My bus trip in search of a hostel bed ended in a rather seedy part of town that
left me wondering if I'd made the right decision going it alone here. No white
sand, no pretty partiers, just dirt, dumpsters and drunken locals. After
getting my bearings and gathering my courage, I trod along in search
of civilization (or at least a cold beer to calm my nerves). Several
blocks later I caught a glimpse of blue, not from above, but
between two rows of old buildings. I had found it,
the Mediterranean, and Mecca !
Stripping off my backpack and sandals (the shirt had gone long ago), I solicited the assistance of a fellow beach bum to guard my worldly possessions while I dove headfirst into bliss. Several hours of swimming, sunbathing and swilling a few cold ones from the little store across the street, left me a little more comfortable with my new found surroundings. Next, a bed in my price range, and a wonderful Spanish invention - The Pensione.
It turns out I had overshot the local official "hostel" by about two miles, so I sought something similar to set up house for the remainder of my two week stay. Though it took several tries and replies of "complede", which I later discovered meant "Full !", I finally found a comfy room with two single beds,
a small patio, and my own private shower, for 10 Canadian dollars a night. The magic of the Pensione ! After unpacking, cleaning up and getting psyched, I wandered the few blocks toward the beach in search of excitement, and someone who spoke English. Since landing I'd heard only Spanish, German, Dutch and Italian, neither language of which I had a grasp.
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Updated Dec. 16, 1997