For my birthday weekend, my roomies and I decided to “holiday” in Cadaqués. (For future reference, I am officially adopting the verb, to holiday). Cadaqués is this incredible town in Costa Brava, which you kind find on the north western coast of Spain. If the French Riviera, Santorini, and perfection had a love child, it would be Cadaqués.
Just as reaching perfection in all other areas of life is near impossible, so was reaching Cadaqués. We traveled 3 hours by bus to reach this sliver of heaven. Of course, it was only supposed to take 2 hours, but 10:00 departure really means 10:20 and we had to make some stops along the way…pretty standard for Spain. The image of this giant bus twisting and turning on the narrow winding roads is enough to make most people get queasy, so please try to imagine experiencing it.
As we get off our chariot to heaven, we immediately see a sign that says “Hotel Llane Petit” with an arrow pointing us in the right direction. Five arrows and a 40 minute hike later, we finally find our hotel. Our room overlooked the water and had a little terrace with two chairs perfectly designed to sit and read in the morning. Note: this was a room, not “rooms”. Yes, the room was intended for two, but our college frugality opted to fit 5. By only packing two bags and entering the hotel in pairs, the 5 us thought we were pretty clever. When we received the bill with 180 € in overage charges for the extra people in the room, it was clear that we had nothing on Hotel Llane Petit.
Besides that minor mishap, the rest of my birthday weekend was incredible. We sun tanned on the beach as soon as we got up (11:30ish), until 5:30 or so. The sun in Cadaqués follows the whole “we do everything later” vibe, and the hottest part of the day was not until 3:30 or 4:00.
For my birthday dinner, we went to a delicious restaurant right on the beach. They didn’t quite understand “birthday candle”, but my roommates embarrassingly sang Feliz Cumpleaños a Ti” while I held the table candle over my dessert. It worked. It just so happens September 11 is Catalán National Day, so they had festivities all weekend. I was pretty convinced that my roommates planned a giant concert in the town square for me and it just so happened to be Catalán National Day as well, but you can believe whatever you like. We danced, we sang along to American music (which everyone in Spain loves), and we drank great drinks. Love.
My nightlife high point, though, was on Saturday night. I decided I wanted to leave the club, but none of my roommates were ready. I saw our American friends that we had dinner with and decided to walk back with them. As we were sitting and talking in the town square area, about eight 14-15 year old boys come up to talk to us. After I tell them I’m from California, they ask if I went to Michael Jackson’s funeral. Then one of the boys starts making gay jokes about Justin Bieber. They were awesome.
On Sunday, I wanted to go to the Dali Museum before we left, so I made a 2:40 reservation. My roommates wanted to keep working on their tans, so at 1:40 I took off in search of the museum. I asked at least 5 different people directions, and I received 5 different sets of directions. (Boston flashbacks). After an hour and a half or searching, I finally gave up. I’m pretty disappointed I didn’t see the museum, but I guess I’ll have to make up for it by doing extra touristy things this week in Barcelona.
At 5:00, we made it back over to the bus stop. Burned out and lacking sleep, we climbed on the bus with 20 or so backpackers. Smelly would be an understatement.
All in all, successful birthday weekend. I can longer be a teen mom and I’ve officially entered legal drinking purgatory where the Gods spend a year deciding if I should make it to 21 or if I should stay 20 forever.