as with any infatuation, or love, there is always some struggle, and some contemplation, and a development & understanding of one’s emotions. halfway through my four-day ibizan holiday… what can i say without sounding clichéd?

i appreciate the island for what it is… a self-contained tropical paradise. the island has several towns, including ivissa (ibiza city)… total population around 80,000. off the coast of spain near valencia in the mediteranean… sees almost 2 million tourists each year.

judge jules just came on to inform me that i can tune into the music i’m hearing at ibizadisco.com. whee yay.

okay. sand & surf.^. not everyone enjoys the frying of flesh in the sun. not everyone enjoys hot weather… it took me a while to get used to it. i’m still just as white as all the brits thatt just stepped off the plane. proud of it. ä

clubs. music. hype. okay… the entire island, at first glance, seems to be optimized and oriented to push every single body into one of its gazzillion clubs. each one, the absolute best for its particular genre/locale, importing the biggest names and charging the biggest cover. entrance fees & a few drinks can easily reach $50-10o. but, even for a dance music conniseur, you can’t just perform a scientific analysis based on music alone. the clubs (discotheques), much like the beaches, the bars, and the rest of the island, is nothing more than a self-fulfilling prophecy. people come here to have fun. to have sex. to drink, do drugs, and ‘get away’. there is really no way to connect a week here to life back home.

as such, everyone seems to be in a good mood. open-minded. for tourists, that is. i don’t think you can find a [relatively speaking] more intelligent group of tourists. people understand what’s going on in ibiza… immediately connecting to the vibe. the brits and other europeans are self-declared “cosmopolitains”… as such they are “in touch” with dance culture and all of its nuances (i read it in mixmag). for better or worse, most of the tourists i’ve met have been british, italian, spanish, german, or french. maybe 1% usa. maybe 15% brit, 20-3o% german.

what’s so desirable about this place is that there is so much, yet so little to do. hundreds of clubs. dozens of beaches. a handful of cities. probably no cyber café. museums? not really. wake up (at some point), and then (1) lie on the beach, or swim, (2) go eat, (3) go drink, (4) go shop, (5) go club.

rinse, lather, repeat.

so, i guess, that’s this island. very rationally, i’ve decided to visit yearly. late august seems to be a sweetspot in terms of stuff to do/weather/crowds. the only thing that would make this better would be having more of my mates here, and staying for 1.5 to 2 weeks.

i think it was during a chill evening out in amsterdam that i started to really formulate my next plan for european exploits. my mind keeps wandering back to this concept of fleeing to europe… i think a lot of it has to do with a romanticized romanticism.

sure, i know that it won’t automatically be more exciting/stimulating/rewarding/challenging, and i know that visiting a place on vacation is very different from living, working and breathing there. i can rationalize picking up and moving to europe this way: if i don’t do it now, when will i do it? when i’m 32? 45? c’mon now…

okay, so there are several issues to explore when evaluating the merits of transplanting myself. first, the parameteres: 6-24 months will be my plan, perhaps in the following cities: london, dublin, amsterdam, barcelona. how’s that? okay… the “why” is somewhat obvious… to satiate my craving for new experiences, exciting life experiences, new people, etc. love? maybe. lots of plusses. possible negatives: interms of career, in terms of amassing wealth, these are two downfalls. i’m rambling. i want to explore some of the possible ways to pull this off.

i have enough seed cash to fly out here, survive for a month or two. i’ll start by lining up a part-time job. this could be webdesign/tech, or it could be bartending. maybe i should take a bartending course. i’ll start in london, maybe. then, after a few months i’d like to try dublin or amsterdam. a bit more of a challenge. also, i think it might be impossible to pull this off legally. i won’t investigate that part just yet.

so, how will i accomplish this goal of meeting people, having fun? the easiest ways to meet people when starting a new life is through roomates and/or coworkers. you can always meet random people… but, it’s always easiest through connections. so, that’s something i’ll have to focus on at first.

what about friends back home? well, in a nutshell, they’ll always be there… if i happen to cross paths with them during my adventures, then âgreatâ … it would be awesome to take someone along for my ride ã

so, that’s version 1.0 of my plan… inspired by london, articulated in amsterdam, and documented on the beaches of barcelonetta.

it didn’t take much persuasion… there really âcan’tâ be much persuasion involved when it comes to something so core to one’s being… either someone (a) would suffer any embarassment, guilt, or chiding, or (b) they would prefer the easy way out and decide to vote ‘no’… well, there was no escaping them this time around. the opportunity was there… only £7 presale.

after a very long day, x and i trotted down tottenham court road to see, triumpantly, “tonight at g.a.y… the vengaboys!” we entered the club… there was an eerie calm outside, even though it was only about 1:00am on this saturday night. we got inside, past the usual overweight drag queen (sorry darling!)… past the cuties collecting tickets. no boy in a tiger costume grabbing my… ass this time (i bet -he- was a hottie!).

as we navigate into the bowels of the coat check, past the vending machines and piles of `boyz’ (the newspaper, duh!), i play a game and ask my buddy to imagine what’s behind the doors. we’re standing just in front of a set of double doors… one can hear the [very] muffled thumps of some distand housey house dancy dance tune.

500? 1000 people? he laughs.

i open the door… it’s like in ‘the wizard of oz’ when they emerge into the technicolor® wonderland. sprawled in front of us (he for the first time) is a throbbing mass of boys.

note: this is -not- a circuit party… the boyz are clothed. attractively. lanky brit boys, their admirers (me), and their wannabes (also me), and every other type of human being you can think of. it is âsoâ hot. everyone is rejoicing in the warmth. it’s a good hot… the difference between the heat waves you feel on a beach, and the heat waves you feel sitting in a car in the hot sun. through the sween grandma figure whom i bought my ticket from, i know with authority that the vengaboys will be taking the stage (oh yes, the g.a.y. stage!) around 2:00 or so.

we dance.

the stage is cleared.

the video screen comes down… advertising some boyband (not ‘5ive’, who i saw last time i was at g.a.y. years ago, but rather ‘a1′ who will be singing next week).

and then, the triumpant sound of the vengaboys’ horn reverberates throughout the club. x and i are in a prefect spot on the main floor to see the vengaboys emerge. the sailor (oh baby!), the cowboy, the army chick (lead singer) and the other, always similing, one.

they play through all of their hits, it seems, in no time at all… punctuating the songs with their broken english (but sincere?) greetings to the crowd. i’m on cloud nine. singing, dancing, laughing that they’re -real-! well, they’re about as real in person as their pictures on their album cover… i mean, they’re just as plastic, just as fabricated… a well-packaged “village people for the new millenium” (i made that up).

grand time. grand club.

we leave in a sweaty pile. the hundredth time that’s happened, but the first due to the vengaboys.

expectations… i expected that i’d be anticipating this… or, more negatively anticipated my high expectations. for me, “mr. short attention span”, it’s always about new new new… i’m human, and i love to have “favorites”, but it’s not about favorites… to be geeky, it’s more like the âderivativeâ of a favorite club/pub/city/person/place.

i’ve analyzed myself enough to understand that for me it’s not the destination, but more the path to get there (somewhere). or, another way of looking at it is that i’m not happy at zero velocity. i can be content, but i’m at my happiest when, literally in transit. wouldn’t you know it… i’m uploading (offloading) right now. flight 42 on virgin atlantic airlines. that’s another rant altogether ã good go i love richard branson and his flying machines.

so, i’m at it again… it all fit together nicely, actually. uwe & anke, two members of the host family i stayed with in germany when i was just 15 visited me the last few days in sf. and now, i’m off on another european trip. number six? i’m not -even- bragging, only reminiscing. joyous that i can prioritize my life to have this happen. as i sit on the plane this moment, i am sure of only one thing – i have no excuse to not have some fun. fun? synonyms for this excursion – debauchery, adventure, trips, meetings, outings, dancing, new, excitement, people, learning.

my travelling companion bailed last minute, due to really important work she needs to do (more important than fun).

the velocity is much greater than zero for the next 15 days (nights!). after having travelled on my own and with others, i’ve come to realize the very simple components of travelling pleasure. [1] do not plan too much, [2] have fun, always… keep smiling, [3] don’t not have fun, never be negative, [4] be adventurous – no regrets, no excuses.