"Translucent, WHITE leeches!"

...says Stella, scaring the crap out of me at dinner, as she's telling me the story of why she hiked so fast through the Malaysian rain forest.

mid-hike in a place WITHOUT white leeches

September 18, Monday

It's moving day! Today is all packing, cleaning, airporting, waiting, flying...

To Menorca! Or Minorca! I see both everywhere, and that lack of distinction makes me crazy. But the town uses Menorca, so I'm using Menorca. 

We're staying in Maó! Or Mahon! Same as above, so I'm sticking to Maó. The lack of clarity bugs me in a real pebble-in-my-sock kind of way. These are the little things that feel like indicators of big things that I'm running into all over the place, all of a sudden. I've been traveling long enough now, that I'm hitting an introspective phase. Yeah, it's as fun for me as it is for you. 

view from our front door, down and up the street

Back to Maó. Our new home is beautiful. Perfect. Yes, okay, we'd like a nice big picture window with a view and stronger wifi, but otherwise primo. 

What it looks like when I order half a kilo of jamon
because I don't understand how heavy a kilo is

The amount of space Stella and I have now -separate bedrooms, in a space roughly four times bigger than our Barcelona studio apartment - is a big adjustment for me. We're no longer right on top of each other, so we're no longer mind-merged. At one point in Barcelona, I told Stella I was ET to her Elliot. Because of our prolonged proximity, I felt so connected to her that when she had a bad night of sleep, I was exhausted despite my healthy coma sleep.

It's interesting to navigate the growing pains of spreading my wings to adjust to the new space, new town, new scene. I try to cope with a chocolate pastry the size of my head, but just end up with a tummy ache. 

September 19, Tuesday

I wake up READY. Amped. Restless. I am a terror of energy. Piggy-backing on my ET/Elliot train of thought, without Stella's immediate proximity to neutralize my neurotic, over-revving engine, I have a lot of battery to burn. I've got a new town to conquer, new things to see, new plans to make, new bus schedules to decipher, new markets to explore, new shoes to buy! It is 6am. 

shoes so famous, they're our keychain!

A couple of hours later I burst out the front door to run a couple errands in town. Our apartment is smack in the middle of the central village, so "in town" is one block away. I still get lost, and it feels glorious. The mania that needed something to do finally has a purpose: Figure It Out. I let myself be lost and explore. I discover, I connect dots, I use my instincts and my iPhone maps and I find myself again. I feel better. 

Later, I take Stella to the market I found which is a collection of local vendors selling under one roof, like the Fairfax Farmer's Market. We regret going to the "real" supermarket last night because this place is heaven's heaven without toilet paper. (Seriously, none in any of the restroom stalls.) Here starts my shoe craving. 

Menorca is known for these cute unisex sandals called Avarcas. They're handmade, comfortable, and unbelievably reasonably priced. I want all the colors!

OG Maps App

It's an overcast, sprinkling day. We walk around the harbor exploring shoe stores and whatever else we can find for a couple of hours. Having not done my research for what Menorca has to offer (shoes! Also? Cheese!), last night I scoured the stack of local articles and tourist leaflets our Air BnB host had for us and discovered Camí de Cavalls. 

Camí de Cavalls is a 185km footpath that goes around the circumference of Menorca. It's broken into 20 sections of varying difficulty and features stunning natural beauty in all the varying biospheres the island has to offer. Once I know this, I cannot unknow it, and I HAVE TO HIKE IT. 

Each leg of the route looks better than the last, but I opt for Section 1: Maó to es Grau, a medium grade, 10.3km section, mostly out of convenience. Getting anywhere on Menorca involves a bus schedule and patience that I can't dig up being as manic as I am right now. 

I basically used The Force to get here

I have two maps, both from this kickass guide I bought of the Camí de Cavalls from the Tourist Office, both covering different portions of the hike. Basically, I'm fumbling around using paper maps for the first time in years. It leads me to walk along the highway on an incline for 2 miles with no assurance I'm on the right path. I'm... perturbed. But I'm moving, and moving is all I can do at this point. I know I'm going the right way, so I keep on. 

I see my first view of water and I squeak. I walk into Sa Mesquida and I forget about the last hour of highway. The village is beautiful. I amble through, still not 1000%, but the map says I'm on the right track- and I finally see them. Trail markers!! Lots of them!! Like every 15 feet!!

Say cheese! Heh, heh...

Now, I'm unencumbered happy. I hike, I breathe, I take pictures and video. The vistas are stunning, and the trail is surprisingly "medium". I'm in great shape (shout out to ILKB Austin for that!) and some of the hills still burned my ass in the best way. 

I see my first cows. Menorca has award-winning cheese thanks to these girls. I geek out and take pictures of them. Little do I realize, this is a cow heavy area.  

A nudge from Auntie Moo to get the kids going

The last part of my path before I hit the biosphere park narrows. A cow crests the trail with a handful of calves and sees me. She stops. I stop. She will NOT pass me. I try to give her a wide enough berth and sit down to make myself smaller, but she's having none of it. I can't backtrack so I adjust my position on the trail. My move gives her whatever space she needs to get the hell away from me, but she leaves her babies. They stare at me. I want to hug them.

Another cow approaches and is not impressed by me. She nudges the babies and gets the whole family through the pass. Gah, I love animals. 

I finish the hike in 2 1/2 hours. They'd logged the hike at 3 1/2 but I'm special. After my celebratory beer in es Grau, I call a cab to take me home since the bus between es Grau and Maó stopped running last week, indicating the end of the summer season. 

I find Stella in the plaza at the foot of our street. I'm exhausted in the best way and so happy to see my friend. 

Mao's port

Breakfast planning madness

Found some ruins! View from inside

My trusty trail markers

"It's a cows opinion. It's moo."

Cows for days

Finish line beer at Bar Es Grau

Another great day.

"He's so cute! Like an old turtle without his shell!"

...is what I tell Stella when I spy the bronzest, most wrinkly naked man I've ever seen.

Bestie Beach Day!

Sept 17, Sunday

ITS SO BEAUTIFUL OUTSIDE!!!!!! Good thing it's BEACH DAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Stella and I had the best of intentions to wake up and be out of the house by 1030. Then we woke up at 1030. Because we're on vacation! Yay!

There are a millions reasons I love beach days. One big reason is it looks like you're doing something but you're really doing nothing. As someone who's obsessed with "doing", it's a clever way to get me to relax. 

We go to Mar Bella so I can show my boobs to the sun. I see topless sunbathers here and there at other beaches on the way, so we really could have gone anywhere but I've got Mar Bella stuck in my head as our destination. 

Trying to help the girls defy gravity

We settle in on the "clothing optional" side. It's the gay beach so there are more men than women and more naked men than naked women. But altogether, way more suited people than nude people. 

Stella and I name the people around us:

The Turtles, older bronze men with wrinkled skin suits 

The Peacocks, men who strut around, brazenly daring the world to bask in the glory of their bodies, no matter how bright and round their bellies are

The Creepers, men who sit and stare around with weird looks on their faces (there is only one of these)

The Wows, suited men with perfect bodies playing paddleball or bending over to order a cocktail at the bar or basically existing in their lean, beautiful, boy bodies. 

There's the Creeper

Question: Are gay beaches the best?

Hypothesis: Gay beaches are The Best beaches in every way. 

Evidence: 

-A collection of the best looking, perfectly built, beautifully groomed, most stylish men hang out wearing very little, very well. 

-The men do not bother the women. At all. We feel zero percent threatened here, zero percent exposed, which does not happen in a bikini on any random beach, ever. 

-There are no children, so there is no crying or screaming. It's peaceful. It's quiet. 

-Men cuddling men is a beautiful sight. I didn't see any women couples, but I wish I had. 

-The bar makes gorgeous cocktails. 

Conclusion: Gay beaches ARE the best beaches in every way. 

My favorite Turtle is in that group of men

The first pair of balls I see is an adjustment but, just like going to the Korean Day Spa, you get desensitized quickly to the nudity, including your own. I do have a moment where my hat flies away and I have to jump up and run after it bare-breasted in which I'm very aware that I'm topless. Alluring bouncy boobs are a Playboy magazine myth. Real bouncing boobs are uncomfortable and unwieldy. I don't see any naked man jogging around and I suspect it's because their bouncing penis and balls would be as uncomfortable and unwieldy as my boobs were. 

I find myself endeared to most of the naked men, minus The Creeper and minus the man who inspires me to say out loud, "I just saw my least favorite penis." (It's very long and frightening.) 

Coupla Wows!

All the nude dudes looked like giant hairy toddlers. It's cute...

After a few hours in the sun, Stella and I hit It's Gay for food because I saw some incredible looking dishes there (not intended as a pun, but hey!) earlier as I stood in line for cocktails. I see The Boss (burger covered w Iberico Jamón, manchego and carmelized onions. HelLO, right?!) and point it out to Stella because it sounds DAMN GOOD.  Now she wants The Boss. The conversation goes like this:

B: Maybe I'll get a salad (they also looked incredible) and we can split both. 

S: You should order what you really want to eat. 

B: ...That means you don't want to share with me, right?

We burst out laughing because we both know it's true. We both order The Boss and annihilate our burgers. 

Stella and her Estrella

That evening we walk to the Magic Fountain of Montjuïc for it's show. The water and light show is highly recommended and is considered a must-see. I don't care that much about it, but we saw fireworks from our balcony last night and I assume they were part of the Saturday show. I also assume they don't do fireworks Sunday, but Stella really wants to see some so I don't say anything. At least going to the Magic Fountain gets us out of the house. Whatever. Meh. Fine. 

I HAVE A SPIRITUAL EXPERIENCE AT THE MAGIC FOUNTAIN SHOW! When we arrive, we find THOUSANDS of people waiting for the show to start. The energy is rad- all ages, all walks of life, all nationalities, ready and enthused. I love being surrounded by life like this. 

Stella and I sit on the ground at the foot of the Palace stairs. You've got your usuals surrounding the fountain with their phones up, pre-filming the water. I make fun of them, crowding around a fountain to try to capture something that, like, who cares? It's a fountain show. Those pictures will just take up space. 

Minds. Blowing. 

A Queen song starts. The fountain starts. The lights start. All of humanity surrounding the Magic Fountain collectively loses its mind. 

Stella and I stand up and weave our way in front of the camera people. We become camera people! And I get it! Obviously, we all take pictures of everything all the time, but this is more than that. You know it's a fountain and the pictures won't scratch the surface of how beautiful the show is. But you try anyway because you're not trying to capture the beauty of the spectacle, you're trying to capture the beauty of how elated, pure, alive and awesome you feel. At least, I am.  

Not even scratching the surface of magic

I behold the show with a big wide open smiley mouth I can't even try to close. Stella and I sing and dance to the medley of pop songs, and sway and move to the music when it turns classical. At one point I promise Stella and myself that I'm putting my camera away unless I hear a Prince song. No Prince (sadly) but I can't help myself and I start filming the water in Slo-Mo. Just for fun. Then I film Time Lapse. Just to see. Then I take myself right to the ropes of the fountain and commune with it. I let my mind go blank and I let myself get lost in the music, the lights, the water. 

I do this until, like a temperamental artist, the fountain starts to spray everyone within 10 feet of it. I don't know if the wind changed, or what, but it was a badass move in any event. We all cleared to give the fountain its space, and it continued to dance for us. 

What a wild time. I never thought I'd get so moved my a fountain show, but that's Barcelona, man. 

"Another GREAT day!" Stella says as we turn out the lights. "Yes!" I agree. 

Beach cocktails!

Two besties + a bunch of buns = smiles

Best Beach Hut

I should have ordered the large beer

Now I'm the Creeper

Magic Hour

"Ha ha ha, dick..."

...I say to our waiter when he tells me in Spanish I should get a boyfriend to fix me from being so demanding. 

What's better than a Dracula themed restaurant? NOTHING.

September 16, Saturday

Today is our free day! The weather is perfect, compared to yesterday. Stella had the excellent idea to ride the metro to the end of the line and just explore wherever we happened to find ourselves, and one of my friends suggested Parque del Laberint d'Horta- know what that translates to?? LABYRINTH PARK. Both ideas win. 

Once out of the metro, we discover the park is closer than we anticipated, and? Next door to Vélodrom del Horta, a cycling track. There are cheers as we walk past. Stella veers towards the sound, "Let's see what that is!" 

I would die doing this

"That" are cycling races between the baddest chicks with the strongest legs riding the thinnest bikes on a banked track. I didn't even know paper-thin bikes were a thing. We cheer and place bets and chair-dance to the 80's soundtrack the venue is playing. Barely anyone is there watching, which is a shame because it's a great time. What an awesome surprise!

Another wonderful surprise? Parque del Laberint d'Horta. The grounds are the perfect mix of lush greenery and trees and ruined fountains and gazebo-type places. The first thing I see after the broken down palace is a fountain topped by a stone demon, and I know this park is pure magic. I imagine the now-decrepit palace used to belong to someone like Mr. Darcy and he'd use the gardens to walk and talk and fall in love with someone like Elizabeth Bennet. 

We find the labyrinth and Stella challenges me to a race to see who can find their way out of the maze first. Long story short, I lose. I lose my way endlessly, I lose the competition, I lose my mind after what feels like half an hour of dead end hedges. I feel sorry for the mice I used to put in mazes for the science fair (guaranteed win every time, FYI) when I was in elementary school. 

Parque del Laberint d'Horta

We get back on the metro and ride to the end of the line to see what kind of fairytale fantasy perfect place we will discover for lunch. Things we learn by doing this experiment:

-The end of the metro line is as far as you can get from tourists, which is totally cool. 

-The further you are from tourists, the more traditional the area is. Which means, mid-afternoon feels like a ghost town because everything is closed. 

-Tapas are as popular here as they are in the city center. (PS We're both tired of tapas. Sacrilege, I know.)

Little fountain demon cutie

We have to use Yelp to find someplace open that serves anything but tapas. We're en route to a Mediterranean restaurant a mile away when Stella says- "That looks like something." There are tables and chairs set up in the promenade outside a large cafe. We're still too far away to see the name clearly, but I joke, "That looks like it says Dracula..."

The restaurant is actually named Count Dracula (Cerveceria Conde Dracula)! I'm so psyched, there is no question we are eating here, even though it's tapas, even though the food looks mundane, even though/especially because it's a Dracula restaurant! Stella isn't nearly as excited about eating at Count Dracula but she's says nothing, bless her. 

The menu is in Spanish & Catalan, no English. We order a few things to share that are predictably mediocre (to be fair, our croquettes are good) and drink warmish beer. I don't care. This place is Dracula themed!!

Our waiter is a handful. Once he knows I can speak Spanish, he starts teasing me. I love it because it's in Spanish, I'm able to hold my own, and this place is Dracula themed! Nothing can be bad in a restaurant named Count Dracula!

Making wishes in the garden

I go inside. The walls are covered in ravaged women, naked women, dead women and I can't even be mad about it. I feel terrible as I write this because I thought I was a better feminist, but I was so jazzed at the Draculaness of it all, that I loved the stupid murals. Sincerely, this is probably my favorite themed restaurant in the whole world. 

We take the rest of the evening off to chill on our terrace - we see fireworks! - and watch Phoebe Waller-Bridge's sublime Crashing and Freaks and Geeks. It's pretty perfect.

"You have to say it was a good day again, because I decided thats how I want to end all my blog posts," I call across the room to Stella in our dark flat at bedtime. 

"Yeah, good day," Stella says as we each drift to sleep. "Yes," I agree.

Stella captures cyclists

My fantasy home

Still goddamn lost

So wonderful

"We really live an amazing life." "Yes."

...I said to Stella, and Stella said to me as we road the metro recounting some of our favorite Wes Craven memories. He was so special, so brilliant, so funny and such a visionary. 

So much damn fun!

(Quick story: Stella and I traveled to London & Paris after working on a Wes Craven movie called "Cursed" (watch it to see me act with my eyes as 'Make-Up Artist'- Wes was so fun about letting crew be on camera) as part of a pack of badass "Cursed" women: Tina, Julie, Maria and Joni- we love and miss you! 
I recalled to Stella that I was only able to afford the trip because Wes pulled my name out of the Five-Dollar Day bucket, meaning I won around $1200, the day after Stella and everyone else had booked their flights. It occurred to me for the first time that what I considered to be an amazing coincidence - that my boss pulls my name to win a load of cash the same time all my best friends are going on a trip I can't afford - might have been Wes just being a sweet, thoughtful man and giving me what I wanted most in the world. Coincidence or not, that's how great Wes was.)

September 15, Friday
We wake up late. Its been raining all night and has turned borderline cold. Today is Park Güell day! We take the subway partway and walk the rest of it, since I'd rather exercise than ride the bus. 

Even though it's a wet day, it feels good to be outside in the fresh air moving around. We have appointments both for Gaudí's House Museum and for Park Güell. We're half an hour early for our museum appointment which is good because it takes us that long to NOT find a restroom. Between the map of the park in our hands indicating where the toilets should be, and the signs pointing to the WC ("water closet"), not being able to find a place to pee is feeling like a personal failure. Finally, we appeal to museum security who lets us in early. 

The clouds only make Barcelona more gorgeous

The museum tells us Gaudí is an austere, penitent man who lived in the very house we're touring with his sickly father and niece who both die within the same year. "Murderer," whispers Stella. "Yup," I agree. It's suspicious!

Tourists in Gaudi's wonderland

We also decide Gaudí was gay, because no straight man could have this gorgeous imagination and creativity, AND be able to express himself with such sensitivity and wit. Plus, church twice a day and never married? And he had a "right-hand man"? And their love couldn't be expressed in the time in which they lived so The Right-Hand Man helped Gaudí fulfill and bring to life every exquisite vision he ever had, and the art they created together was the true expression of their hearts desire and devotion to one another, and now it exists to thrill and inspire tourists on their own quests to express their innermost yearnings... The moral of this story is no matter how many details you give us, we're gonna find a way to write our own epic tragic fairytale love story. 

Bestie in flight

By the time we have our appointment to enter Park Güell, I'm hungry and tired and dislike every tourist in the park. I keep this from Stella as long as I can, because you never want to be the unfun one. Five minutes later, the words, "Let's get this over with," come out of my mouth. 

I whine about being hungry, Stella suggests the energy bar in my purse. I whine that it's sweet and I'm feeling salty and she trades me her salty for my sweet. I yawn and whine I'm tired. She reminds me to drink water to wake up and then distracts me with a gut-busting, fantastic, fun photo shoot. Her skill for managing young children and cranky creatives comes in real handy with me. 

Park Güell is choked with tourists, even on this cold, rainy day. The Dr. Seuss vibe is strong here, which makes the place feel like an illusion come to life. I can't believe what I'm seeing, but I'm standing in it and walking through it so I know it's real. Even as a crankypants, I can't deny how phenomenal this place is. It's magic come to life. (And that magic is the fairytale love of The Penitent Artist and his Right-Hand Man-- see, it's a good story.)

That's our tea! It's warmed by a tea light! I get the name now!

Stella and I have been outside in the rainy cold for hours at this point and only eaten a small breakfast and protein bars. We are dying for ramen. We walk from Park Güell into Grácia and use our instincts to decide where to turn left and right. And when that doesn't work fast enough, I try Yelp. Every ramen place we look up doesn't open for hours. We turn a corner randomly and find IT. The Perfect Place. The place with ramen and good beer and beautiful tea and a great soundtrack and a waiter that speaks excellent English, but we don't realize it because he's understanding my Spanish. Plus, it's warm and dry. Stella and I consider sleeping here, if not just moving in. 

On Fridays, we ramen.

We go home to rest, but not for long because we're going out. Again. This is breaking news because in LA, we leave the house for food and exercise and not much else. Certainly not to be around people drinking drinks we could drink at home watching Friends. 

Last night we walked to Ambar, a local bar Stella found that we've been drooling over simply based on its pictures. It's perfect- divey, a weirdo rockabilly soundtrack, and reminds me so much of the California Clipper in Chicago. 

Tonight, we branch out and try a few bars recommended by an article that I decide was meant for 23 year-olds with little imagination and taste. I might not have been in the best mental headspace, trying to top our previous night's success with greasy hair in the clothes I shivered and sweated in all day. 

The last bar we try is The George Payne, a giant Irish bar with an excellent 90s soundtrack and fun people watching. This place has everything, from a Hawaiian clad bachelor party to white-wine moms on their night out to club kids to a table of Irish Elders building things out of coasters. I'm too tired to appreciate it until we're walking out and I know that bedtime is imminent. 

"Another good day," Stella says as we both settle into our sofa beds in opposite nooks of our quirky little art studio. "Yeah," I agree. 

Barcelona resistance after my own heart

Big iron spikes and a tiny Stella

"This makes me want to mosaic so bad!"

Surfing the perfect tube

So awkward when I have to pose I default to Vanna White or Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader