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Internal Burning... Wandering Fever.
The open road is a beckoning, a strangeness, a place where man can lose himself.
William Trogdon

It started off as a fortnight in a friend of a friends' Florida chalet (though we all suspected it would ultimately end up being a week in a tent in a friends backyard). My friends and I indulged the idea of going on holiday for a while... quite a long while actually ~ until all the talking about it finally drove us crazy and in a mad fit of spontaneity at the end of July 1999, Clare and I booked a fortnight's holiday for the summer of 2000.
The addition of two friends, a change of destination, all the overtime we could stand and eleven months later, bingo... we embarked upon our epic journey of freedom to the Greek island of Rhodes.

-= Faliraki =-

We couldn't sleep when we first arrived, so Clare and I watched the sunrise over the ocean. So pretty. Except for the Ugly Naked Guy in the hotel opposite, who stepped out to take a look himself... (and no, I have no pictures of that).

The balcony of Clare and I's apartment ~s~ The scene of many evening dinners, sleepy morning gazes towards the ocean, the occasional towel blowing down to the pool and more screaming-girls-angry-bee ambushes than we care to remember ~l~

Well, darn. When we got to Faliraki we were so shocked to discover that it wasn't the sleepy peaceful resort we four had soooooo obviously hoped for was actually the party capital of Rhodes. Who'd have thought, eh? ~bg~ What else were we to do but spend many a night (well, okay, every night) on the tiles down at Bar Street and Club Street...? ~s~

Our first night out proved you can't escape your roots, no matter how many thousands of miles you travel...for the Bubbles barmen were all from the Bristol area, and all it took was one rendition of "I've got a brand new combine harvester" by them and we drank ourselves into oblivion...all I seem to remember after that is dancing down the street with cocktail ribbons in our hair... ~blinks~

The clubs out there were crazy...absolutely anything goes. We went to pretty much every club there; from the empty Millennium, to the much publicised Q where I could have killed a guy for giving me a cigarette burn that lasted the rest of my vacation...but there were two in particular that weren't so bad...

The Pleasure Rooms was on Club Street...I really liked it there, but we only went once. I think it was just too much hassle to stumble from Bar Street down to where it was. But we found Sinners nestled away in the middle of Bar Street and night after night we lost ourselves in the music right through to the early hours... ~bas~

Faliraki was always insane at night. If you escaped being mown down by a hyperactive mopedbunny, then you were dragged into bars by reps giving away free shots or mobbed by horny (mainly British) males who only seemed to get the hint when you either screamed "NO!" in their faces or feigned lesbianism by snatching your friend away by declaring "She's mine! Sod off!" We only wanted to escape all things British for two weeks...was that too much to ask? ~l~

As the night came to an end, and the majority of people were slowly stumbling back to their hotels, the girls and I would head from the club to the beach, where we'd lie for the rest of the night, just talking, listening to the waves lap against the beach, and waiting for the Sun to come up. Oh yes, and trying to avert our eyes away from the skinny dippers that were out in their droves...

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