An American in Ibiza 2008

You can be straight in Anfora, just don’t tell anyone!

I’m through the door which is basically a cave entrance, and enter; you guessed it, a cave. The pace appears to be the former home of the “Cask of Amantiablo.” Sure, there are 0 women and 0 chances for me on my never ending quest for puttie, but sometimes you can make the best of things. The cover was 60 Euros. That seems a little steep for a cave but again, it might be worth it just for the experience.

We go down a couple of narrow halls and I’m expecting to see something like New Orleans with gay sex happening on either side of me. Into the valley of Death ...Cannons to the left of me...Cannons to the right of me, Cannons etc....
Nope. Just calm talking people who look and act like everywhere else.

Myth #9: Gay Europeans are effeminate. A myth I never wanted to investigate but just the same, a myth. In the US, gay men as a rule seem to be associated with effeminate and non-manly behavior. Of course that’s not true of all of them but most of the gay guys I have met in the US are visibly, physically, or auditorily gay. Not a gaydar thing as I obviously don't have that, but, there is some hint of the fire from smoking a pole. Apparently, this is the place the people who fill that stereotype should go to fill the gap. There are no colorful costumes, no extra short pants, and no ridiculous shoes. A gay club without women or transvestites you say? Yep. Talk about visibly boring. They are all keeping a sensible distance from each other, gathered in appropriate places, and behaving reasonably.

The music could have been from Bora, Space, or Pasha. I’m expecting “It’s raining Men” and am hearing “squeak, bop, squeak, bop.” Not much of a Gay disco as the music sounds more like the same stuff I’ve heard in the other hum-drum performances so far.(WIBBOW, haters).

The two Germs are still tagging close behind me as I go to the bar and get us a round. 60 Euros for 3 drinks still seems a bit steep to me. It must be horrible to be poor and gay. We get close to the carved in rock dance area and I notice this is the worst set up for a dance floor ever. It’s in the shape of a Greek Theater. Rock carved terraced steps to dance on face a sheer rock wall. Where is the view of the ocean? Again, this is a terrible place to put a bar. Imagine a half a funnel with a 20 square foot bottom and cut it in half. if it would have been facing the other way, maybe but it looked scary to go down toward the bottom of the funnel. The terraced areas would have been better suited to grow rice as their once again is no one chewing hard. I don’t even bother to ask.

I’m now miserable. It’s been two days, 4 clubs, and no one is doing anything that even resembles illicit activity. I could be knee deep in Thai or Philippine shmew at this point and am regretting the trip.

At least the Germs are fun as they begin to dance.

This is the point where I realize I have accidentally made the correct choice in attending their sausage festival. My hip hurts where I went down in front of D'alt but its well worth the pain.
 
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What I missed by not going back to the PI

I wanted to insert a picture here but dont know how to do it. You'll just have to imagine it's me with 5 beautifull girls in the PI on a banka on the way to the beach on a Tuesday at 11am. What happens in Ibiza on a Tuesday at 11am now that the day clubbing has changed. ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. Someone tell me how to post a pic and I'll show you what you are missing wasting your money slumming in Ibiza. (WIBBOW, haters)
 
Mike Myers "Now is the time on Sprockets when we Dance."

Imagine if you will a parallel universe where up is down and right is wrong. I'm dancing a litte and pushed a few shapes around with my hands and they are doing the whole “murmer, murmer, whisper” thing in each others ears and must have felt some compunction to show they are freaks too.

The only way I can describe the Germs dancing is a cross between an epileptic Madonna on the Vogue tour and speed freaks on heroin, crank, and barbiturates.

They cannot dance, not a lick. But they are really trying to impress someone. If only Siegfried and Roy could see them now (Sans tigers and talent of course). They are going at it with pose after pose of uncoordinated gyrated bad monkey movements. The surreal activity is not wasted on the bar as there is the opposite action of a wave beginning as the person on the side of him realizes what the other is looking at and all energy leaves your body. Dead stop.

It would be really cool if the gays would have started to slowly all dance like these two idiots but instead it just looked like a “slow clap” back to normalcy. I watch for a minute more and then do the slow-back-away to leave without being noticed shuffle. They somehow notice this and stop the killing. One walks up to me too quickly for me to run and puts his hand on my shoulder while screaming in my ear.

Too late! I shouldn’t care since it is not my scene but I was hoping the casual observer would think I am either being attacked by the two in some sort of ritualistic opposite-of-cool frenzy. But Fritz and ****s think I’m at least on their side and I get a “Great club, isn’t it? Want to go to the dark room with us?”

Here is where I am naive. We don’t have “dark” rooms in the South of the US. I figured, like at any other party/rave type club, it’s a jungle room where there at least won’t be so many witnesses to me laughing so hard at these two I have to cry. So it’s up the stairs I go and through a curtain to the Jungle room and…

(Voice of Butters from South Park emerges) Gee fellas, the music’s kind of soft for a jungle room...when does the light show kick in? What's that awful smell?"

What the F..AAHHHHHHHHHHHHH….runs away from quickly! Many hands were trying to grab balls, ass, etc… I even got a hand on the back of my head trying to push me down.

FYI haters there was no hesitation on leaving. I am definitely not gay. That was pretty scary.

We really don’t have the equivalent of this thing in the south of the US that I know of. Sure, we have adult theaters and plenty of gay clubs. But a dance club where people go to be in a totally black environment and have open sex? The police would bust the place before you could say “swish.” Sure, there are swingers clubs but that requires membership and has rules. Hell, I even dated a swinger for a while back in the states and consider myself pretty liberal as long as the swords don’t cross.

I never wanted to really know what the smell of gay sex was really like and it’s not good.

I had my moment at Anfora and my moment was over.

What do gay people see in that place?

Must be what they don’t see in the dark room, a conscience perhaps?

Maybe it was ze Germans!
 
Taxi Talk

All the time I’ve taken to write about the taxi’s in Ibiza is not at an end. Here’s some more complaining.

When you’ve taken a pretty hard fall and your buzz is shocked off by unwelcome gay groping, there is a point of epiphany.

One, the Germans didn’t follow you and you’re free.
Two, you shouldn’t have paid the tab at the restaurant.
Three, you definitely shouldn’t have paid for all three of you at the door.
Four, when your middle aged and you take a hard fall, go home dumbass.

My side is beginning to hurt pretty good now and I’m wondering if I didn’t “break a hip” as we old fogies are prone to. My goal now: GET IN A TAXI AND OFF MY FEET.”

Sure, the taxi drivers couldn’t know I had hurt myself so why hold that against them. I get to the bottom of the giant ramp and am in a good deal of pain. I see a taxi with a green light on top and hold up my hand. He passes me by and I’m pissed. The second one goes by and I’m holding a roll of cash out so he can see and still, nothing. 10 minutes pass by and the third one with a green light doesn’t stop. Now I’m angrier than an African American trying to catch a yellow cab in Manhatten. Somewhat due to waiting but mostly because Hans and Franz have somehow pulled out in time to catch up to me.

Hans: “They don’t stop here because you have to go to the taxi stand. They won’t cut in front of each other.”

Me: “Oh, where is the taxi stand?”

Franz: “We’ll give you a ride, where is your hotel. Or would you like to come to ours.”

Me: “Ah guys, I’m not gay.”

Hans and Franz bicker back in forth in German until they say in nearly unison in English, “But you’re wearing a gay shirt.”

I try really hard not to cry and explain I didn’t know, it looked cool on EBay, I am sorry to have worn one of their identifying markers, and please don’t rape me. The taxi stand is pointed out (a frigging mile a way it seems), and I hobble away while they keep commenting on how if I’m going to wear shirts like that I am going to have to just learn how to suck D or at least give hand jobs.

The taxi in the head of the Q I get into is the first one that passed me. I try not to say a thing but the steam coming out of my ears is apparent. We don’t say a word to each other but he drops me off in front of the Garbi with a mere .5 Euro’s tip. I am sure he is still wondering why the hell I was so generous when he wouldn’t break the stupid rules but he doesn’t realize I usually don’t tip less than a couple at a time and the size of my tip is an insult.

The cool quiet sleep that night is right on track with a thousand slumbers. The only problem is I keep dream of being chased by snakes. I’m Indiana Jones recovering an Arc. I’m in a by plane and one in my lap and I can’t run away…etc.
 
letsgetdownanddirtybaby said:
...Hans and Franz ...
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wtf ?
i thought these were the names of heidi klum´s boobies ??

244xfvd.jpg

(?)


letsgetdownanddirtybaby said:
... “But you’re wearing a gay shirt.”
I try really hard not to cry and explain I didn’t know, it looked cool on EBay,
I am sorry to have worn one of their identifying markers ...
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picture of your shirt please
a2yzut.gif
 
so funny. love the quote "oooh look a rainbow flag.........how nice" :lol::lol::lol:

btw - can't believe how expensive anfora is!
 
letsgetdownanddirtybaby said:
I get the scenic route and pass this girl wearing red strappy high healed shoes with full C’s in what must be a red bikini top and Daisy Dukes. The black Goth bobbed short hair is the clicker and it’s the first time I’ve had an instant erection without some form of stimulation since my twenties. What an incredible sight she was at maybe 19 years old. I only wish she would have been walking a Great Dane and I most likely would have been cleaning myself off. In ****ing credible!
Click to expand...


A wee bit too much information there... :lol:

letsgetdownanddirtybaby said:
I might have got out of that one by saying, “Oh no sweetie, they’re just having a naked push up contest and the one guys trying to hold the other one down from winning. That’s why all the grunting.” But, kissing is kissing and defying any further explanation she vomited and then cried for an hour. Such a wonderful, sweet girl with that Alabama accent, 26 inch waist, and natural Ds. Mmmmm, Mmmmm.

The line of that evening was with vomit in her hair, a tear down her cheek, and a slow southern droll claiming, “That’s the saddest think I have ever seen.”

Yes, I did slay that dragon during Greek Week the following month. Got to love chicks on Beer! She needed me as much as I needed her and she went on to marry some engineer in 92. She kept sending me letters for a couple of years but you apparently do forget you’re first in some cases.
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You've lost me, sorry.
What the f*ck are you talking about? :lol::lol::lol:
 
Sorry Neilly,

i run on about BS sometimes when I write. I guess I'm just terrible at story telling.

You see Neilly, she was so revulsed at the thought of two guys kissing that she got sick.

I was glad she didn't see naked guys azz fuching as that does happen a lot in the gay section of Mardi Gras. Lots of open sex happening down there.

As far as the last paragraph...it's a brag from when i was a teenager. I was the girls first but she didn't keep up with me and i didn't keep up with her.

I like to think of myself as the luckiest nerd in the world.

So you see Neilly, there is a Santa Clause.
 
Day Three: Saturday 20 September, 2008

I awake early looking around the room to make sure the Great Comedian has not put a snake in there just to make the day fitting. After searching all closets and even in the toilet bowl I am convinced there are no homos ready to pounce on me unexpectedly and can begin my day. (I meant to say snakes, sorry homos. And let me add: not that there’s anything wrong with that)

It’s early enough to get going so after yesterdays dose of scary but fun, I think after I have a nice breakfast (yeah, it’s 9:30am), I’ll be getting some sun and actually go to the beach for a day. I actually get to use the “Board” part of the room/board once. Breakfast at the Garbi doesn’t suck but it’s obvious it also isn’t used much from the smattering of people in a full hotel actually up in time for breakfast. We are all obviously confused as to why were eating this early so no one talks to each other or as much as smiles at one another. I guess the assumption is that if we’re up that early, we mustn’t be cool (as in: not part of the “in” crowd that should be sleeping now). Obviously, there is something wrong with you so I will ignore you. Weird vibe overall but breakfast is breakfast so I chomp away at something unidentifiable that reminds me of fish with syrup. Eh?

It would make a lot more sense if they had early afternoon snack since most people aren’t up before noon but the hotel obviously knows how to make money. (I forgive you again, sweet Garbi.) I’m back to the room for a taste of Spanish Crest and then it’s right down the street to rent a scooter. The one thing I did drive while drunk in Ibiza was one of these stupid scooters. I tried to rent one the day before but it was closed in the middle of the day.

Siesta time seems stupid. It’s right in the middle of the day. How can you get anything done when you have to take a nap in the middle of your business day? Worse, how do people who are on lunch get anything done? I mean, think of all the things you can get done during your lunch hour…Not in Ibiza. No: Bank, Pharmacy, doctor, shopping, pick up the laundry, do a gym, do Jim…etc. What I am getting at with all of this is it doesn’t seem real contusive to business getting done.

So the rental company is in an old bank building across from the Garbi and a little down to the right. I’m expecting to see rental cars scattered around the outside but there are just a couple of smaller scooters in the front and nothing else. A couple I recognize from the hotel is trying to speak Spantalian to the clerk who will have none of anything other than Spanish. Finally, after he is arguing with them to speak his language for 5 minutes, he tells them in English, “No cars.” The Italian couple throw up their hands as if to end a chorous in sign language 2 party harmony and bicker at the guy as they leave. I’m left standing there, soaking in the ambiance as usual.

“Chow!” I say just to add fuel to the fire. The guy looks up to me and frowns even more deeply.

If you’ve never seen a picture of me, I could pass for any non Asian/African country native. My skin is a little Olive and my face could be anything so he’s surely thinking I’m Italian and why not have a little fun?

“Scuza, senior, Auto? Auto, Senior? No, No, senior, Auto? Auto?”

The guy is now looking like someone has stepped on the Spanish flag and considering the tip situation I talked about earlier, I don’t blame him. He looks through me and again in English says, “NO CARS!”

I look back at him, toss my U S passport on the counter, and say in plain English, “So, do you have a scooter you can rent me for 3 days with full insurance and a tank of gas?”

The look on his face says it all. What’s worse than an Italian trying to rent something you don’t have? An American, who you hate worse, is exposing your prejudice for Italians! What a fun 20 minutes we had as I know he speaks English and I force him to explain the entire contract in my language. He gives me the keys and I look him square in the face and say, “Gracias, Senior. Usted ha sido más clase y soy hoy agradecido que no soy italiano.” (You have been most kind and I am thankful today I am not Italian.)

I am sure what he said in Spanish is completely translatable but it was so fast I didn’t pick up much more than an offer for “another helmet for my mother” or something to that extent.

By the by, the rate with full insurance was 25 Euros a day for the smallest scooter so they’re making money. I am sure they have a “special walk up” rate card for those who don’t sign up in advance as I’ve seen rates for a quarter of this before arriving.
 
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Too the Beach!

The scooter is a medicinal white with a green cross on the front. I don’t know why the rental car company has chosen the same symbol as the pharmacy so I’m going to drive extra careful as I don’t want the “same symbol” discount. The beach is on my left side as I ride past the hotels to what is apparently a dead end. I want to walk and look for some shells or something so I figure I’m going to have to go a little further down the road. I backtrack a little and go toward the center of the island and then on the road in front of DC 10.

The place from the outside looks exactly like the underground bar I used to go to in college. It was called the Kingfish in Breaux Bridge, Louisiana and opened at midnight to close at 6 am. It’s got that vibe just from the look and I am sure from looking at the outside that it’s exactly what you would expect on the inside. Debauchery and trouble, the spice of life! You can't go home so rather than try to go and realize my age, I am sorry to report that I never made a trip to DC10 and there will be no “last year it was open” review from this sports fan. Perhaps someone else was sober enough to make an honest assessment and **insert here: great music, good EVAs, some hot person you might have/did with, some fight, some service stress, some ironic comedy event: wah-lah, Ibiza!**

The road is a little winding and I see a sign for a place I’ve read about: Naked Beach. (Translated: Es-Cavalet). If you’ve never rented a scooter in Spain, the distance from Playa is just enough to make it a 20 minute ride with plenty of twist, turns, and photo ops. A really nice ride for a bike as it’s not too long and the road is perfect for getting used to the traffic. After taking the left turn on what seems a road too narrow for more than one way, I am seeing on my left a vast sea of salt flats. This is obviously an old sea salt mine that someone had meticulously formed covering hundreds of acres and as far as the eye can see. It’ makes a great picture of simple technology proven effective: Let the water in, stop the flow, let the sun dry the water out, pick up salt, trade it for wine or women to the Orient who must have lost the formula like the Polish lost the formula for ice.

The road kind of dead ends in a parking lot and I’ve got my swimsuit on and thinking I’m cool, lock the helmet to the handlebars with an interesting contraption sealing a cable from the seat to the left handlebar.

There are several eateries on the beach and I pull myself up to a table at the closest one. Reason: I am going to need a drink. It’s before noon and for some reason, I am the only guy on the beach wearing pants. I was expecting the same thing you see in the US at a naked beach: grandma boobs, fat people, skinny old trucker guy, and one overweight girl with large boobs who thinks that makes up for being 100 plobes over the limit for hotness.

There was a smattering of these body types but the beach was filled with moderate naked hotness. I am now officially loving Europe! It’s not a sausage fest and I feel no compunction to cover up and join the party by removing the remaining clothing I am wearing. My only wish was that I had taken a Viagra that morning to be half chubby and be able to do a little more than brag.

The bad scotch in my hand just after noonish is starting to melt into the ice enough to kill some of the medicinal taste when I am being tapped on the shoulder.

It’s a guy in an apron who has been elected by his peers as they are standing in group by the bar watching the show. He’s holding a spray bottle of bleach and a towel and is trying to conduct the naked beach version of a cross between Pictionary and Charades. I deduce he is either telling me I am on fire and haven’t noticed yet or there are no naked people allowed in the empty eatery. I’m slipping the shorts back on and he takes the opportunity to sanitize his 100 year old, driftwood chair valued at least a half a Euro.

My fault obviously, not knowing the nakedness doesn’t extend to tables on the decking as well. It’s just another Mr. Bean moment I seem to keep having and after a couple more scotches and un-herd of one Euro tips, the bartender has seem to forgiven me but for some reason is encouraging me to go get some sun. I keep the glass and mention I’ll be right down there I point and there is no reaction as I turn to go down two log steps.

About a dozen steps into the beach I’m bringing the glass up to my lips and a hand is attempting to pull the glass away from me. It’s the bartender who has materialized to get his glass as we have obviously miss communicated our intentions. Another Bean moment passes as I slug down the remainder and hand the guy a tenner for his trouble. The towel goes, down, the pants come off, and the bartender is back freakishly fast with another scotch. I thank him profusely and try to explain it was an American concept called a “Tip.”

This doesn’t translate and there’s no reason to let good Scotch go to waste. It’s obvious he’s not leaving till he gets his glass back so down goes the alcohol and that’s 5 in a half hour so now I’m sufficiently toasted. I try to again explain the concept of tip but am sure If I give him more than the drink cost as a thank you he’ll bring back another one. So it’s a 3 Euro tip from the change and now he gets it and is basically skipping back to the bar. Eerie a guy that big can move that gracefully but I figure monster sand bartender ballet is par for the first act of the program at the naked beach.
 
A Scotch Too far.

Something about 5 scotches before lunch on a hot beach didn’t quite sit with me right so while I’m baking everything under the sun, I decide to skip the lotion and go for a walk. No, I didn’t put on lotion as when your naked on a beach of strangers, it would feel more like your spreading on lubrication; so that’s out. I did want to remain fairly flaccid so as not to upset the neighbors as of course. (Lets keep it clean people and just make inferences until this writing thing becomes a paying job.)

I’m up as the towel seems to be spinning a little and I need to walk it off. Grabbing the keys, passport and cash, I ‘m walking down the beach further south and it’s quite the scene. There is mucky seaweed covering every square inch and the sand kind of meets the beach but drops off in several foot of loosely packed but sheer sand cliff in many places. Getting too close to the edge a couple of times gives me wet cash syndrome but I’ve managed to keep the passport dry and the keys are still attached. I’ve had enough to drink so I’m screaming “Sand-valance” as I stumble head first into the sea, half covered by a falling 2 feet of sand. Naked-drunk me having a grand old time! I have to stop and clear the sea of seaweed as it's collected on me enougth to form a European showing of the classic Creature from the Black Lagoon.

I can see down the beach in the blurry distance I’ve covered about the half-way point to the dark side and need to turn back. Nothing down there but creepy things as the multi-colored warning flags are there to let you know the forbidden zone has arrived. Being a great fan of “Planet of the Apes” and knowing I was one of the few screaming at Conner to turn back from my vantage theater point, I dared not walk any further as I didn't have my "vestal virgin" sign to hang across my ass. But enough of falling into the sea, I choose to walk closer to the dunes on my way back to the towel. I’ve still had no food and the buzz has only intensified from walking it into my system.

I choose closest to the dunes to avoid kicking sand on the sun-baithers that spot the beach here and there. A few short feet into my route and there in the dunes, marked by a towel tied to shrubbery, flagging in the slight breeze, is a couple boinking away in the sand. Live porn is not so bad after all. A few more feet and low and behold, another couple banging like sand in a cooter doesn't hurt. It's so violet I'm waiting for someone to scream, "Cut, change positions, action!" I slow down my gait and wish I had my towel. “Not here, not now,” is running through my head but that thought goes away quickly as I notice the pride of stalkers. They are standing in the dunes, obviously downwind from their prey as they f’ing couples have not noticed them. Something about the look of men pleasuring themselves half hidden while watching couples bounce on a naked beach reminds me of the Lion stalking it’s prey and my half-stiffening goes away soundly. I make for the safer end of the beach and wish I had a bunny FuFu to skip through the forrest with and bop on the head in the same manner (but perhaps a little deeper in the woods though).

There’s a bit of melancholy over vacationing without the love of my life (I don’t have one but that’s what melancholy is all about, right?).

I get back to where my towel should be and am thankful I brought the important stuff. Towel and shorts are gone of course. I’m looking for someone to ask anything about but the “Bah” moment comes earlier due to the scotch and I don’t bother to ask anyone anything and head back to the bike in the parking lot. I’ve left my shirt in the locked area under the seat and through nice leftovers from a good scotch buzz have managed to fashion a short sleeved polo into a diaper. This would have been a good outfit for couples access had I been further down the beach but totally unsuitable for a drunken ride back to the hotel.

But, once again, it's Ibiza and apparantly I'm bullet proof with an unlimited budget.
 
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a brief pause to genuflect.

I'm halfway through day three of 15 and this is getting fun.

Any adivice before I pick up the pen again sports fans?

I noticed over a thousand hits but at leat 20 of those are mine so someone must be reading this junk.

Any good so far (he fishes for compliments or critiques before continuing).

sorry, so much effort must be validated.
 
geezer-beezer said:
... pics would be very nice
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... especially of her:

letsgetdownanddirtybaby said:
... this girl wearing red strappy high healed shoes
with full C’s in what must be a red bikini top and Daisy Dukes.
The black Goth bobbed short hair is the clicker and it’s the first time
I’ve had an instant erection without some form of stimulation since my twenties.
What an incredible sight she was at maybe 19 years old ...
Click to expand...

2nly35c.gif
 
this is F-ing classic mate keep it coming . Not sure how u seem to remember all these things in such detail but makes a bloody good read!
 
Has prevented me from doing any work for the past hour reading this journal:lol::lol::lol:


Superb stuff m8, itching for the next installment :twisted:
 
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