ii La Guapa Picante Y La Picantita Picante !!

Our new aliases above were partially gleaned from an amalgamation of catcalls mixed with observations of local couple behavior in delicate tourist mode. The man would pose against a scenic backdrop, whilst the girlfriend would crouch down from all sorts of most-flattering angles, photographing him with a point-and-shoot cheapee and exclaiming, "Ooooh, Guaaapo!" (oh, handsome!) Sometimes the girl would get a quick chance to pose at the end for one, if she was lucky and as Guapo, one might assume. Here, Guapa Picante and I try to imitate the local motion with flair and grace, naturallly.













































NO JOKIN' MATTER! After a few dizzying mojitos on some cliff-shack of a bar overlooking the sea, I got what I thought was #13,487 in a long line of mosquito bites. Instead, when we returned to the hotel room, it swelled up like a bad balloon and got wicked burning hot. Yick. I surmised a probable spider bite until raving delirium set in and I knew nothing but how to stutter and agonize! The red "area" spread all over my leg and I burst into a rabid fever and my face grew tight and sweaty like a mask? Total. Spider. Poison. Jenny was on the verge of taking me to El Hospital, but the fever and bite subsided after a mere two hours of tense uncertainty and paranoia. 'Ware the vicious underbar table spiders on the Isle of Formentera, Lassie! Woooooh, spooky.

WeeBeasties

The critter du jour on the island were by far the lizards. Turkish Geckos, we think, were rampant and agressively friendly across the board here. Our favorites were at our hotel, the top-notch Cala Soana, who incidentally went MAD for ice cream!? I dropped a bit of my Dove bar with dark cacao on the sands and they bolted up and battled for it!! Only occasionally looking up at us with chocolate smeared little dry lips, like "WHAT." We were delighted and mulled over laying down a sugar feast, but the thought of tiny lizard heart failure set us straight. Instead we gave them old cheese and videotaped the demise of the mound....Okay, okay...Did I mention it was fricking HOT there? Brain-meltingly hot?




































The cloven ones, creepy and cuddly and slightly demonic as goats go, weighed on the sadder side, with their front and back legs tied together to prevent wall-jumpin' or boltin' or gettin' busy or basically, walkin' very much at'll. We nipped our rope-clipping urges, albeit barely. Home on fig and almond farms with old, dry, perfect walls snaking up the parched vistas and old, dry, perfect elderly crones toiling away as tourists zipped past on wobbly mopeds, as if on another dimensional plane altogether.

The Respite and Reflection starring the pristine and remote Isle of FORMENTERA

Crispy and overloaded by stimulation, we concluded that the best wrap up for our journey of wanderings would be someplace without culture. Jenny and I have a tendency to be busy little brains and chatters, so relaxation must sometimes be undertook like a job. Embracing just a tad more debt, we scoured the islands we could putt putt over to- namely Mallorca, Menorca, Ibiza or Formentera. Ibiza forged dated and wonderous images of Bardot and Jagger circa 1967 in bleached villas and lazy sex-laden styles. It turns out that a high percentage of the island is only on pleasure drugs and dancing to incredibly horrific techno music until dawn now. Damn. We managed to eke out the last available room on the popular Formentera and practically the last ferry spots. Once arrived, we succumbed quickly to the ample warm embrace of its simplicity. Seriously. If you had put your ear to one of ours and listened, the sound in our skulls was akin to a conch shell, whistling, hollow and at peace. Lighthouses, cacti, farms, tapas and fish shacks, salt ponds, pine trees, white boxy villas, bicycles, cliffs, caves and most of all, BEACH. The whole coastline is dotted with free beaches facing the Mediterranean and ranging from rage filled grassy whirlpools to clear bath tempered sandy calm bays with million dollar yachts at anchor for days in the outer waters. Unbelievable? Stunning? Lucky.

Truckers Take Ferries Too!

HUH.
(Double click on pic for closer inspection)
































The really very super uber special part of our trans-Med cruise was Ferry Number 2. After a dawn port docking in Ibiza (pronounced Ee-BEE-tha), and a cranky panic about coordinating our weird routes and timings, we waited a second-dripping-by 3 plus hours only to squeeze onto an open-air trucker ferry that rarely saw pedestrian or civilian traffic. On board a moaning mother of a barge with: A large amount of Garbage, a big ole Tree, an entire House (see photo) and a bunch of smarmy truckers. Refreshing and nauseating at the same time, we just set our eyes on the prize on the horizon and forged ahead like good sailors do.

Ferry Number One = Afternoon Delight

Skeptics on the magic of the cosmos

Jenny and Miss A continue to make special friends along the trip!

































These grumps were not enjoying the show! Dour yuppies ARE a worldwide phenomenon, who knew?

Ferry not as in Brian: TOWARDS FORMENTERA!

Hopalong and Lil' Pea took the Citreon and ventured South into regions unknown via Ferry! Procuring a cabin with woolly anchor blankets and amid bronzed Ibiza party-goer stokers, we watched the coast of Spain recede and swaggered with the sway of the rhythm of the Mediterranean.













































"Showing Biscuit"

From ATLANTIS to CHARLES MANSON to DALI to VASCO DE GAMA to PROSTITUES to CLINTON to THE INVISIBLE MAN!

Ok, laugh if you must, but Barcelona's Museo de Cera was THE best wax museum (next to of course, Baltimore's spectacular Blacks In Wax Museum) that I've ever seen! Down in tourist central and fairly empty except for the odd and overtly friendly staff and housed in a dark creepy old building, one was led through endless corridors of strangely arranged sections of history! Clandestine photos and gap mouthed amazement powered us through. THE highlight? Luke Skywalker looking like a drag queen? Nice wig, baby!