Monday, September 14, 2015
Sardinia probably doesn’t strike you as a dangerous place. But today I almost killed the mean girls for what I think is the 20th time. These bitches must have more than nine lives. But let’s start at the beginning….
It all started at breakfast. After having to go to beaches by car yesterday like the lay folk, I was determined to get my ass to the beaches down the coast that are only accessible by boat. That is the entire reason I came to Cala Gonone. Let’s be honest, the town itself is a poor man’s Cinque Terre. There is one reason to come here, the hidden beaches along the coastline that are only accessible via water…or if you are a mountain man with a passion for hiking in 90 degree heat. So when our hotel manager told me again this morning that no boats were going out today due to rough water, I knew there was only one thing to do – find a way. And find a way I did. Rule #1 – never tell Rory she can’t do something that is in her excel spreadsheet. She will not take no for an answer. She is a persistent little travel bitch. So we got ready for the beach and headed down to the harbor. My plan? To find someone with balls big enough to take a boat out today. Find him and make him my boat bitch. Or just beg and plead. Turns out, we didn’t have to look far. Not sure what travel tips homegirl at the hotel was getting, but there was a ferry taking people out today. They were only going to one beach – Cala Luna. One is better than none, so three tickets please.
So we boarded the little ferry, and thats when things got hairy. Think “The Perfect Storm” minus Clooney, plus a bunch of blissfully ignorant Italian people. Not sure what boat ride they were on, because by looking at their faces it seemed like they were gliding down the track on “its a small world”. Meanwhile Steph was green and trying not to blow chunks because I told her if she did I would capture it on the go pro and preserve it for posterity. Jorgie looked like she was making a mental list of why she was too young to die. Either that or she was asking herself why she keeps coming on these trips that put her life at risk. You know me, I thought it was kinda fun. Ok, so it’s not quite as bad as I made it out to be. We survived, as we always do. And it’s not really a trip with me until we have a few close calls.
I had planned to get my Sardinian sand for my collection from this beach, but the sand is a bit too coarse for my tastes, so I’ll hold out for something better. The views, however, were amazing. Very lunar….we were on Cala Luna…see what I did there? Nevermind. Once the sun came out it was spectacular….ly hot. So fucking hot. We had our usual lunch spread and bottle of Rose. We are nothing if not predictable. Had some fun swims in the water where I continue to take horrible close ups of my confused face by accident with my go pro. I will not share them with you. Ok, I probably will eventually.
We planned to take the 3:30 ferry home, as did the rest of the people on the beach. Once we saw a line forming we packed up our shit and got in it. Now here is where I don’t understand why people think Americans are so obnoxious. At least we know what a fucking line is. These ass holes just push past you and squeeze themselves up to the front. Are you Beyonce? Is there a private ferry waiting for you up there? Because other than that, I can think of no other reason than to cut me in line. But two can play at this game. When in Italy, do as the pushy Italians do and push them right back. Needless to say we got spots on the ferry.
The ferry ride back was much calmer. Not quite smooth, but no one was fearing for their lives. Steph still almost blew chunks, but thats a pretty normal occurrence. One interesting thing to note from the boat ride was the bougie ass chick sitting across from us. (Yes, I am about to go off on a tangent here, I can feel it coming). I spent the entire boat ride asking Jorgie if she really came from the beach we were at, because she did not have grain of sand on her, hair was perfectly pulled back, and – get this – FULL face of makeup. I just sweated my entire outer layer of skin off back at that beach. You would have thought I was a damn reptile shedding my skin. How on earth did you manage to maintain a full face of makeup in that same heat? And the bigger question, why would you want to? She basically looked like snow white with a super bitchy resting face. And don’t even get me started on the outfit. It was one of those flowing beach dresses that you can’t actually ever wear on the beach because its made of that material that makes you smell when you sweat. You all know what I’m talking about. Polyester? Nylon? Fuck I don’t know, I’m an accountant not a seamstress. But it had long sleeves and a slit up to her hip. This leads me to my next life lesson for you all:
There are two kinds of women in this world: (1) The women that come back from a day at the beach with not a strand of hair out of place or a grain of sand in sight, looking like they spent the day laying on a cloud instead of the actual sand; and (2) The women that come back from a day at the beach with sand up their ass crack. Don’t act like you don’t fall into category #2. Because if you get any enjoyment from this blog whatsoever, odds are you are a sand in the ass girl. Take solace in the fact that while you might have sand up your ass after a beach day, those other girls will have a stick up their ass their entire lives.
After leaving the ferry we stopped and watched this bitch model strut down the street while her boyfriend literally RAN to get the car for her. Oh how I wanted to go Tyra Banks on her ass and tell her she was cut. But I had more pressing issues – sand up my ass to be exact. So back to the hotel for a dip in the pool and a few more hours of sun before dinner.
Dinner was fairly uneventful, but as this is our last night, I wanted proof for my statement that every restaurnt is named “Ristorante Pizzaria”. See pic below.