I leave France in a month and five days.
I'm already categorizing the items in my apartment into mental piles: To go, Toss, Store in P-baby's house.
I'm going home to celebrate my family and friends, renew some of my English/American, and make some serious life decisions. Like, where am I going to live for the next five years? Not only, what city is the best for bikes? Car travel? Stress? But, what CONTINENT.
I regret nothing about the last three years but there's been a fair amount of emotional tug and pull scattered among camembert packaging.
Maybe I'll come back after a few months. I did only live in LA for 2 years and I've lived in Rouen for 2 and Vernon for 1.
Nervy Coco.
Friday, June 28, 2013
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Ibizaaaaa
Was insane. If you know where to go and you enjoy staying up until 6am, Ibiza, a small Spanish island, is the place for you.
We crashed a private party the first night, accidentally of course, but were told deliberately we weren't welcome there by the female attendees. Whoops! It was in a hotel bar, and a party was being held for the employees, with an open bar. We thought we would just be friendly to everyone and not be noticed so far in the back of the room, but pretty soon there was, "Quiénes son!" WHO ARE THEY?? from the girls. Le sigh. We left and got some early beauty rest for the all day pool party Friday, complete with cirque du soleil acrobats. (No matter how I try, I can't escape you France....) Seriously random entertainment (CDS acrobats suspended from A CRANE over the pool, an undercover singer bar-mitzveh style, a saxophonist, go-go dancers, more CDS spectacle) but excellent fun in the sun.
We missed David Guetta's show at Pacha the night before but went anyway for a different DJ and had a great time, meet great people. It was like any other club in Vegas and just as expensive if not more so with currency conversion (17 euros for a shot. A SHOT. And 15 euros for a drink. Los bastardos!) but we had a blast. We also meet a group of Welshmen whom I literally could not understand. Not like the music was blaring or I was drunk (I wasn't...until later) but I had no idea what they were saying unless they enunciated and repeated themselves at least five times. I've heard the Welsh accent is different and had met one or two Welsh girls but this was like Deep-South-Redneck-Games-difficult-to-understand-English. They were incredibly nice but me and Alma just kept looking at each other with plastered smiles, like, You...no? You don't, either? KAYGOOD.
Kehakuma Club Opening Party was Saturday night and true to Spanish form we left our hotel at midnight, waited in line for an HOUR (in heels) then paid 40 euros to get in at 1:30 AM. We stayed until 5, went to bed at 5:30, napped for an hour then got up at 6:30 to catch our 8am flight. Perf. ROCKSTARS.
Notes for Next Time or anyone seeking info on Ibiza clubs:
1.) Ibiza is not Vegas. People were flip flips, sneakers, and jeans to clubs. Like, really.
2.) Still not Vegas. We wore really cute, short, tight, sequin-y Vegas dresses (how often do I dress up to pound the cobblestones in Rouen?) and waited in line FOR AN HOUR. Sorry, I'm still upset, apparently. But in Vegas that would never in a million years happen. Not only that, I think I saw a handle out of the literally thousands of people in that club dressed up like we were.
3.) Bars give out glass drinks. And then people idiotically leave them on the floor of the dance hall where they get smashed by flip flops - don't ask - for people to DANCE ON. (there's a lot of caps in this post today) People don't accidentally dance on them and then freak out and ask someone to clean up the glass shards, they just literally just dance, totally unaware or unbothered. I'm actually glad I wore my three inch hells, if anything because they lifted me above the drink carnage and saved my feet. On the other hand I didn't realize how bad it was to DANCE ON GLASS SHARDS until I walked out limping unevenly. Uneven, rocky surfaces and house music really do a number on your knees.
27.
I also got carded for beer at a supermarket. *Pats self on shoulder* That's not bad for a 27 year old right? Especially given we slept for five hours and the drinking age in Spain is 18!! I gave the 20 year old cashier clerk a good once over, but she seemed totally awake and sane.
We also went to a picturesque pristine white sand beach on an island 20 minutes away by ferry and returned in time for the sun to come out in Normandie for the beginning of June. Beautiful. As that very well might be my last European travel until I go back to California in August, it was a lovely trip and I have zero complaints.
Hasta luego IBIZZAAAAAAA!
We crashed a private party the first night, accidentally of course, but were told deliberately we weren't welcome there by the female attendees. Whoops! It was in a hotel bar, and a party was being held for the employees, with an open bar. We thought we would just be friendly to everyone and not be noticed so far in the back of the room, but pretty soon there was, "Quiénes son!" WHO ARE THEY?? from the girls. Le sigh. We left and got some early beauty rest for the all day pool party Friday, complete with cirque du soleil acrobats. (No matter how I try, I can't escape you France....) Seriously random entertainment (CDS acrobats suspended from A CRANE over the pool, an undercover singer bar-mitzveh style, a saxophonist, go-go dancers, more CDS spectacle) but excellent fun in the sun.
We missed David Guetta's show at Pacha the night before but went anyway for a different DJ and had a great time, meet great people. It was like any other club in Vegas and just as expensive if not more so with currency conversion (17 euros for a shot. A SHOT. And 15 euros for a drink. Los bastardos!) but we had a blast. We also meet a group of Welshmen whom I literally could not understand. Not like the music was blaring or I was drunk (I wasn't...until later) but I had no idea what they were saying unless they enunciated and repeated themselves at least five times. I've heard the Welsh accent is different and had met one or two Welsh girls but this was like Deep-South-Redneck-Games-difficult-to-understand-English. They were incredibly nice but me and Alma just kept looking at each other with plastered smiles, like, You...no? You don't, either? KAYGOOD.
Kehakuma Club Opening Party was Saturday night and true to Spanish form we left our hotel at midnight, waited in line for an HOUR (in heels) then paid 40 euros to get in at 1:30 AM. We stayed until 5, went to bed at 5:30, napped for an hour then got up at 6:30 to catch our 8am flight. Perf. ROCKSTARS.
Notes for Next Time or anyone seeking info on Ibiza clubs:
1.) Ibiza is not Vegas. People were flip flips, sneakers, and jeans to clubs. Like, really.
2.) Still not Vegas. We wore really cute, short, tight, sequin-y Vegas dresses (how often do I dress up to pound the cobblestones in Rouen?) and waited in line FOR AN HOUR. Sorry, I'm still upset, apparently. But in Vegas that would never in a million years happen. Not only that, I think I saw a handle out of the literally thousands of people in that club dressed up like we were.
3.) Bars give out glass drinks. And then people idiotically leave them on the floor of the dance hall where they get smashed by flip flops - don't ask - for people to DANCE ON. (there's a lot of caps in this post today) People don't accidentally dance on them and then freak out and ask someone to clean up the glass shards, they just literally just dance, totally unaware or unbothered. I'm actually glad I wore my three inch hells, if anything because they lifted me above the drink carnage and saved my feet. On the other hand I didn't realize how bad it was to DANCE ON GLASS SHARDS until I walked out limping unevenly. Uneven, rocky surfaces and house music really do a number on your knees.
27.
I also got carded for beer at a supermarket. *Pats self on shoulder* That's not bad for a 27 year old right? Especially given we slept for five hours and the drinking age in Spain is 18!! I gave the 20 year old cashier clerk a good once over, but she seemed totally awake and sane.
We also went to a picturesque pristine white sand beach on an island 20 minutes away by ferry and returned in time for the sun to come out in Normandie for the beginning of June. Beautiful. As that very well might be my last European travel until I go back to California in August, it was a lovely trip and I have zero complaints.
Hasta luego IBIZZAAAAAAA!
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