a sun-drenched plaza, and a boulevard lined with tall palm trees which ran along the marina. They had a pretty extensive menu (translated into English), but one dish in particular stood out: the paella. It took about 45min to an hour of preparation so we ordered a couple cerveza’s, and Kathryn got a tomato salad, and we passed the time enjoying the warmth of the sun, and the relaxing feeling of being on vacation. We also chatted a bit with our server who spoke almost perfect English. He asked if it was our first visit to the island, and if we were Canadian (I guess they don't get too many Americans). We said yes (not to the Canadian bit) and asked if he recommended anything for us to do or see while we were there. His first piece of advice was to rent a car so that we could experience the entire island, and second he gave us the name of a restaurant on the northern side of the island where we could get great fresh fish. He finished his recommendation by sticking out his belly, rubbing it and saying “trust me.” (Another tip: if someone local ever recommends doing or eating anything, do it!)

When the food finally came it was brought out in a big paella/wok looking dish overflowing with rice and seafood. Just thinking back on it makes my mouth water. It was the very best paella either of us has ever eaten. The rice was done perfectly and slathered in butter and Spanish seasonings. It was also filled with all different types of seafood including prawns, crab legs and claws, mussels, clams, squid, and then topped off with some tender pieces of chicken. There was so much food we couldn’t imagine finishing it all, but with a little determination (and two very large helpings a piece) we polished off the entire bowl. We finished lunch just before 5pm, and then it was time to head back to the hotel for a siesta. Lunch was so big and delicious that we crossed dinner off our itinerary for the evening.

The rest of the day was spent relaxing. We took a little nap back at the hotel, and then went for a stroll along the water to walk off a bit of the weight we gained at lunch. On our way back we stopped in the hotel bar for a couple drinks to wind out the night, and to plan out a tentative schedule for Saturday. Day one couldn’t have been a better introduction to life on the island or Spanish culture. We were already dreading the fact that we had to leave in five days, but did our best to keep that out of our minds.

Hasta mañana,
 
-Jordan and Kathryn