The Magaluf Nightmare: Part 2 Featured

Written by 

In response to Frances' previous article

I have returned home and I am alive-ish. Apart from the fact that my body feels as though it will never quite wake up what with my poor body clock slowly trying to wind itself back up again, and the numerous bruises and dodgy tan lines across my skin (somehow I managed to get a perfect white handprint on the back of my calf...) meaning the mirror laughs at me every morning and evening when I get myself dressed/undressed. But I suppose that’s the point, Magaluf is a training ground putting our bodies to the absolute limit, seeing how far we can push them. The Strip is an assault course rivalling the military training at Sandhurst. Yes it hurts, but when you arrive out the other end, each scrape and injury adds to the pride in knowing that you have at least made it to the finish line.

There is certainly plenty of fun to have on such a holiday, with beaches and activities to enjoy during the sunny days and great bars and clubs to hit in the evenings. Nonetheless, I learnt the hard way that there is a darker side to the joviality as well. On the first night out a friend and I had our bags broken into and I lost my purse along with money and cards, and my friend, her camera along with precious memories. The fun and laughter stopped as sudden realisation dawned on me as I reached into my bag to purchase another drink. Sobering up has never happened so quickly, and calling my parents at 4am to ask them to cancel my credit card was not how I had envisaged my carefree, independence-finding holiday. It was an experience that left me disorientated, distressed and angry, but it taught me a valuable life lesson not to be so naive in believing the world is always a nice place.

The rest of the holiday went without a glitch, and we partied just as hard but always with one eye on each other’s bags at all times. This is something that will stay with me back here in England too, as numerous friends have shared the same experience on nights out here. The best times are the times when you feel safe and secure, and the reassurance that you will still have all your belongings in the morning is something that allows you to free yourself up and relax. Take Auntie Fran’s advice, and learn from my mistakes!

Although some of you may be terrified after what you have just read, I can assure you that this is a holiday not to be missed out on. Never again will I witness a man dressed in a giant blow-up penis costume wandering down the street, be part of a School Disco bar crawl with 600 other people dressed in matching ties and shirts, dive into a foam party where people actually turned up in scuba diving outfits and goggles, or attend a UV paint party where the paint is shot out of canons into the most mental of crowds. These are things you can only experience when you are young enough to take it, because they come with a health warning and are certainly not for the faint hearted.

Magaluf is supposed to leave you broken, physically and mentally. However, it’s what doesn’t kill you that makes you stronger, and the way in which it changes you makes them some of the best memories of your life. Your friends that help to pull you through the experience become your lifelong mates, and in the very distant future you will sit with those friends sipping tea and knitting cardigans for your Grandchildren with a knowing smirk on the sides of your smiles which says: ‘Can you believe we did that?!’

Frances Clarke

I love to write about stuff that I think is important for people to hear.

Copyright Bounce Sin, 2011.Web design by Wrightway Digital, Maintained by BounceSIN Ltd.