An American in Ibiza...2010

letsgetdownanddirtybaby

letsgetdownanddirtybaby

Active Member
Ah,

back in the Baghdad Transition Center again. The only thing I like about this place is that it means I am on the way to somewhere else. Ibiza looms within 40 hours and that is keeping me going. The weather looks good to get to Dubai so it's soon, soon, soon.

Four months of no alcohol or sex... is it worth it to play in Ibiza every so often?

Heavens yes...if only the war were not ending before next summer.

Well, this was just a short note to start the psudo-blog that is my European Vacation. I still have no publisher willing to sponser a book trip so I'll continue to waste my limited tallents with this as my outlet for waxing philisophic.

With my 2008 trip review finally finished, I'll be having a "Blog Signing" improptu party in the west end on the 12th so meet me on the street and shout out "fukin-A".

It's never enough until your heart stops beating you strange love that is Ibiza.

L.
 
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letsgetdownanddirtybaby - Mate, you still on the Island? Hope your having a rocking time. Please, please, please hurry up and start writing your review, myself and a thousand others CAN NOT WAIT !!!! :)
 
I do hope Round Two is as good as Round One - am trying not to set my expectations too high because I suspect there will be an element of that 'difficult second album' following all the hype and as we are more familiar with you now, it won't be so easy to match those feats.

part of the charm of the original story was its heady mixture of naivety and weary cynicism and the fact you were quite an unusual kind of writer (at least compared to most of the crashing bores who normally congest this review forum) and I suppose the English have an insecurity complex which means they are always fascinated by how they are perceived by the US.

I have no proof, of course, that you are American, (there has indeed been whispering 'behind the scenes' that you might be an imposter from Battersea) or indeed that you have even been to the island, but nevertheless I still look forward to your account and assorted tales and would seriously advise you to approach a publisher to get this $hit put in a book asap.
 
Hi,

so no publisher yet....

but you can read the "up till now" attempts....


at www.anamericaninibiza.com

Of course all free post will continue on this site...

wouldn't forget my roots if you paid me.

I'm wrapped up in a big audit at work so it'll be a few days before I start.

the notes are completed... lets just hope i dont die of a heart attack between now and then.

L.
 
you're joking right?! you're going to charge people to read your holiday review on the internet??! :lol::lol::lol::lol:
 
I've got to find a way to make money some how...there's some kind of talent there.

No publisher is jumping up and offering me a job.

The war is ending.

I've got two awesome books in me.

You're reading me.

The pay-back should be about 5 subscribers at ten bucks for the capital outlay.

Now if I can just find some way to justify so much of my free time.

L.
 
ok, I take your point (man's gotta eat and all that) I just don't think the kinds of people who come on here will pay to read websites, esp when there is a vast number of holiday and clubbing blogs already out there. Only niche financial or porn websites can guarantee that kind of customer loyalty. But even The Times went behind a paywall in the summer and committed readers lost interest overnight. I wouldn't be suckered by the viewing figures for your threads. People won't pay. Having said that, I think a book would do very well because the publishers could really market a "from the despair of Iraq to the opulence of Ibiza" story which I'm not sure has been done before. That's where the money is to be made, because I don't think anyone on here will cough up to read website content in their lunchbreak. Who knows though? I could be very wrong and maybe your site will become a sensation? Maybe you will also include free downloads and exclusive photos of ibizans behaving badly? I don't know but having studied the newspaper industry and its online experiences for my job, I would advise you to tread very carefully.
 
Well, my roots are right here...

this is the place to post and get noticed for free.

I do have a great book in me and have decided to write professionally when the war is over. Either I write Pultzer style near-fiction or I go home.

I can see me with an apple open at the Big Apple in Puerto Galero, typing away for weeks on end:

All play and no work makes Roy a dull boy. All play and no work makes Roy a dull boy. All play and no work makes Roy a dull boy. All play and no work makes Roy a dull boy. All play and no work makes Roy a dull boy. All play and no work makes Roy a dull boy. All play and no work makes Roy a dull boy. All play and no work makes Roy a dull boy. All play and no work makes Roy a dull boy. All play and no work makes Roy a dull boy. All play and no work makes Roy a dull boy. All play and no work makes Roy a dull boy. All play and no work makes Roy a dull boy. All play and no work makes Roy a dull boy. All play and no work makes Roy a dull boy. All play and no work makes Roy a dull boy. All play and no work makes Roy a dull boy. All play and no work makes Roy a dull boy. All play and no work makes Roy a dull boy. All play and no work makes Roy a dull boy. All play and no work makes Roy a dull boy. All play and no work makes Roy a dull boy. All play and no work makes Roy a dull boy. All play and no work makes Roy a dull boy. All play and no work makes Roy a dull boy. All play and no work makes Roy a dull boy. All play and no work makes Roy a dull boy. All play and no work makes Roy a dull boy. All play and no work makes Roy a dull boy. All play and no work makes Roy a dull boy. All play and no work makes Roy a dull boy. All play and no work makes Roy a dull boy.

L.
(www.anamericaninibiza.com)
 
Dubious beginnings

A Blackhawk ride should be a little scary. It's a war bird and there is always the chance of getting shot at. Still, the roughest part of leaving Iraq is watching the flaps shake on the wings of an old M.D. that went to the lowest bidder (when they were too old to be used in the US)…I've arrived in Dubai courtesy Uncle Sam and Chartered Air Abdul. None the worse for wear and still not speaking a word of Arabic.

Somehow, I've made it out of the war again without being physically wounded. Five years and only a scratch on the back of one leg in 2007…with all the travel I do I know I'm lucky. The guys that go outside the wire carrying guns of course have it much worse but I'm really pleased with myself again. I can say i've been at war for 5 years now to any prospective date and it should garner enough sympathy to get at least a little wet.

My soul, on the other hand, can't seem to catch up with me. I tell it to meet me at the airport bar for obvious reasons and I hope it heard me. I can live without a soul as I have for months at time in Afghanistan but my shadow in the Dubai sun looks completely empty and not a bit happy that sobriety is lasting even one moment longer.

Leaving Iraq, I expected to see dust storms or some other act of God telling me not to go like in 2008. The premonitions of the desert gods failed to question my vacation making decisions and that's a poly-theistic blessing by proxy I take as good Karma. The imaginary Sand Gods apparently all agreed that I should go and have ceased blowing 100 foot visibility storms during my exit. Besides, the tickets were paid for and there will be no refunds. Try to remember that as the adventure continues as it seems to be the theme of the vacation.

The weather on the way out of Baghdad to Dubai was typical post-Ramadan hot with 0% chance of happiness. Dubai this time was such a quick stop I was able to forget how painfully bleak of a character-less town it is. You can spend years in Dubai and never actually meet someone who is from there. In fact, after 5 years of traveling through the place, I haven't even seen one except working at the customs counter. Such a pleasure when the only people you ever meet from a country are the equivalent of Drivers License Office workers and all they ever are is nice. So I guess the solution to getting people that are happy working a government job is just to pay them a ridiculous amount. Ummmm… Mirrors in the morning can be so unattractive after a 5 year equivalent of a one night stand.

My flight was leaving for Amsterdam just after midnight and my typical attitude is the less time in Dubai, the better for my soul. Every time I go through it reminds me of how much I love being somewhere else and how much money I will never have. Odd combination of emotions for tourist but it comes with the territory of being so cynical at the young age of closer to 40 than 50.

The Dubai Airport does offer something you generally don't see elsewhere and I am part of the show if you're into people watching. Go to the Irish Bar on the second level and sit on the end, looking down the bar. One by one, the stragglers from the alcohol free desert wander in and have their first drink in months. A documentary crew could spend hours just recording facial expressions and the result would be easily a prime time show.

For me, the visible change from forced sobriety to relaxed intoxication returns the light in my life. I'm pretty sure even though I've only had a couple of ounces of liquid with the first pull; I gain about 9 grams of soul back. My shadow on the bar is quite pleased and I once again begin to look at life around me with the familiar glow of what makes me happy.

The first sip is down...
The pain of war quietly leaves.
The party has officially begun.

And of course, the story of my life and all the quirks that follow me around now begin.

L.
(yes, I'm back bitches)

www.anamericaninibiza.com
 
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The witching hour

Day two (12 September 2010) starts with a run from the airport bar to the gate. I was busy tormenting the only “sort of “woman in the bar who for some reason decided to sit in the chair next to the end of the bar. I look in the mirror and see a 5 and so does every woman I've ever met. That's actually the problem. I look like the most accessible guy in the bar which means I actually get hit from time to time. Unfortunately, it's usually not by what I would consider attractive women. She's a 150 pound 5'5 mess that the first-scotch-in-4-months-goggles can't cure.

The bartender was hanging in front of me since I started a conversation in Tagalog with him. Why she was impressed I have no idea. What she should have realized was that if you're an American and able to speak Tagalog, you've slept with too many skinny and beautiful Asian women and are not interested in a woman who is beefy looking and kills people from time to time. At least that was her bull**** story.

Me being me, I couldn't' resist but to turn on what little charm I had left since I'm out of practice with nothing to loose. She of course mistook that for actual interest. My last deadline for getting to the gate on time is midnight so with ten minutes left…the fun begins.

I've reached the point in conversation with her where I just want her to go away so playing the face-full-of-drink vs. walk-away-first game seems appropriate. The annoying questions start with ten minutes on the clock.

· So you carry a gun…ever rape anybody with it?
Annoyed…answers with a smile and tip of her ball cap…
· With your line of work, have you considered boob reduction surgery?
Mildly upset…blows off the question by asking me if I have thought about it myself…touché! Game on!
· Do you ever wish you were younger?
Visibly irritated and reddening of her cheeks…is looking at me with tears in her eyes but not yet ready to throw anything at me. She gathers her things and asks for her check from the bartender. I tell him in Tagalog that I'm paying and bring it to me later. This irritates her further since she assumes I'm talking about her and her check still has not arrived. I'm sure my smirk and pointing at her didn't help.
· Why have you waited so long to get married, are you gay sometimes?
Final straw…but I didn't really get harsh so I'm figuring she's just going to walk away and she starts to do just that. I ask her to come here for a second. Stupidly, she does and I whisper in her ear.
· So, does this mean a blowjob is out of the question?
Ahhhh…she picks up my drink from the bar and attempts to throw it at me…but it's just ice. Winner! I almost feel sorry for her but she chose to be the mess she is with every fork full. My mediocre looks are God given. Who says the almighty doesn't have a sense of humor.

As far as running for the gate I mentioned earlier, I miss-calculated the direction and had to go the other side of the airport in less than 15 minutes. I got there just as they make the first call for boarding. Nothing changes in Dubai, including order, direction and tact…for hundred of years. They announce the business section and everyone rushes for the door at once. It's the typical Middle-East boarding. Everyone rushes the gate at once and no one taking a ticket cares or tries to turn the masses back. There is no order. I can't figure out if it's because of the people or the management but either way it's a laughable culture that can't even organize a boarding. I've been kept in the business lounge until the last second on many occasions but this time I'm flying economy with extra leg room on KLM so I'm enjoying the usual Dubious Fire Drill.

Something has to be said about KLM Airlines...but it's not going to be from me. I paid an extra hundred for a seat with leg room on the Red-Eye. I searched the Seat Guru for the best seat and got the one on the inside of the exit row in front. I figured there is no way I'm paying $4K for an 8 hour flight but a couple hundred more would be okay. No sooner than the doors close, a flood of people come up to the extra leg section from coach and take the empty rows. I didn't realize it at the time but I would have been better off selecting a seat one back from the exit row. It was a redeye flight that was almost empty. I could have stretched out on the pair of seats behind me since they have a removable center arm rest. Chalk that up to inexperience riding on KLM. I've paid an extra hundred Euro's and now am enviously eyeing the people who paid nothing and are will be sleeping comfortably on two seats.

A short time into the flight, the stew comes by with the drink cart. I ask for two bottles of wine and she of course gives me one and says she'll be back later. I'm missing business class but remind myself that I have $3K to give in Ibiza without feeling guilty since I didn't spend it on an airline ticket.

The stew is a masochist and enjoys torturing me by making me wait an extra 5 minutes every time I ask for another wine. I counter this by putting a 50 Euro note under the empty on my fold out table. She can clearly see the bill but still tells me she'll be back with the cart later. I wound up drinking 5 bottles eventually before getting to sleep but never actually gave her the tip. How do you tip a stew that keeps making you wait just because she has the power to make you wait a minute longer? I couldn't.

Sleep eventually faded in and I woke up to the annoying pilot's voice in several languages. There's a half hour to Amsterdam with an hour to get to my Madrid connection. The Groggy is going away as it's replaced by the mere excitement of even being in Amsterdam for the first time. I'm expecting whore's in windows at the airport and hopefully won't be too disappointed.
 
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