Europe

My Pink Palace

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(note: most of this was written in late August)

I’m home after two months of chasing guys that don’t like me, drinking champagne from the bottle and regretting it the day after, and most of all, working. It’s been pretty much non-stop, from breakfast until 2 or 3 at night. For the first time in many years, The Pink Palace was over-booked. It is rare that it reaches its maximum capacity of 300-something, but this year, we were pushing towards 600 guests – and more than half of them were families! Ugh.

I was jet-lagged, sick and tired when I arrived on July 3rd. Alcohol was hard to keep down, and my eyes were hard to keep open. I suffered from Boring many times during my two months in Corfu, but I enjoyed many of my nights cuddling with Jack, our inflatable crocodile too much to care. I got to read books. I finally got to see shooting stars while sipping on Retsina on the beach kitcken roof. I took plenty of naps.

A typical day this summer would go like this, with very few variations day to day:
Aga and I would wake up and go to breakfast, which started at 8. As the rest of the staff working breakfast didn’t seem to care if they were late for work, we started going at 9.30. We’d get the room keys from the cleaning lady and see if everyone checking out had already left – and if not, we had to give them a firm reminder that they would be charged if they didn’t get out. This led to many sights of morning wood and white butts. At one point we would leave after that and set up tables for dinner, but Dr. George, the owner, sent us down to the kitchen after a week or so of setting up tables.
After that, we would eat breakfast and pick up the guests plates. When Pete, our good friend through all our Pink years, was present, we’d usually drink mimosas. At 11, breakfast ended, and staff and the cool guests announced that by putting on Martin Garrix – Animals and fist pumping like drunk people (which we sometimes were, as one mimosa is never enough).
After cleaning up everything at breakfast, we headed up to the office to do marketing, party planning and picture sorting. For a short period, we had to stay and do lunch all day, thanks to a total cunt playing boss, but Dr. George had our backs! Aga and I would have a few hours in there where we would go to lunch at one of the beach restaurants with Pete, or take a nap. Then we would go do dinner.
Dinner was greeting and seating people, offer them 1 € shots after they’d been served and then tell them about the party for the night. We would clean up the dinner hall and polish cutlery until midnight, unless Aga and I had planned a party that called for body painting, which gave us an excuse to leave so we could paint the guests.
We’d start the party by painting people, setting up drinking games, or tying their togas, depending on the theme for the night. At one point, we had to bus at night too, but there was no way you could keep us up till 3 or 4 at night every night with everything else going on. We had quite a few early nights, as my body never fully recovered from my traveling.

So I guess what I should really say, is that my year was kind of disappointing, and I blame that on myself for being tired, and the staff for causing drama, spreading bad vibes, and giving no fucks about their jobs.

A great thing was, that my summer was one giant reunion. Former staff members and guests came back, and it was amazing. Pete, Bieber, Shank, Jordan, Cole, the Albanian girls, and many more. A lot of things have changed here since 2012, for better and for worse, but it was nice that my old friends came back to see it and still enjoyed it, because this place truly is magical. It has everything you need, and then it’s up to the people that are there to make it the party hostel it is supposed to be – even with families around. Aga and I arranged all the parties, and we tried really hard to have a theme or a game every night. We tiredlessly painted the same swirls and dots on guests for all the parties involving bodypaint. We drove to Jumbo constantly to stock up on glowsticks. We made posters, we told everyone about the parties at dinner, and we kept trying to get people involved, and most of the time we ended up with a camera full of pictures of smiling faces and painted bodies. I am proud of the work we did, and we got great reviews and feedback from many guests and some of our co-workers.

I was often desperate to leave the Palace during the daytime, as Agios Gordios, Corfu Town and Paleokastritsa are such beautiful places, and I wanted to spend more time there. We snuck out every chance we got, because we felt like everyone would be mad if they knew that we ate lunch somewhere else, or went shopping for friendship bracelets in town. We treated our summer like it was our last time there. I tried some amazing food in Agios Gordios: pastas, saganaki, calamari and moussaka. I sat on the back of a quad to and from Corfu Town plenty of times, just thinking about little and big things in life. Some people have moments of genius in the shower; mine were on the back of a quad. Whenever I wasn’t at the Palace, I forgot all about being tired, and I forgot about the staff.

As the lovely bartender Sue put it: “this is the worst staff this place has ever seen“. Not only did people come and go as they pleased after two weeks, 9 days or even just 2 hours of working here. The staff that actually stayed ended up clashing so much, that I spent most of my days wondering how I could make them leave. I thought working there 3 summers in a row would earn you a bit of respect, but instead I felt that Aga and I were constantly bossed around. We ended up being just a very small group that hung out and partied, while others watched us from the sideline, judging us. When we were over-booked, we were so busy, that I burned out completely. It didn’t help at all that we were severely under-staffed all summer, and no one seemed to think breakfast, marketing, dinner and night activities is enough of a workload.

It’s funny, because the owner, Dr. George, really appreciated Aga and me this year. Every chance he could get, he would tell us how much it meant to him that we were there, and that we were doing a great job. It wasn’t until last year that he even learned our names, and now he was handing out free ice creams and compliments and even a very nice bonus when we left! It made me feel so much better to know that at least we were pleasing the only person whose opinion matters: Dr. George.

Now that it’s all been said, I have to admit that all the partying was great, but I’ve forgotten most of it. I will always remember the great friends I’ve made here though, so a massive thanks to them for making my summer. And Chile, you were an amzing big brother. May you never have less than two people in your bed.

I realize that this post is boring, with no pictures, stories or people. When I get my memory back I will try and put up another on about this summer, I sorta promise.

Update: here is a video of my summer. It’s not looking too bad, eh?

Bye bye, Europe!

3.45 in the morning is no time to get up, but that’s what we do anyway. We start our day agreeing that we are getting sick and promptly fill up on vitamins. We take a cab to the airport to avoid having to endure a long, cold walk to the train station with our backpacks on, which would ultimately make us more sick. That’s lazy people’s logic for you right there. The driver rips me off of course, but I am too sleepy to care. Paulina is with us to try and get a refund on her flight, as she hasn’t gotten her visa approved yet, but she doesn’t have any luck. She then heads over to the ATM to get some money out, and it rejects all of her cards. Almost teary-eyed, she has to watch us go through security while she is waiting for the bank to open, so she can get some money for the cab back.

Sara and I fly to Paris, where we have a quick layover, then we’re off to Delhi. We sit in different rows, which I don’t mind, since we have movies, naps and food to entertain us. We try our first Indian meal on the plane, which is not too bad. I am geniunely thinking I won’t mind this coming month of just Indian food. Two weeks from now, I will regret that.

We also have our first taste of Asian politeness on the flight. The Indian woman sitting next to Sara not only stares her up and down for a long time, she also completely skips the line to the lavatory, where we have been waiting for several minutes. I am shocked how unapologetic and rude this woman is, but I also have yet to find out how common that really is.

When we land in Delhi, we have to deal with a long walk and line to immigration before baggage claim. Our backpacks are taking their sweet time to get there, and we are on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Wouldn’t it just be typical to travel all day, just to end up in a strange country without our luggage and an idea of how to deal with it?
We finally leave the airport, one whole hour after landing. A driver has been waiting for us all this time, and he’s going to wait a little bit longer, when we spot an ATM. I don’t know the currency rate, or what half the (English) words mean, so I take my sweet time. Poor guy.

Our driver takes us for quite a walk to the car. On the way, several big groups of young guys give us the stare, which makes us a bit nervous. I have heard a lot things about Indian men and their sexuality, and especially about their fascination with blond girls. It makes me even more aware of people staring at me, and even more scared that I will somehow end up in an uncomfortable situation. Not exactly the best thing to think about, going into a month-long trip in this country. I better shake off my prejudices about this country and its people. Not that I have too many.

We get in the taxi, which is clearly not an actual taxi, but an old, white car with duct tape to hold the windows in place. We have our first taste of traffic in India: loud, chaotic and seemingly super deadly. I get distracted when I see cows casually crossing the street here and there. This is amazing! What’s not amazing though, is that the driver asks us for a tip, and we hand him about 200 rupees, to which he gets offended. In the end, he cashes in 600 rupees in tips alone, and it’s a total scam, and we are tired and just want to get out of the duct tape car. He heads into a narrow and dark alley, and we stand there, unsure if it’s safe to follow him. Why is he going into this creepy alley with nothing but young men sitting around, staring at us!? It turns out our Hotel, called The Spot, is a tiny place far into the alley. Now, I’ve been staying in shit places before and it’s never been a problem. I have a fairly low standard. This place seems scary and disgusting though. I can’t put my finger on it.

We have plugged in the charger for the computer we have bought together for this trip, and suddenly a few sparks fly from the plug, the charger melts, and the lights go out. We are too scared to leave the room and go back to the reception, where it’s just a few young guys sitting around, so we just fall asleep in our beds, which Sara suspects is crawling with bed bugs. It’s been a looong day.

The first step towards freedom: graduating and moving out

January 7th 2014 was a big day for me: I finished my last exam and got my Bachelor’s Degree in Social Work. It was the biggest relief I have ever felt. I have been in school since I was 5, sick of it since I was 18. Now I am 22 and I am DONE. It’s mostly been a dreadful experience, but it’s over now, and I can be proud of what I’ve accomplished, since I have been the biggest slacker for the last 3.5 years.

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“YES! A Bachelor’s Degree AND free booze!”

I have been in a permanent state of stress since the Winter of 2012 because of a constant stream of exams and tiring courses, I thought I could relax and just enjoy myself for a while, now that I was done. Not happening. I had one week to move out of my home of two years. A small, newly built place with cheap rent and within walkin distance to pretty much everything. I’ve loved living alone and couldn’t imagine having to go back to a small bedroom and sharing the couch with someone else. Now that’s my life again.

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This is just the tip of a super depressing iceberg.

By the 15th of January I had boxed up some of my belongings and brought them over to my dad’s place. Here I have borrowed my sister’s (and occasionally my stepsister’s) room until March, when I take off to India. The first night at my dad’s was weird. Trying to cook in a new kitchen, sleep in a new bed and show respect for another person’s things while trying to feel at home. I felt like I had made a huge mistake. Being on my own is more comfortable most of the time, but I know it’s for a bigger cause: I’m trying to follow my dream and detach myself from things. I realized quickly that it’s not the things, but the idea of personal space that is so hard to let go of.

There is a lot of paperwork to do when you graduate, move and plan a long trip. It’s been more stressful than any exam could ever be, because this is the real world. It’s not theoretical, it’s real and it’s all on you. Luckily, I just got my Indian Visa, which I was super nervous about, as the application form was super confusing. Almost to the point of tears. You also bleed money even before you purchase the first plane ticket, because there are a lot of things that you just can’t live without when you’re backpacking. Like a backpack. Good shoes. A good eyelash curler. OK so I have all these things, but the vain part of me wants to get a haircut, get a couple of cute outfits and a good towel that dries quickly! These things cost $$, baby. Or €, £, whatever.

How I was bitten by the travel bug

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The more I look around me, the more I see people having it just as bad as I have. We share the same symptoms: Eyes light up, when the subject is travelling, or places we’ve been to. A lack of enthusiasm over anything that happens at home. Difficulty making plans, as there is a chance we’ll be long gone by then. The feeling of being too big for this place. Diagnosis: Wanderlust.

I can’t brag about being a ‘real’ traveler. As a Scandinavian, I’ve only visited two out of our three countries. As a European, I’ve only visited about 13 countries on the continent. My first and only time out of Europe was two weeks in Los Angeles and Vancouver. I visit the main tourist attractions, the road most travelled, and I haven’t been away from home more than two months at a time.

When I was younger, I suffered from severe homesickness. Sleeping at a friends’ place or going on an overnight school trip was dreadful. I missed my bed, and I missed my mommy. I could deal with our week-long family vacations in Turkey, Bulgaria and Spain, because I had my family with me. In 2010, I was on my first holiday without them; it was just me and two girlfriends from High School on a 5-day trip to Barcelona. It was amazing, but when the buzz from the Sangria started wearing off, I was there, on the dance floor of a crowded club, and I just wanted to go home. Things aren’t like that anymore.

The following year, two girlfriends and I decided that we should try Interrailing. A 22-day trip around Europe by train. We had to wear backpacks, practical but ugly hiking sandals, miss out on a few showers and eat croissants on the floor of a dirty train station. This was certainly new and exciting, but I wasn’t very sure of it, and I considered cancelling several times. A month before departure, my boyfriend of 4.5 years, whom I lived with, broke up with me. I was hurt and lost, and finally, Interrail seemed like a good idea. We had some amazing times around Europe; we hated Paris, partied hard in Nice, walked till our feet fell off in Milan, took a break in Florence, fell in love with Rome, suffered in Bari, and then there was Corfu. The rest of our trip was spent hungover from Corfu. Everyone in my life knows that I have a longstanding love affair with The Pink Palace in Corfu and the people travelling there, but the reason that island and that hostel was so important to me on that trip, is that I realized I had gotten over my ex-boyfriend one fateful night at the Palladium. There were a few times on our trip when I missed him and contemplated sending him a text. It was our second night or so at The Pink Palace, and we sat at a table at Palladium, having drinks. No one was dancing; I don’t even think there were that many people there. This group of guys walked over to us, sat down and started chatting us up. At first I was texting my ex, but the guys got increasingly interesting, and suddenly I noticed that one of the guys was really cute. My phone conversation started to annoy me – the final straw was my ex trying to make me feel homesick, saying even his mom was missing me. I looked at the text and thought “fuck that, I am over this now” and I had an amazing night with the cute guy. Of course I was “in love” for half a year after that, but we never talked again.

I kept coming back to Corfu and The Pink Palace, and I “fell in love” again my third time around, less than a year after my first visit. I was so “in love”, not just with this guy, but also with this place, that I came back a few weeks later to work there for a month. And then returned a few months later to visit my new family and my “boyfriend”. And then I returned the next summer to work there for two months. Every time has been difficult to remember, and difficult to forget.

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Being “in love” made me do crazy things, so one day I booked a trip far away to go see him. I had two amazing weeks in two amazing places, and this guy wasn’t even the main reason why my trip was so great. I got to see the USA I had always dreamt of seeing, I was hit on in the subway, people greeted me when I did my morning jog on the beach, I got to go to the Jay Leno Show, and then there was Canada. I met up with people I had befriended back at The Pink Palace, I saw the beautiful nature and I got hammered daily. Looking back, parts of it are sort of bittersweet, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I have travelled to whereever my “heart” has taken me so far, and it has enabled me to meet people, experience things and see the most beautiful sights. I can’t imagine living a life in just one place anymore.

So now I am here, on the verge of graduating and moving out of my apartment and quitting my jobs and selling my things. I’m going on an adventure. I have only planned a few months ahead. Maybe I’ll come back soon and be an office rat and find a boyfriend who understands the language I speak, but maybe not. I want to see every continent, do every festival, meet all the interesting and fun people and just be true to myself, whenever I find out who that is. My only true belongings will be my actions, and I will keep my “heart” and mind open to everyone and everything.

Remember,

not all those who wander are lost