A quiet holiday with no Pog moments is what I desperately wanted this year after the mishaps of the last few.  Especially as I quite liked the idea of Himself thinking I am a grown up, just occasionally, and this was our first holiday together.

It didn’t go quite to plan initially.  I thought I’d be helpful and get us coffee’s while Himself sorted the hire car after landing.  I promptly dropped the scalding cafe solo down my left boob and had to run to the toilet to strip off my brand new white vest top and bra (neither of which will never be white again) much to the discombobulation of the real grown up ladies that were looking all smart in, well… clothes.

But then things started looking up.  We found the place we were staying (after a few Sat Nav issues which resulted in some reversing back down precarious mountain tracks) and were met by a kind of Spanish Barbara Cartland.  She swept us into her utterly chaotic farm house informing us that ‘Jose speaks English.  Jose not here.  But I have wine.’ and her maid (!) poured us a huge glass each while Barbara lit up a very smokey cigarette and the dog indicated he wanted his bottom scratched.  Alot.

It wasn’t long before Jose arrived back, showed up around the gorgeous place we were to stay and talked us through a map of places to go.  Or more precisely, places not to go.  Jose was even more enthusiastic about peace and quiet than were were.  He drew brackets around groups of beaches on the map and informed me ‘not go here’.

‘Why not?’

‘Ah.  You know.  People.’

More brackets.  More People.  And so on.  There were a few places he approved of ‘This beach.  No services, few people.  Is good.’  I liked his style.

Mostly all we heard for the whole week was cicadas.  Apart from one trip to Ibiza Town (which I don’t think Jose would have approved of, but quite rightly – I managed to bump into a colleague from the office!) and one to watch a sunset which didn’t happen, but people and some…um, lets’s call it ‘interpretive’ dance did.  It was amazing.  I’m not sure I pulled off the grown up part, but at least Himself came back with me.  We survived our first holiday together.  And to my surprise, I survived with no real disasters :o)

Here’s a few photos without, you know…: people.

breakfast under the fig tree

A 10km morning run up a mountain (we started off the photo on the far right)

…and we were running on paths like this…

…but got to stop here for a paddle on the way back.

It wasn’t all blue skies…

…but the sun always came out at some point

The lizards were very friendly – they helped themselves to our cookies, licked up anything on the kitchen work surfaces and tried to hitch a ride with our clothes when we packed

The praying mantis was a bit more shy

The sorbets were pretty (and the outside one was lime and basil: so good!)…

…so were the lights

There were posh places to have pre dinner drinks at this restaurant…

…but when the couple one side of us spent their dinner discussing every meal they’d eaten so far on holiday (and nothing else), and the couple on the other side got engaged and then he spent an hour telling her how much her ring cost (and nothing else), I felt the need to lighten the situation (with the help of three glasses of wine and a cocktail – about one cocktail and 2.5 glasses more than I should drink in public). This is me being a tiger. (There was a jungle sort of flower arrangement, there was some context…)

The sun might have set on a brilliant holiday, but at least now I know I can almost do it disaster free now :o)

And here’s that interpretive dance, should you be interested: