READ MORE Check Out These Choppers By the late 60s, the island witnessed a massive inflow of hippies and beatniks, who progressively displaced by the arrival of the jet set in the 70s, and real estate speculation that comes with the money. But Ibiza reached its peak during the 90s, when the island became the starting point of the techno movement. All the European partyboys and girls, from Manchester to Barcelona, came to [party revel/go wild] in the islands legendary clubs and embrace its hedonistic lifestyle. READ MORE New Yorks Scariest Night Out But in recent years,tourism has exploded (in 2010, there were 2.4 million tourists)and the arrival of ambitious new investors has changed everything. La Isla Bonita has slowly turned into a strange melting pot of super wealthy oligarchs and new fortunes from the Persian Gulfwith their yachts parked in the very VIP Marina Botafochunderage Italian clubbers wearing Ed Hardy shirts, British reality TV stars, and Premier league football players. Giuseppe Cipriani, 49 years old and the head of his familys eponymous restaurant empire, entered the game in Ibiza two years ago. Often regarded as an international playboy with a taste for top-models, he has tried to blow a wind of change on the island since 2013, bringing a wealthier, more high-profile clientele to the island. After succeeding in opening his restaurant, Downtown, along Ibizas marina in 2012, the Italian mogul raised in New York started thinking about ways to expand on the island. READ MORE The Crazy Medieval Island of Sark After months of buzz and suspense cultivated by local authorities, who had been inexplicably slow to issue the necessary licenses, Cipriani finally announced the grand opening of his night club Bomba, built over the ruins of the old Heaven Clubformerly known as The Penelopeone of the leading gay clubs in Ibiza during the early 2000s. But, one doesnt open a club with such visibility within a walking distance to the world famous Pacha Cluba mythical place that has hosted the wild nights of hippies and jet setters since the seventieswithout some teeth gnashing.
Fuente http://news.yahoo.com/battle-king-ibiza-nightlife-094500893--politics.html
11 reasons you shouldn't feel bad about missing Great American Brew Fest (GABF) - 7NEWS Denver TheDenverChannel.com
Check out the special events planned during Beer Fest, including a rare beer tasting. In LoDo: Grab a beer flight at The Denver Chophouse and Brewery.
Fuente http://www.thedenverchannel.com/entertainment/11-reasons-to-not-feel-bad-about-missing-great-american-beer-fest-gabf
Camping Reveals Beauty of Mexico's Baja | Valley News
Moved Tuesday, Sept. 30, 2014. (MUST CREDIT: Photo for The Washington Post by Rhea Yablon Kennedy.) Boats, beachcombers and the occasional sea creature share the idyllic shoreline at Balandra Beach, near La Paz, the state capital of Baja California Sur. Illustrates BAJA-BUS (category t), by Rhea Yablon Kennedy, special to The Washington Post. Moved Tuesday, Sept. 30, 2014. (MUST CREDIT: Photo for The Washington Post by Rhea Yablon Kennedy.) Ancient scrawlings on a cave lie just a rock scramble away from the highway in Catavina, in Mexicos Baja Peninsula. Illustrates BAJA-BUS (category t), by Rhea Yablon Kennedy, special to The Washington Post. Moved Tuesday, Sept. 30, 2014. (MUST CREDIT: Photo for The Washington Post by Rhea Yablon Kennedy.) Furry sunbathers laze on rocky cliffs on the coast of the Sea of Cortez. Illustrates BAJA-BUS (category t), by Rhea Yablon Kennedy, special to The Washington Post. Moved Tuesday, Sept. 30, 2014. (MUST CREDIT: Photo for The Washington Post by Rhea Yablon Kennedy.) Ancient scrawlings on a cave lie just a rock scramble away from the highway in Catavina, in Mexicos Baja Peninsula. Illustrates BAJA-BUS (category t), by Rhea Yablon Kennedy, special to The Washington Post. Moved Tuesday, Sept. 30, 2014. (MUST CREDIT: Photo for The Washington Post by Rhea Yablon Kennedy.) Furry sunbathers laze on rocky cliffs on the coast of the Sea of Cortez. Illustrates BAJA-BUS (category t), by Rhea Yablon Kennedy, special to The Washington Post. Moved Tuesday, Sept. 30, 2014. (MUST CREDIT: Photo for The Washington Post by Rhea Yablon Kennedy.) By Rhea Yablon Kennedy Special to The Washington Post Sunday, October 5, 2014 Print The boat guy flung his hands toward the water and shouted something urgent. The gist was: Go go go! So I pushed on my snorkel mask and went, toppling into the chilly Sea of Cortez. Righting myself, I peered down into the cool water. And saw it. The whale shark was so calm and lithe, I didnt register what I was seeing at first. Its gray polka-dotted body moved like a school-bus-size shadow. By the time I realized that I was almost close enough to stroke its vast back, I was watching it taper to a tail, and then I was letting out a snorkel-muffled squeal at something else: a baby whale shark swimming alongside its mother. A minute later, the guides helped me scramble out of the water. Back in the boat, I sat grinning and panting among five fellow tourists whod also taken their first swim with these gentle giants. This was one of many moments that would leave me breathless sometimes quite literally during a trip through Baja California. I got to know Mexicos famous peninsula over two weeks from late December to early January on a 36-passenger MCI D-series motor coach with Green Tortoise Adventure Travel that brought a group of us roughly 1,000 miles from San Francisco to the bottom of Baja California Sur and back up again. By the end of the trip, Id seen landscapes both lush and dry, mountainous and flat; communities both affluent and subsistent; sights for the historian and for the adventure-seeker alike. And they all surpassed my expectations. We started along the western coast, which borders the Pacific Ocean, and continued on the east side, learning why Jacques-Yves Cousteau called the Sea of Cortez the worlds aquarium. But there were lots of surprises long before my first experience with the ocean creatures that enchanted the legendary diver and conservationist. One of our first stops as we meandered down the west coast was the city of Ensenada, a busy port town about a 90-minute drive from the U.S. border. This was early in the trip, when my boyfriend and I had just met our fellow passengers. Both Washington, D.C.-based university faculty members, we joined an eclectic group that included college students from China and Korea, young professionals and free spirits from the U.K., the United States and Australia, and a retired truck driver living in Colorado. Some had already tucked five or six Green Tortoise trips under their belts. Others were newbies like me. Somehow, we all fit together at first socially, and soon physically. The two bus drivers formed their own complementary band. William brought Reiki skills, a penchant for hats and decades of experience behind the wheel. Charles was a sandy-haired Oaklander who wore sunglasses with a built-in bottle opener even though the drivers never cracked a cerveza during travel days. He handled orientations to new places. Our drivers m.o. in Ensenada, as it would be in most cities, was to hand out a map, let us know when and where to meet the bus in a few hours and send us on our way. Charles did mention a few attractions, though. One of the highlights was an 11th-floor hotel bar billed as the highest point in the city. As my boyfriend and I walked around, I spotted a banner advertising a fireworks display to take place that night. A bustling city on a Saturday evening, a vantage point to die for and a show that combination sat in the back of my mind as we pushed through the streets lined with restaurants, coffee shops, an outdoor gift market and no-prescription-needed pharmacies. As night fell, we strategized for the fireworks. That high vantage point sounded perfect. The air grew cool. Boat owners were lighting up their vessels with strings of lights in red, orange, blue and white. If living in Washington, D.C., had taught me anything, it was that a top-floor bar would be clogged with revelers and sight-seekers on a weekend like this. Yet when we arrived, we found a lone couple at a table. A bartender made desultory circuits around the floor. Whether the place hadnt made it into guidebooks or visitors just didnt crave a view, I cant say. But we had the place to ourselves as the fireworks canopies bloomed over the water. The next morning brought its own surprises. As the sun warmed the air, I left the bus and waded into chilly water in a beachside town. I was just awake enough to be confused. Not confused about how Charles had safely maneuvered a 20-ton bus through loose sand without sinking. Or about how, the night before, William had led us in performing what Green Tortoise folks call the Miracle: transforming the seating area of our bus into a huge bed and the overhead luggage compartments into bunks so that all 30-plus passengers could sleep lying down as we drove through the night. I didnt even question why this water was so cold, when arid desert stretched all around. No, I was wondering about food. Hadnt the itinerary mentioned waking up to breakfast? And hadnt the Green Tortoise Web site indicated that the coaches had kitchens? As a freelance food writer, I was sure that I remembered those details correctly. But I had yet to see so much as a hot plate on our coach, and the town of low huts and scrawny gardens showed no sign of even a mom-and-pop store, let alone a catered spread. Then all of a sudden, a kitchen materialized. I stood stunned as my fellow travelers pulled folding tables and cases of food from the buss luggage compartment. To the clattering music of plastic dishes and metal flatware, perishables emerged from a cooler under the passenger seats. In no time, we were enjoying a generous breakfast, complete with fresh watermelon and hot coffee. We would dine on gourmet-caliber meals for the rest of the trip, thanks to savvy shopping by our drivers, passenger involvement in meal prep, and ice and water available along the way. A three-bin dishwashing system with seawater, soap and a touch of bleach always followed. We spent the days around Christmas at a rustic campsite tucked between the Sea of Cortez and tree-covered hills, aptly called Playa Escondida, which means hidden beach. This was the private beach and winter home of Green Tortoise owner Lyle Kent. It was also where I started to understand why this place so impressed Cousteau. A few minutes after donning snorkel and mask, I found myself in water that buzzed with more life than all my other snorkel adventures combined. Schools of neon-striped yellowtail raced below me. Sea anemones swayed. Bright blue fish flitted by. Only through glass aquarium walls had I ever seen such a vibrant marine hub. In the first two days, we hiked through narrow slot canyons, dry riverbeds and mud flats. On the third day, local guides from the nearby Rancho San Cosme hoisted us on mules and led the group along cliffs with majestic views of ocean and towering rock islands.
Fuente http://www.vnews.com/lifetimes/13788005-95/camping-reveals-beauty-of-mexicos-baja
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