Blogs and Other Things

Tuesday, February 25, 2025 –

Hola.

Throughout this trip, I got deja vu (thank you Olivia) of my weekend in the Canaries.

In other words, it ruled.

Again.

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Friday

The trip started off strong.

Once again, I walked through the pigeons in Plaça Catalunya (great start), but it was only once I saw my gate at the airport that I knew I was in for a good time.

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So I joined the mile high club (I played Solitaire for 40 minutes).

I also took these two photos within a span of 6 minutes: the first just after taking off, and the second after we’d flown above the clouds.

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For me, it served as a nice reminder to fly through whatever clouds might be making life grey; it’s easy to forget that the sun is always shining.

(Says the asshole living in Barcelona)

Anyway.

Speaking of sunshine, I was on my way to Ibiza (asshole x2), and while I was only there for 8 hours, it was easily the best 8 hours I’ve had since…well, you can figure it out.

If I had to describe it, I’d say it felt like seeing the world in colour for the first time.

(Ibiza, just to clarify)

The hike I did was about 4 hours total, with 2 of those hours involving climbing up and down a mountain 4 times.

And it was absolutely worth it.

Plus, before I even reached the mountain, I stumbled upon my new dream house surrounded by beautiful meadows leading to the base of evergreen mountains.

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My first time seeing the coast also took my breath away; I’d forgotten water could be so blue.

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Apologies for the dump, but as I made my way up the mountain along the coast, the views only got better.

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And finally, as I made my way towards the tip (hehe), I found what I’d been truly looking for.

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Punta des Jondal, or as I like to call it, jdafushdfoajskflaskjdfal.

(You know what I mean)

It was like a pool in perfect balance, with half being deep enough to take a dip and the other half shallow enough to take a seat.

Not a bad view, either.

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If you were curious, I did in fact take a dip.

But naturally, I didn’t pack my swimsuit.

So I’ll leave the rest to your imagination.

But I’ll have you know that I was the only person for a square kilometre.

I think.

Anyway.

On my walk back, I made a few friends…

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…before discovering another heavenly pool (kept my clothes on this time, sorry).

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And that was Ibiza.

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Saturday

Valencia!

Off the bat, I continued the tradition of forgetting to take photos of my food until I’d already started eating.

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Shoutout to Riley for reminding me.

Riley is the neighbour of my high school friend, Seb, but she quickly became a friend herself. She was in Valencia visiting friends she’d made in Amsterdam last year, so I spent the day with them.

(Also click here to play a game she made for school if you want thanks)

There were four of us in total: an Aussie, a Spaniard, and two Canadians.

From opposite ends of the Earth, we could all meet in the middle to celebrate our unique cultures…and levels of jet lag.

(The Aussie won)

But speaking of culture, and speaking of Seb, it was only fitting that the Canadian icon had followed us across the world.

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Seb isn’t just a person; it’s a way of life.

Anyway.

After blasting our favourite Seb tunes, we headed to the Arts and Science Centre, which is an architectural masterpiece.

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After that, we got McDonald’s before parting ways; I had a game to catch, and they had a Spanish reality show to watch.

(The duality of tourism)

Regardless, I did catch the game.

But I didn’t catch the bus.

Well, actually, nobody did.

It never came (can’t relate).

So instead of getting to the stadium a relaxing 15 minutes before the game, I turned a 40 minute walk into a 20 minute run (sound familiar), and sat down just as the starting whistle blew.

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In a word, the atmosphere was electric, and better than both of the previous games I’d seen.

It was a perfect middle ground between big clubs like Barcelona, which might attract too many tourists, and small clubs like Las Palmas, which could use a few more.

Valencia.

(They lost 3-0)

My favourite moment was in the 70th minute when it started to pour rain (it was 2-0 at that point) and no one left; the passion was too strong.

Once the final whistle blew, I ran back to my Airbnb to watch the Barcelona game, which, funnily enough, was in Las Palmas.

Well actually, before that, I picked up my water bottle.

Flash back to 2 hours before: I was running to the stadium when I suddenly remembered what had happened the last time I tried to take a water bottle inside a stadium.

Hoping to avoid the same embarrassment, I made a mental note to take my water bottle out of my bag (and put it god knows where) before I got to the gate.

But then I forgot.

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So when the woman checking my bag told me I couldn’t bring my bottle in, I feared this may finally be the moment where we’d have to part ways.

But I was saved; the same woman gave me a piece of paper and told me I could pick it up at Gate 56 after the game.

Legend.

So, on my way out, I walked around the entire building searching for Gate 56, only to find out it didn’t actually exist.

Epic.

After circling it again and talking to 6 stadium staff members, I was told that I should really be looking for Gate 53, not 56.

Which was where I’d first started.

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I’m just getting over it.

But I got the bottle.

And that was all that mattered.

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Sunday

In the Valencia airport, I was pleasantly surprised to find another piece of Canadian culture (though I’m not sure whether it compares to Seb), which reignited my patriotism from the events of Thursday night.

Now this is a kind of colonization I can get behind.

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I’ll end off this week with something short I wrote in the Ibiza airport on Friday night, as I waited to fly to Valencia. Something about that day was eye-opening, so here’s me trying to put it into words:

A note from Ibiza –

Travelling is weird because you’re still the same person wherever you go, even if you feel like you should be this completely enlightened version of yourself in your new surroundings.

You romanticize it so much in your head, and for me, it’s often hard to translate fantasy to reality, even when it’s staring you in the face.

And Ibiza, in particular, never stops staring.

I’ve been dreaming of going to Ibiza ever since I got my first taste of electronic music and developed a musical infatuation with Martin Garrix.

Thus, in a sense, actually being here almost feels too easy.

(did he just say thus)

What I mean is, I feel like I built it up so much in my head that I should’ve had to work harder to get here. But at the same time, I’m also aware that that perspective probably discredits the work I actually have done to get here.

So there’s no right answer.

I think what I’ll take from this is that, in the future, no matter what I’m chasing, it will probably never be enough.

And I can accept that, so long as I never stop chasing.

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So I won’t.

And neither should you.