![]() Well, at least he tried.Īll this sex certainly wasn't just confined to the hotel, though. Trying clumsily to cover it up, my dad suggested that we go inside to eat with the curtains drawn. There was this one summer when we were eating dinner on the terrace, while all along peeking from the corner of our eyes at a couple that forgot to close the curtains before getting their kit off. In an era where there weren't any mobile phones or internet, a microclimate developed where free love was taking place whenever, wherever, and in front of whoever. I'm not only talking about the typical strip bars that were scattered under each and every building (let's not forget the legendary Top-Less Eva), but more of this sort of overt sexual revelry that was so obvious that even the kids picked up on it. The fortor, island slang for over-the-top sexual impulse, was so noticeable that you could almost taste it in the air. Somewhere between those three points, people could get lost and disappear forever. Magaluf had a bit of a Spanish Bermuda triangle thing going on at the time-I guess that Hotel Sahara, BCM nightclub, and Punta Ballena were the corners of this phenomenon. The stores didn't even bother to ask kids for fake IDs when buying their Rushkinoff-the putrid discount vodka that basically fueled the Majorcan summer. You could get completely plastered for next to nothing. Even in the dingiest of souvenir shops, there'd be this huge selection of booze packed in between beach towels, hot pink dresses, and those classy little aprons with the boobs on them. I remember being able to buy alcohol absolutely everywhere. ![]()
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