Pimm's O'clock

ENGLAND Aug 3- Aug 12

Kent. 

My arrival in England is quiet. A friendly cab driver transports us from southend airport to a neighboring town of Basildon where we've booked a hotel to lay our heads before our morning jump off to the countryside. 

Amenities I appreciate after a week at a seaside camp: Clean white towels, bathmat that isn't made of dirt, and a mattress that is thick enough that you can't feel the pebbled ground through the stuffing. The next morning Jodie whips into the parking lot in her left side drive black Mercedes and we zoom off in style, exiting the sleepy industrial town that was home for only 12 hours. 

Kent is the garden of England. Tiny villages each dotted with their own pubs. Eythorne becomes our home for most of our stay. 

This is Jodie's hometown.  The Pearson family and local crew welcome us with open arms and instigate many nights of properly laying on the drink.  We learn about Pimm's O'clock which is a phrase to describe anytime you drink Pimm's, a sugary drink popular in the UK. From the taps of The Crown Pub we enjoy an endless flow of beer and white wine spritzers. I take a shot of tequila, sambuca and Tabasco.  Yes, it's even more awful than it sounds. Never again. 

In daylight, Jodie brings us around to some local historical sites. Canturbury takes on a magical ambiance as we dine with jacket potatoes (british baked potatoes) along a trickling stream. We sit where women presumed witches used to be dunked and drowned. A morbid English history with a fairytale present. Canterbury is a delight.

Next, Dover castle. It looks out upon the Dover port. France calls our attention in the distance, appearing as a thin film of land resting on top the water. Given its proximity to mainland Europe, this castle is the site of many famous battles thoughout time and is often referred to as the "Key to England."

The Pearson family takes us out for a day of fun at the beach. Such a highlight as we get to watch Jodie's nieces play in the sand.  We hit up Broadstairs pavilion for cider and cocoa. I try my first pickled whelk, a sea snail soaked in vinegar. I will not be craving this Kent "delicacy" anytime soon. 

Next is Botany Bay, a sleepy beach 

surrounded by white chalky cliffs. A special location to end our outing for the day. 

We round out the countryside stay with a girls night of dinner and a chick flick  at Jodie's home in Alkham, the apple tree cottage. Its sits atop a spacious property and is filled with dreams of renovation and expansion. The downstairs is gutted but the contrasting upstairs encases a pristine blend of modern taste with restorative care to the ancient light switches and beautiful deep chocolate brown wooden floors. 

Punctuated amongst the activities of this visit, we catch up on every level that good friends should. I develop a relationship with Jodie's family and friends that I will forever cherish. A friendship that began in Bali two years ago now multiplies as I fall in love with  villages and the people that make this stay so special. 

Bournemouth.

The next chapter of my English experience takes me to Bournemouth.  This is a coastal town home to locals and vacationers soaking up some seaside on their August holiday. Here I get to see my Western friend Tara. Go Vikings!  

Tara and and her hubby, Josh, live in a studio flat, so we squeeze in real cozy for a weekend with my new "roommates." 

On my first full day, Josh takes me to a fancy hotel patio for lunch where we watch kite boarders and enjoys the cool breezes sweeping from the bay. 

That eve, we dine at the local Indian food joint, and scuffle off to taste some spirits at the funky local  bars.

Saturday merits a day drinking adventure. We head for the obligatory weekend morning bloody marys at slug and lettuce and post up real tough at a little bar that reminds us both of the Capitol Hill neighborhood of Seattle. Variations of Moscow mules flow... I order the Cuban mule: rum replaces vodka. 

Timely and spicy libations properly prep our palates for a pre-funk at our flat. Like true WWU Vikings we educate Josh on our shotgunning skills. 

Yate's bar ushers us up the steps where we cut the rug UP. On our walk to the stop, Aruba, we show off our stealthy roundhouse kick skills. Someone (who will not be named) ends up face down on the cement. After a good laugh we dance if off and make the timely decision to night cap with kebobs. Happy little vikings we are.

The next day is sluggish, so we snuggle up on the couch to watch the entire first season of Broadchurch, an english murder mystery. Craving a greasy dinner, we gobble up take away fish and chips.

Bournemouth is a beautiful town, even more enjoyable with the fabulous and welcoming friends that make my visit so ridiculous.  Someday they will move back to the US of A and we can roundhouse kick ourselves into embarrassment stateside.

My galavantings in England come to and end. Onward to the Netherlands to enjoy a little tiny nation that packs the punch with its deep history and bad ass culture. 

Sweet Ibiza Yurt Life

Ibiza July 27-Aug 3

My flight to Ibiza is entertaining, bordering on utterly obnoxious. Irish stag and hen groups line the plane with their stereos bumping yelling sloppy drunken cheers. I am thankful that Ellen and I choose to immerse ourselves in the other kind of Ibiza.  Rustic, hippie, and natural. We stumble into our campground at midnight to yurt number 9. Furnished with beds, lamp and a mini fridge. For the next 7 days, we live the glamping dream. 

We find a rental car, and spend the next few days basking at Chirincana beach bar with our hippie neighbors and the contrasting elegance of the beachside bars' plush white beds with cocktails in hand. Each beach offers more breathtaking views than the last. I enjoy the feel of the plush warm sand carved into a perfect crescent from the rocky cliffs that surround. The water is clear with ever-shifting shades of blue offering an impossibly picturesque view from my horizontal towel post.  A truly relaxing week at these special spots...

Sunday.

Cala benniras.

8pm, We park and doddle down the pathway to Cala Benniras arriving to a packed beach. Here, locals are famous for their Sunday sunset beachside Drum circle. The island's Hippies accumulate to drum out their emotions and sell goods out of their pop-up booths. My favorite, by far, is a shop that sells only jean shorts, for all those never nudes out there.. 

Monday.

Cala Nova.

We have a gorgeous sandy afternoon in the sun at Cala Nova beach. Swimming in the clear ocean waves, sunbathing and reading.  Atzaro beach club sits above shore where we enjoy Sangria, cava, and bites as we watch the sun disappear towards the west island.

Tuesday.

Experimental Beach Club.

We arrive and promptly reject Les Salines beach as European tourists leech themselves to the shore leaving little actual beach to enjoy. For an alternative, we drive through the eery Ibizan salt mines to discover Experimental beach club on the edge of the world. Dropped on the edge of a sandy hill, a drastic drop leads down to a rocky beach with crystal clear waters. We post up on the ivory lounge chairs, drink rose sangria, eat the best gaspacho, and refresh with a swim just off shore. Floating too far out risks a sting from the eager jellyfish, something I find out only after one brushes against my leg. I have just one strict rule during my  travels: when anything seems difficult, frustrating, or i get stung by a jellyfish; stop, drop, and drink. Recovering  from my sting merits a piña colada type cocktail pooled inside a pineapple. Any drink tastes best in a fancy, fruity, girlie container. We slurp from the long straws as the sun sets into the camel back shaped rock in the distance. My stings resolves as the alcohol numbs.

Bambuddah Grove.

After a quick campside primp we are off to Bambuddah Grove for dinner where we experience a tantalizing asian dinner with curry, sushi and creative cocktails. We are offered a shot of  liqueur Herbial, a local spirit infused with the island grown herbs like anise seed and rosemary which combine to create a smooth floral flavor burst. A liqueur we will encounter again on our island wanderings...

Wednesday.

Cala Salada.

Cala Salada beach, found in a small cove off the west coast, offers a trail leading to its younger brother beach, Cala Salita. It is here we find sea water comparable to a bath water and a day on the hot sand crouched under our small beach umbrella. We become a frequent customer of the jovial Brazilian famous for his beachside kiwi and raspberry mojitos singing Bob Marley songs with lyrical interjections of "Mojitos, yeah!" I attempt my first slack line balance with our towel neighbors. More practice needed.

Thursday.

Giri Cafe & Aguas Blancas.

Northern Ibiza is home to more beaches and quaint towns. We make a stop in San Juan for the well known Giri cafe. We enjoy the organic cuisine picked from the garden we sit in. 

Next up, aguas blancas. The walking path to the beach is a  long descent from the car park along a winding hillside, we refuse to fathom the walk back up as we let gravity push us down and more down towards the water. We nap on and off under the sun and learn to appreciate some very interesting people watching as our naked towel neighbors amaze us with the types of activities they get  into. Proving athleticism sans pants, we quickly learn, is not a pretty sight.

Friday.

Cala Dort & Es Vedrá.

Es Vedrá is a magical rock blanketed by salt water off the western coast of Ibiza. It's rumored to have a magical significance as smoke plumes out the top housing sirens and sea nymphs, attracting UFOs, and evoking mystical visions.The trip Cala d'Hort is meant to appreciate this rock and bask in all its power. Although we did not hallucinate or find profound moments of clarity, it was a spectaular view worth a look.

Saturday.

PuraVida.

Our last day in Ibiza is mellow one. We shop for some bobbles and lazy our way into late day at Puravida beach club. Catching the rural bus to the airport I depart from this amazing Island. Great Britain awaits for a relaxing stay in the Kent countryside and a seaside Bournemouth getaway in a country that proves its greatness which each new adventure.

Celtic Immersion

You know you are in Ireland when you approach the beer fridge and find that hard cider is sold in two liter plastic bottles. Well done Irish. 

Ireland is an island covered in thick overcast, think accents and thick beers. The culture is robust and reveals itself in the tiny pockets of each neighborhood. I learn quickly the you NEVER go north of the river since those streets are stapled with used syringes and riff raff that you generally want to avoid.

My home is Abigail's hostel just on the northern layer of dublin's  historically hip temple bar neighborhood. Cobblestone streets, funky restaurants and truly Irish pubs more frequent than you find Starbucks in downtown Seattle. After a day of sleeping off my jet lag and receiving my tardy checked bags, I roll out to my first business of tourism: Guinness brewery. This a well designed, self-led tour spiraling up to the 7th floor Gravity Bar with an aerial view of Dublin and a complimentary Guinness pint. A bit of history in each pint, the yeast used in the original batch made by Arthur Guinness is reborn into each new brew. 

Pheonix park is nestled nearby, but difficult to find after a my stout run-in. Upon arrival, a swan gently poised atop a pond eyes me as i walk past. Cue Billy Madison quote, "stop looking at me swan."

Later in the eve...a Pub crawl means exactly that, strolling around via cobblestone paths to find the next Classic American coverband blasting through the speakers in the next drinking space. A night to remember a night to forget. 

The next morning, I spring to my feet and an impulse decision takes me to Howth just north of the city. A town that lays claim to a lovely coastline "walk." A pure issue of irish vs american semantics. This "walk"is actually quite a difficult hike. One I am not prepared for as I walk, climb, descend, balance, repeat for 10  km along the Lush, rocky Irish cliffside. I intersect with a lovely Irish couple. They give me advice about the rest of the hike and must have noticed my American accent because as we part ways the husband yells, "...and I'm drinking a bud light!!!" revealing an opened tall can of Bud light in hand. Awesome....

I finish  my hike at the trail head near the DART station with a Stella beer at a bar called "Bloody stream." Nuff said. 

A decadent steak dinner at the chophouse in Dublin 4 neighborhood and an early evening prepares me for day #4 in dublin. 

I wake early for a run around compact trinity college campus, Dublin castle, and St Patrick's cathedral. Historical  sites that are a must see because they represent the transition from Georgian era of Irish history. In complete contrast of typical Irish cuisine, my last meal is at Cornucopia, a lovely organic/vegan restaurant. I offer this guy a quick snuggle....

That night, I fly  to the dramatic beaches, pristine countryside, and Spanish charm that makes Ibiza an island to return to... 

Onward

1:30 am Tuesday, July 23rd, I stuff my backpack full of beach gear and rain jacket. Looking forward to 5am on Wednesday when I arrive on the rainy streets of Dublin thirsty for the freshest Guinness my mouth will ever touch....

It's happening again. I abandon my beautiful Seattle life to explore compelling people and places of the world. On this go-round, I make the following stops:

-Lucky me in Dublin
-Neon Ibiza dance parties 
-High tea with Prince Harry in Great Britain
-Blisters from my wooden clogs in Holland


.....Join me on my whirlwind.....