![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
This is just highlights - it'd take about four days to recount everything. The trip to Spain was work sponsored. In fact, work, or more particularly, the Boss, paid for pretty much all of it. I wasn't convinced at first; the notion of five days in close proximity with the people I work with, taking me away from a bank holiday weekend and a gaming convention, seemed less than great. I was so wrong.
This account does not contain details of the various very good conversations, cos a lot of them were rather personal. But they were there, and they were good.
The villa that had been hired for while we were in that area was huge. All white walls, marble floors, pillars and balconies, and a red tiled roof. And a swimming pool. I slept outside on the verandah the first night, having been out drinking in a wide variety of places until about five, six in the morning. There was the restaurant, the first pub, the second pub (with pool tables), the first club, where I found that if you order brandy - or any other spirits - they put a tumbler in front of you, add some ice, and pretty much fill it. And the the second club, kitted out in a style I can only describe as "Turkish Harem". Wherein there were dancers in bikinis and tall boots, dancing on podiums (podia?). And wherein the Network Admin, hitherto a quiet Christian boy, originally from Nigeria, was photographed up on one of these, dancing with the rather surprised looking girl. The Casino Manager was thrown out three times, before being the one sensible enough to haul some more of us into a taxi and back to the villa. Drunken conversation ensued, and then sleep.
In the morning, I moved myself and my well deserved hangover to the nice cold marble floor, out of the sun, and slept there for a while. Later in the day, still hungover, we went down to the Boss' boat. The boat is a 17-metre Manx-registered motor-yacht called the Elisa Day. I covet it greatly. Around half-three, we left the port (Porto Venuso? I never saw any signs, so that could be all wrong), and sailed east, headed for Marina del Este in La Herradura. We sailed on dead calm seas, and saw dolphins. We arrived in the evening, barbecued on the boat, and commenced drinking, with a couple of the Boss' friends added to the mix - they live in La Herradura. Around midnight, when I had consumed more beer than could possibly be healthy, and found the stash of brandy in the hold, it was decided that some of us were going to a bar the Boss' friends knew in the village. So we piled into the car (we had a hired car, driven down by those who figured they'd be seasick), and found there was not enough room. The Boss got in the boot, the Network Admin - who doesn't drink - drove, and we were off, following directions from the friends up the hill and cliff roads to the village. Along the way, we noticed that we had almost pure technical people in the car - all the marketing and design folk were back on the boat.
The pub turned out to be a rock bar almost on the beach, decorated by a gay couple whose interest this year is in Hindu deities. There was a Deep Purple cover band called Garganta Profunda playing. It means "Deep Throat", or so it was explained with much giggling. Time and drinking passed, and we then drove up to the Boss' friends' house, a gorgeous house/duplex arrangement overlooking the bay. We drank even more, ate pizza, and eventually crashed out.
More to follow.
This account does not contain details of the various very good conversations, cos a lot of them were rather personal. But they were there, and they were good.
The villa that had been hired for while we were in that area was huge. All white walls, marble floors, pillars and balconies, and a red tiled roof. And a swimming pool. I slept outside on the verandah the first night, having been out drinking in a wide variety of places until about five, six in the morning. There was the restaurant, the first pub, the second pub (with pool tables), the first club, where I found that if you order brandy - or any other spirits - they put a tumbler in front of you, add some ice, and pretty much fill it. And the the second club, kitted out in a style I can only describe as "Turkish Harem". Wherein there were dancers in bikinis and tall boots, dancing on podiums (podia?). And wherein the Network Admin, hitherto a quiet Christian boy, originally from Nigeria, was photographed up on one of these, dancing with the rather surprised looking girl. The Casino Manager was thrown out three times, before being the one sensible enough to haul some more of us into a taxi and back to the villa. Drunken conversation ensued, and then sleep.
In the morning, I moved myself and my well deserved hangover to the nice cold marble floor, out of the sun, and slept there for a while. Later in the day, still hungover, we went down to the Boss' boat. The boat is a 17-metre Manx-registered motor-yacht called the Elisa Day. I covet it greatly. Around half-three, we left the port (Porto Venuso? I never saw any signs, so that could be all wrong), and sailed east, headed for Marina del Este in La Herradura. We sailed on dead calm seas, and saw dolphins. We arrived in the evening, barbecued on the boat, and commenced drinking, with a couple of the Boss' friends added to the mix - they live in La Herradura. Around midnight, when I had consumed more beer than could possibly be healthy, and found the stash of brandy in the hold, it was decided that some of us were going to a bar the Boss' friends knew in the village. So we piled into the car (we had a hired car, driven down by those who figured they'd be seasick), and found there was not enough room. The Boss got in the boot, the Network Admin - who doesn't drink - drove, and we were off, following directions from the friends up the hill and cliff roads to the village. Along the way, we noticed that we had almost pure technical people in the car - all the marketing and design folk were back on the boat.
The pub turned out to be a rock bar almost on the beach, decorated by a gay couple whose interest this year is in Hindu deities. There was a Deep Purple cover band called Garganta Profunda playing. It means "Deep Throat", or so it was explained with much giggling. Time and drinking passed, and we then drove up to the Boss' friends' house, a gorgeous house/duplex arrangement overlooking the bay. We drank even more, ate pizza, and eventually crashed out.
More to follow.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
From:
no subject
Should have warned you about Spanish drinks "measures" (most places - except those aimed particularly at British Tourists - don't use any measures)
But you got to watch in some tourist bars - you order Bacardi and the first drink *is* Bacardi. After that they reckon you'll have lost your ability to tell the difference and the next time you order "Bacardi" your drink will come from from the almost identical bottle next to the Bacardi, which is a cheaper version made locally. Cheaper version gets you drunker, and gives you a worse hangover.
From:
no subject
From:
no subject