"All Good Things Must Come to an End"

          Unfortunately on Friday (April 2nd), we had to return to Ibiza and the next day back to Rome.  We spent Friday morning doing what had become second nature, relaxing.  There was plenty that we needed to do before we returned our bikes and made the ferry back to Ibiza.  We needed to fill up gas, check out of the hotel, turn the bikes in (the shop closed from 1 to 4), and make the ferry (either 1:30 or 6:30, because we wouldn't be able to make the 4:00 because of our scooter return).  And Jamie and Jake needed to go to an internet cafe and purchase, check in, and print out their boarding passes for flights back to home to Rome.  Of course we were late and didn't get done at the cafe until 12:50 and we still needed to get gas.  Gas took another 10 minutes (gas pumps are very difficult to work over here) and I was in a foul mood for thinking we wouldn't make the 1:30 ferry.  We got to the bike shop at 1:10; they were miraculously still open and we rushed to do the paperwork.  It was full of adrenaline because we needed to get money back (we only rented for 2 days, but had paid for 3) and Jake needed to pay for his damage (108 euros).  My heart was also pumping, because my damage went undetected (note to self, don't do donuts in a farm field at night).  We ended up getting out of the shop at 1:25 and sprinted the 300 yards to the ferry.  Out of breath and shock (Jake pissed for having to pay, me ecstatic for not) we were on the ferry.

          A half hour later, we were back to Ibiza;

 

it was different now, it had lost its charm, I no longer felt a connection to the place.  We returned to Bar San Juan for lunch and were served amazing food once again.  This time, we split a cheese and meat plate, and I finished up with a steak (a pocket emptying 5 euro).

  

          After lunch, we headed over to a near by beach, Platja Talamanca.  It was ok, we were used to much more scenic and vacant, but soothing nonetheless.  After the sun's rays were too weak to warm us, we went to the bar for some sangria.  She made it fresh, and we enjoyed every drop on their outdoor patio skirting the sand.

  

         After, we wandered the streets and squares around our hostel (a nice hotel which would probably cost 150 euros a night in the summer).  We had a balcony overlooking Placa des Parc and we picked up some wine to enjoy while people watching.

 

For dinner, we went to a place that wasn't important that served over-priced and underseasoned food.  It wasn't terrible, but it was forgettable (I'll spare you pictures and descriptions).  After our meal, another Easter procession passed by right next to our table. The experience, although now understood, was still uncomfortable.

 

          The next morning we were up relatively early and packed up the hotel room.  For a change, I was the last one in bed, doing all I could to avoid thinking about returning to Rome.  With all our stuff, we took a cab to a beach past the airport.  It was still party cloudy (the marine layer exists in Ibiza as well) and Jake was pissed we were at this beach.  I told him to give it time; within the hour, it was sunny and warm.  The entire half moon beach was studded with reddish-orange sandstone cliffs.  On one side was a small boat dock and the other was a fisherman sitting on the jagged rocks looking for his morning catch.  

    

A lot of sleeping was next on the itinerary.  After a nap, I started skipping rocks, a joyous activity.  We were soon all involved, and it turned into throwing baseball size rocks at the cliff and watching pieces of the sandstone come crashing down in mini avalanches.  We then centered on one section and tried to take off an arch.  There were many direct hits, but its foundation was too strong. We narrowed it down to a sliver, but before we could complete our destruction we had to jump in a cab to go to the airport.  I was wet, from going in the ocean, and the driver wasn't too happy to let me in.  Just like a return trip from carmel beach, I put a towel around my waist and hopped in.  I got out of my boardshorts and changed back into regular clothes.  It was terrible changed that marked a return to Rome and "normal life."  

          The flight was easy... Back in Rome, we were greeted with outstanding weather, a small consolation for the end of a trip.  It was Saturday before Easter and the city was building up with suspense.

          On Easter Sunday, it rained.  I awoke late, 11, and loved not hearing an alarm clock waking me up for the first time since spring break had begun.  Having missed the prayer at St. Peter's square, we opted for a walk around Trastevere and lunch at Dar Poeta.  Dar Poeta, a well known pizza place, claiming to be open everyday, was bustling for easter lunch.  Their pizza is magical, with the properties of both crispy thin crust and spongey thick crust.  I can't described the texture of the dough without using those two words, crisp and spongey.

  

          On Monday, a more important day in Rome when it comes to Easter, we again wandered through Trastevere looking for families having picnics and playing soccer.  It is a national holiday and almost everything was closed.  I snapped a few cool pictures before returning to the hotel for a quite afternoon of catch up.

         A couple more were ok, but this one above one is probably the best single photo I've taken since my stay abroad.

  

Sorry for the lateness, I already have my next post completed, but I have been having terrible luck with my internet.  Whatever you do, do not buy Mac OS X Snow Leopard.  I've had so many problems with it.  Hopefully, I can sort out the internet woes and get the posts up soon.  Also, WARNING: The next post will be graphic and contain pictures of the adventurous and hectic weekend.