I have a few American friends and it’s fair to say that, on more than one occasion, things I’ve said have got completely lost in translation. My English accent has, of course, been admired by our transatlantic allies, but my … Continue reading
Oh the Parisian dream! When I was little I wanted nothing more than a Haussmann-style apartment overlooking the Jardin du Luxembourg and to take my obscenely small dog for walks along the Seine. I envisaged my twenty-something self rolling around around … Continue reading
It’s astounding how one place can be so paradoxically exquisite and outrageous. Ibiza, the White Isle, la Isla Blanca, is one of the most stunningly beautiful places I’ve ever visited where white houses reflect the sun against a backdrop of glistening turquoise sea. At night the mountains form charcoal silhouettes against the lilac sky and the cool, white waves lap gently against the still and silent rocks. Yachts, ferries and cruise liners come and go from the island’s numerous harbours while onlookers catch rays upon the hot, white sand.
Ibiza’s reputation preceded it and the combination of party and paradise seemed like the perfect end to my Erasmus year in Spain. It was everything and nothing I’d expected. It was every bit as crazy outrageous as I’d imagined, yet far more breathtakingly beautiful than could ever have hoped for. The parties are big and the prices are bigger with the average club entry fee rolling in at a jaw-dropping 40 euros; don’t even get me started on the drinks… Every cloud has a silver lining, however, and boy did I cash in on those silver linings! On island plagued by boisterously ignorant teenage British binge-drinkers, a British-born resident of Spain with a decent grasp on the language is certainly a novel and welcomed guest. If I had a euro for every time someone expressed shock/confusion/gratitude at this little gringa’s language skills I’d be…well I’d only have about five euros but that’s beside the point. Respect, empathy and a little cultural understanding can take you a lot farther than the Balearic Islands, but in this instance the gratitude of an Ibizan bartender for my speaking Spanish got me 24 euros’ worth of free shots. ¡Toma!
Watch this space for my Ibiza mini guide!
(Originally for Third Year Abroad) In previous posts I’ve been a little hard on my new home and I’d just like to point out that Spain really is not that bad. Sí, the Spanish are horrendous with money, but so … Continue reading
Somedays I step out of my flat and I may as well be wearing a Union Jack trench coat complete with matching bowler hat and Queen Elizabeth II mask, and throw in a Beatles tribute band to follow me around … Continue reading