Nope, not even close.
The kayaks were all two-seaters and my new Australian friend, Steve, kindly offered to pair up with me... a decision I'm sure he came to regret many times over.
We managed to get into the kayak without tipping it over but I discovered that there was very little back support, and after only ten minutes my back and abdomen muscles were wailing like banshees. As with Gilligan I had signed up for a two hour tour. Super! (Didn't mean that superlative.)
Although the
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| These were our |
Our
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| Our guide was built like a German Shot Put Champion |
To relieve some of the pressure on my back I pulled my feet towards my body but this raised my knees in the air and I kept smacking them with the damn oar, which was so distracting I had a hard time keeping rhythm with Steve, who was in the front of the kayak. He kept repeating, patiently, "It helps if we row together."
I kind of lost track of the time, but after nearly an hour we rowed into a sort of secluded area. I told Steve, "If she's just going to row in there and come back we should stay here and wait for her." The other guide, who was apparently responsible for stragglers (i.e. us), yelled for Miss Trunchbull to stop. She did and I was kind of amazed by how quickly she was able to row back to us. Not tired at all. The guides jabbered at each other in Spanish and I'm pretty sure he was saying that the sweaty old guy was very tired, and she was saying, "I don't care."
In broken English she finally managed to convey to us that there was a nice beach up ahead and we could rest there for a few minutes. So off we went.
When we reached the sand Steve hopped gracefully out of the boat. Me... not so much. There was very little strength left in my legs and when I finally managed to stand a miniscule wave hit me and I tumbled backwards into the water. I was too tired to be embarrassed.
It was a pretty little beach. Wish we could've stayed there for another two or three days, but Miss Trunchbull had us back in the water after about ten minutes.
Steve pulled the Kayak into the ocean while I pretended to help, then he climbed in easily. I stumbled into the boat and promptly tipped us over. Crap. We tried again and this time, thankfully, we stayed upright, which was a good thing because I was pretty sure I didn't have the strength to try again.
Steve started to row and I attempted to follow his lead. Except we weren't moving. Had I completely lost all strength in my arms??? Nope, while Steve's end of the boat was floating in the water, my end was stuck in the sand. No, no, no, no. I rowed harder.
"Uh, John, we're grounded. You need to get out."
Not this sailor. I pushed on the sand. Then I desperately tried to dig some of the sand out from under the sides of the boat using my oar. Please... please... don't make me stand up again.
"John, you have to get out of the boat, buddy."
MERDE! (That's a bad French word.)
I painfully pushed myself out of the kayak and helped Steve move it further away from shore. Not sure how I did it, but I fell into my seat without knocking both of us into the water again. Now all I had to do was find the strength to row for another hour to get back home. Ugh.
Honestly, the rest of that trip back was just a blur of pain, fatigue and nauseau. More than once I had to stop while Steve, in the front of the kayak with his back to me, kept rowing. Sometimes I would splash the water with my hand and make a grunting noise to make it at least sound like I was doing my part.
Steve was getting pretty tired, too, which could explain why we kept zig zagging. We'd start drifting to the right so we'd row on just one side until we were going straight again. Then we'd start drifting to the left. I just wanted to go home and we were having to row twice as far because we couldn't keep the damn kayak going in a straight line!
After an eternity we were back where we started. I used the last of my strength to stand up and we trudged back to the shop to drop off our life jackets and other gear. My knee was bleeding from whacking it so many times with the oar. Didn't even feel it.
For lunch we walked over to a thatched roof hut on the beach and had an authentic Spanish BBQ. (Pretty Simple took care of everything.)
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| We had a BBQ lunch here -- it was sooooo gooood! |
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| They had corn, sausage, chicken, beef and more... cooked over this open fire |
The owner was super friendly and he enthusiastically encouraged me to try a thick dark sausage, rattling off a name in Spanish that I didn't understand and don't remember. I was too exhausted to question him so I just nodded.
After a few minutes he brought out some fennel bread, an ice cold beer, and some of the cooked meat. (He included a spicy sausage and some chicken.)
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| Sausage, chicken, and a bread with garlic and fresh tomatoes. The cold beer was indescribably good. |
As the owner said, the large sausage was fantastic. I had finished about half of it when Steve sat down across from me. (Glad to see he was still talking to me.) "Hey, cool. You're eating one of my favorite foods ever. Blood sausage."
Say what now???
To be honest, I've always wanted to try blood sausage but I wasn't aware that I had already started. It's basically congealed blood mixed with a filler and some spices, then pumped into a sausage casing. It wasn't too bad! Or maybe I was just too damn tired to care.
I thought I had signed up for snorkeling in the afternoon, but it was an intro to SCUBA diving instead. Wasn't sure how the mixup happened until I recalled our Skype conversation while I was in Seattle:
PRETTY SIMPLE
(thick French accent)
(thick French accent)
For afternoon activity you choose plongee?
ME
Plongee? What's that?
PRETTY SIMPLE
Uh... go in water... uh... like swimming...
ME
Snorkeling? Do you mean snorkeling?
PRETTY SIMPLE
What's this "snorkeling"?
ME
You swim underwater with a tube
thing, so you can breathe.
thing, so you can breathe.
PRETTY SIMPLE
Ah, yes, plongee.
ME
Sure, sign me up for that!
I enjoy snorkeling but I have never been that excited to dive, and since every muscle in my body was aching I just went back to the room and spent about two hours in my Jacuzzi. Ahhhhhhhhh...
That night we took a bus into Ibiza for a tour of the 500 year old Citadel. It was breathtaking.
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| Dalt Vila is also known as High Town. The massive walls were built in the 16th Century. |
After our tour we had dinner at one of the most famous clubs in Ibiza: "Pacha". We were served sushi, some delicious gyoza, and then a teriyaki steak for dinner.
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| The teriyaki style steak at Pacha was good |
After our fine meal many folks stuck around to enjoy the club. Pretty Simple had buses running back to the hotel every hour starting at midnight until 5:00 AM. (Longer, actually, because there was a time change in the middle. So the 2:00 AM bus ran twice!)
It was too dark in the club to take any pictures, so I just listened to the music while my pant legs vibrated in time with the very loud bass beat.
I headed home at about 1:00 AM and when my head hit the pillow I almost instantly fell into a deep sleep.
Or at least I tried to sleep. No sooner had I closed my eyes than my phone began to vibrate. I picked it up and saw a message from Melanie:
MELANIE(TEXTING)
Are you back yet?
ME(TEXTING)
Yes. Beyond tired. Love you. Night.
I shut off the phone and laid back. ZzzzzzZZZzzzzz.
BZZZT! BZZZZT!
MELANIE(TEXTING)
Did you have fun? Do you have your wallet?
ME(TEXTING)
Yes and yes. Will tell you more tomorrow. Night!
I put the phone back on the nighstand.
BZZZT! BZZZZT!
I tried to just sleep, but that vibration sound is like hearing your baby cry. It's impossible to ignore.
MELANIE(TEXTING)
Are you angry with me? I'm sorry.
ME(TEXTING)
Not angry. Just tired. Signing off.
I turned the phone off completely and fell asleep.
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