The Greek Islands are where revels’ dreams drink. After a month of performing in Rome as hired-partiers, promoters and all else hedonic, we hopped ferry from Bari to the explore the islands. We ventured as if it was the righteous responsibility of American Frat Boys. We had the the internationally-acclaimed Party Paradise: The Pink Palace on the island of Corfu in our crosshairs.
Corfu’s history is ladened with battles and conquests. This region shaped our world. The entirety of earth is, one way or another, enriched by Greek thought, politics, games, fables, people. The stories are savagely inspiring.
Today, the terrain is lush with olive groves and vineyards. Nestled in the serene, peace-green and the breathtaking calm, is the Pink Palace. These vibrantly painted pink playgrounds are the definition of “PARTY HOSTEL”. Regally watching the morning glisten on the Mediterranean, the Pink Palace invites travelers from around the world to challenge the legends and fulfill the myths.
A fresh inhale of island air, becomes my breath, and I nod agreeably with the infinite sky. As if Zues, in all his might, brought the morning to me.
WARNING: Only visit to the Pink Palace if you are willing to wage war on your own chaste and virtue. The Pink Palace will get the best of you.
The Pink Palace will strip you naked for an extra 3 points in volleyball or convince you to chug from the jug of sun-warmed wine. After that, the Pink Palace will suggest you full-frontal lick a stranger’s face, even after she’s been sporting in the thick island heat all morning… You might oblige. I did. It all made too much sense at the time. Every which way, the Pink Palace encourages boozing and nuding as core principles for irreconcilable fun. The blaze of the Mediterranean warmth burnt us umber. We 50 hostel guests draped our bear bodies in soft pink silk togas. This was the dress code for our gathering in the grand dining hall for a celebratory supper. We feasted gloriously with no mind for gluttony. Indulging to excess had become expected.
With stories and laughs, songs and anecdotes of the brave and the brazen, an evening of shameless celebration commenced. We stuffed our faces with fruits and cheeses, breads and fish, washing It all down by the gulp, until the jugs of wine hallowed. Beneath the night stars, listening to the lapping Mediterranean. A cool breeze after a long day of booze-cruising to private pebble beaches and bluffs we drunkenly climbed & jumped.
Here, there are no evils, and the thought of danger was too distant to acknowledge. Johny jumped from a 45 foot cliff ass-naked for a can of cheap beer. He splashed into the water, cautiously cradling his junk. Johny learned from the German who jumped before him, and was now moaning and coddling his battered testies….and waving good-bye to his ego.
Fornication and drugs, sun shine, blue sees, food, a light breeze and no world beyond our peripherals. If you need me, I’ll be belching at the top of my lungs until we wake the pits of hell. There was no mercy for the timid, the palace was a challenge of endurance and most will lie saying they can handle it.
The Pink Palace is the paragon of promiscuity, laughing in the face dignity. It is a delightful debauchery that will suck you in and spit you out. Again I heed you, Only visit to the Pink Palace if you are willing to wage war on your own chaste and virtue.