No Midlife Crisis in Ibiza
I forgot how European radio stations go from Enya, to Britney, to some Spanish song, to Enrique. I can’t decide if it’s the best mix or the worst. I leaning toward the latter. Being here in Ibiza, I’ve noticed the days lose themselves into one another. I’ve been experimenting with cooking recipes from a Moosewood cookbook. My daily meal is around 5, but it has sort of turned into a free for all, people decide to show or not, cook or not and with the small number of people here, it’s sometimes just a few of us around the table. You just gotta love Ibiza, there are no rules, well at least not where I’m staying anyways.
I missed dinner that other day, because Nacho and I went down to the beach. It was so beautiful and gorgeous, we floated in the water all day. All the best hotels Ibiza offers are right on the beach and cover the coast, which, as we walked along from beach to beach, we run into Germans, screaming Brits, and Spanish people. The two of us looked very out of place, because we had changed into our farming clothes. We volunteer at this co-op farm every Wednesday. This way, I get all my fresh greens for the week, plenty to cook with for who ever shows up.
Tomorrow morning, I’ll be leading three men for an hour of yoga. One of the new men, Bill, a builder from Scotland with tats all over his arm, is going through a midlife something, not quiet a crisis, so he’s enthusiastic about trying everything. I thought I’d sleep in, but he woke me up at 5am, all ready to do yoga! I told him his in Ibiza! Relax…stay sane. Ibiza man, it’s Ibiza. When it was time to run the guys through a yoga routine, I really made Bill sweat and ran him thorough a tough program. That worked, he was spent. I doubt he’ll be waking me up early ever again.
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