Excellent hotel!! Very nice people and great service. It's only a 1 minute walk to the beach and the store's/shops/market are around the corner... Beautiful boulevard at night with music, food and many people shopping souvenirs.

Il nous aura fallu une dizaine de jours pour en venir à bout ce moteur ! Dire que Benoît s'est même rendu près de Draguignan pour nous ramener LA pièce à changer. Soit la bagatelle de 1500 km en 51h....Puis un jour le moteur à fait un bruit des plus reconnaissable. C'est pas que ce soit un joli bruit mais il nous disait tout simplement que c'était enfin reparti ! Je m'étais habitué à avoir les mains pleins de camboui...

Départ pour les Baléares ratés. A peine éloigné des côtes que le moteur d'appoint du bateau nous pose quelque souci...en gros, au lieu d'envoyer de l'eau dans le moteur pour le refroidir l'eau part dans les fonds du bateau...A pas bon...S'impose donc une rentrée au port...à la voile. Pas si simple quand on sait que le bateau pèse 9 tonnes.

Freedom. All day long. No plans. Nothing. Be there for dinner at seven. Don't die. Those were the rules laid out for us on our last day in Spain.

We woke up late morning, but since the one cell phone we had was uncharged, I decided to call the front desk to ask them what time was. I called, and the woman picked. I spoke very simple Spanish:

"¿Qué hora es? What time is it?"

"¿Qué quieres? What do you want?"

"La hora. ¿Qué es la hora? The time. What is the time?"

"No te entiendo. I don't understand you."

"Joder. Hora. Fuck. Time."
 
And then I hung up. I know my accent is bad, but sheesh...

We later discovered that it was ten o'clock. Hungry, my roommates, one of the boys, and I set off through the beach town, searching for good, cheap food. Passing by many restaurants,  it was not long until we found a random square where there were a bunch of tables. We sat down and ordered two pizzas to split. After we ate those, we got hungry again, so we got another pizza (I think we might have eaten all the food they had in the place). Then, it was back to the hotel for our swimsuits and to the beach.

I never knew the Mediterannean Sea was so cold. But as we set our things down and waided into the freezing cold water, all of us cried out in shock. It was summer, after all. Unfortunately, a boat (with about twice as many people as its capacity, from the looks of it) went sailing past, creating large waves. So while I had been up to my ankles in water, it was suddenly at my waist. Not. Fun.

Of course, we forgot our towels, so we laid on the warm sand, tanning (yes, I'm not as white as I used to be!). We tried as hard as we could not to notice the nudity around us, but we failed.

Beaches in Europe are a lot different than those in American. We have indecent exposure laws. But you can take off your top and laze around no matter what. Don't get me wrong--I like the idea of being comfortable with your body, no matter the shape or size. But I did not like seeing a sixty year-old, obese man pulling down his speedo and using it to sit on. Not. Pretty.

When we got back to the hotel, we were covered in sand from the beach, since we had been towelless. The sand was different from that on the beaches back home. Instead of the fine grain, it was like a bunch of tiny, little rocks.

"Boulders between your toes..."

Of course, a bunch had gotten into my bathing suit. So when I took it off, the little rocks went all over the floor. When I emerged from the bathroom, clothed, I nonchalantly said, "My crotch rocks are all over the bathroom floor."

Nothing very interesting happened again until after dinner. There was plenty of light out, so we were allowed to run amock. First, we spent what Euros we had left at a local souvenir stand, where everything was cheap. I bought some rolling paper, and, since I didn't know if it was legal or not, I stowed it in a pair of socks, just in case of customs.

I finally found a cheap, cafe that had international phone service, so I called almost everyone I knew. Of course, my friends have lives, so most of them didn't answer their phones. But I did manage to talk to a few of my biffles.

Back at the hotel, everyone else in the group decided to take a sunset walk on the beach. My roommates and I opted to stay behind "to pack." Really, we were causing mischeif.

First, it was the soccer coach. Our hallway was a cluster fuck of noise. There was a team of ten year-old soccer players in town for a tournament, but the coach...damn, was he hot. We stood in the hallway pretending to talk at first, but when he went down into the lobby, we pretended to get food from the vending machine. Unfortunately, he had gone back up while we had gone down.

Then, there was the "packing" we decided to do. We had discovered that by climbing over the balcony, we could get into the boys' room. We almost fell to our deaths, but it was all in good fun. We got into their room (since the balcony door was unlocked), and began to fold all their clothes. Except for the boxers. We used a large flower (for Julia, the greatest calculus teacher EVERRRRRRRRR) to move those out of the way and left them in a pile on the bed. We organized their souvenirs into cute little piles, giggling all the while. Then, as we were finishing up, we heard the boys outside the door.

"Where did you put the key...?"

As quickly as we could, we bolted from the room, slamming the door shut, and then hopping over the balcony onto our room, and running into the room, throwing our balcony door shut. Immediately, I grabbed a class from the bathroom and pressed it against the wall between the rooms.

"Who folded all our clothes?!"

It took everything in us not to giggle when the boys knocked on our door, asking if we had seen anyone in their room. I went into the bathroom because I couldn't keep a straight face. The boys came to the conclusion that someone else in our group had done it.

It became total chaos in the hallway. Ten year-olds were running around screaming as we skipped through the halls, clicking castanets together and singing songs. I felt bad for everyone else who was staying in the hotel, but then again, they clusterfucked the tourists and the elementary schoolers together.

We all hung out in the hallway for a while, several of us observing the soccer coach, before retreating into our own rooms. One girl wanted me to teacher her how to do make-up, but I lied and said that I hadn't brought any of my good make-up with me. I just didn't want to teach her. Is it really so difficult to put some powdery shit on your eyelid?

And so came to end our final day in Spain...next, the plane flight home. More eventful than you might think.

The morning was a bit of a blur. I vaguely remember quick, rushed farewells to our fellow travelers. It was the only people from our school going on to Blanes, in Costa Brava. Part of the group was going to spend another week in Spain (I was very jealous). It was back onto Julia for an hour drive up the coast. After short conversation, most of us slept for the duration of the bus ride. Exhaustion was beginning to catch up.

We arrived, got settled into our hotel, and we were off. I went with three other girls walking around the area. It was a small, beach town, sort of like you might find in Southern California, except much more European. I managed to find some cute clothes, and, after getting hit on by one of the shop owners, we grabbed a quick bite to eat at a cafe across the street from our hotel.

I never really will figure out if I'm really good at Spanish, or if I suck majorly. One woman and I made fun of the three I was with who can't speak a word of Spanish, but then another one couldn't understand when I asked where the nearest gelateria (ice cream parlor) was. For the most part, people seemed to be able to understand what I was saying, though I did have to use some big hand gestures; but at least I got to brush up on my miming.

In the afternoon, we mostly checked out the hotel. It wasn't as terrifying as the one in Montpellier, but the swimming pool was fun. The outdoor one was freezing (I got hypothermia), but the indoor was almost spa-like. We got bored, and then decided to get ready for flamenco. Unfortunately, one of the girls was challened in all areas concerning that of the female (hair, make-up, fashion). So I did her hair. Her make-up. Picked out her outfit. Let me tell you how difficult that was. She really wanted to wear this one shirt, which really didn't look that great on her, but I had some energy, so I was able to lie. At least I made her make-up look good, but I'm really sad I didn't have my eyelash curler with me at the time. My roommates came in and gave me a "What the fuck" look, but I could only roll my eyes and mime killing myself (I was becoming an excellent mimer at this point).

After dinner (and a mad dash for lemon ice cream), we piled onto a mini-Julia to go to flamenco. The bus ride was enjoyable as always, but I was cursed with the "danger de morte" seat. It was the only one with a broken seat belt. Damn them. We had a bit of a fiasco when I couldn't remember a line from Harry Potter, but it was from the movie, so it was understandable (I thought of it eventually).

Some how, our bus driver managed to get lost, and we ended up in the middle of a medieval dinner at a mini castle. I was trying to get the knight on a horse to wave at me, but he didn't, so I flipped him off. Once we actually managed to get to the flamenco, it was quite different than I thought it would be. First, one man took my ticket, and then kissed my hand, which no one has ever done before. Plus, he was good-looking, so it made everything better. Then you took a picture with two guys in costume as well. One of them looked EXACTLY like James Potter. It was the highlight of my day (and possibly the trip).

At the tables, we were given complimentary styrofoam (at least it tasted that way), champagne, sangria, ooke, and grape soda (for the non-drinkers). Apparently, sangria is a drink that is meant to be drunk slowly. We didn't know that, and next thing you know, three pitchers had come and gone. It was actually pretty cheap and gross, but hey, alcohol is alcohol. The champagne wasn't too bad either.

The flamenco was really exciting. There were a few introductory acts that consisted of musicians singing and dancing (including James Potter!!!). Then the flamenco dancers came out. There were many lights and fog machines. One of the male dancers looked like Chuck Norris, so that's what we called him. One chick sort of looked like Eva Mendes if she were a bit older.

Out of nowhere, I suddenly felt exhausted. There was loud music, tons of lights, and dancing, but I managed to practically fall asleep. I could barely keep my eyes open. I don't know how.

We almost died (again) on the way back home. The driver was absolutely horrible. He ran into another bus, almost ran over an old woman, and then he nearly backed into a fountain. It sort of sounded like he had the bus in the wrong gear the entire time. Like reverse instead of one.

Once back at the hotel, we didn't really do much of anything. Contemplated hopping over the balcony the boys' room, decided we were too lazy, showered, and went to bed.

What happened on our last day? Pure freedom. Bwhahaha. The baguettes come full circle!