Some might say that dashing off to a Spanish isle on the invitation of a man you hardly know is foolish.

I suppose I wouldn't necessarily disagree with them.

That being said, last weekend I found myself lying on a pristine beach in Mallorca, with a man in whose company I could count less than twelve hours.

Let me put this into context.

Grant and I met in Ein Gedi, an oasis and nature reserve on the coast of the Israeli Dead Sea in October of 2009. In 90 degree heat (that's about 35 for those who don't speak Fahrenheit), we hiked to the top of the Judaen Plateau, which afforded incredible views over the Dead sea and into Syria. We took a dip, or a float, in the Dead Sea, and visited the Ahava factory, where I managed to leave a collection of goodies from the shop in his rented car. After a day together with his friend Radek, he drove back up to Tel Aviv and I hitch-hiked down to Eilat on the Red Sea with my friend Mike.

Determined to collect my very exclusive hand cream at some future date, I kept in touch with Grant, and over the past year we have planned (and scratched) several trips, from Switzerland to Georgia. It was in June this year that he invited me to join him while he was staying at his apartment in Mallorca. I had booked a ticket without a minutes hesitation.

I tend to trust my gut instinct about people. Despite a distinct age gap between us, I immediately warmed to Grant. I remember how he generously offered to drive us to the reserve so we could hike up together. He was enthusiastic about visiting the Ahava factory, which he'd never heard of before. And on the back of his business card he wrote: Kate, Come to Scotland or Spain and we can go exploring! Though I didn't have a lot to go on with only those 12 hours, it was long enough to take away good vibes.

It was only in the few days leading up to the trip to Mallorca that I began wondering if I might be in too deep. Not only was I seeing someone who I didn't really know, I would be staying at his home and had no real way to escape if something went wrong. I had written a "disclaimer email" to Grant in the hopes he would understand that I came to visit as a friend, and nothing more, but this didn't stop me from worrying that I might find myself in a slightly tricky situation.

On the eve of departure, I tossed and turned before the 6 AM flight to Madrid. It was partially in excitement, but I kept going over scenarios in my head. How do I treat this practical-stranger when I see him? What should I do if things became uncomfortable? What was my escape plan?

Turns out, as expected, I had absolutely nothing to worry about. Grant was a knightly host. He picked me up at the airport, and we aimed straight for his local beach, Cala Major. The following day he rented a car and we explored the island together for three days. He showed me his favorite swimming holes, and his local eateries. We finally got to know each other, during long hours driving or lounging on the sand, he told me of his plan to publish a novel and direct a film. I got glimpses of his childhood, his family life, his past relationships, and his future goals. He heard far too much about my life as well. We maintained and developed a platonic companionship throughout the trip, which was perfect.

As for Mallorca - I had heard good things about this Baleriac gem between Menorca and Ibiza. It seemed ideally sandwiched between the two islands, Menorca known for its tranquility and natural beauty, and Ibiza for wild nightlife and famous DJs. It was just as imagined - in Palma, the capital, a vibrant social scene went late into the night, with jazz clubs atop bougey hotels and tapas bars serving Mallorcan wine and typical Spanish fare. During the day, couples walked groomed golden retrievers down the boardwalk, or shopped along the Passeig de Born at Louis Vuitton or Carolina Herrera. But there was another side to the island. Grant took me along dusty roads to hidden coves with pristine water. We stopped in little village along the coast for cafe con leche and a stroll along a rocky shore. We drove through towns in the middle of the island with beautiful limestone buildings, surrounded by vineyards and olive trees. During the day we picnicked on chorizo, jamon and manchego, sun-ripened avocados and olives, and in the evenings we drank strong Spanish riojas and Pomadas (Mallorcan gin, lemonade and ice) over tapas or paella in the setting sun, followed by live jazz at the Hotel Saratoga. It was paradise.

I was sad to depart on Sunday morning. I left my favourite bikini hanging to dry on the balcony of Grant's apartment, adding to a growing collection of my forgotten items in his repertoire. I saw it as a sort of subconscious way of maintaining a tie to the place. I hope to return one day, and perhaps, when I grow up, buy a place of my own.

Before the trip, I re-watched one of my favourite films, Before Sunrise. In it, two strangers meet on a train and decide to get off together in Vienna and spend the evening together. The film is a conversation between this young couple as they wander through the cities cobbled streets, stopping at landmarks and in a variety of shops, restaurants and bars. Though they begin awkwardly, each learns to enjoy the others personality and nuances through the course of the night. While doing so, they are discovering the city in each others company, providing as a unique contextual memory of the place.

When it was finished, my roommate turned to me and said "not many people would actually do that, would they?" It takes a lot to get off a train with someone you don't really know, just as it takes a lot to fly out to visit someone you've met only once before. A bit of bravery, a bit of trust, and perhaps a little foolishness as well.

For me, there is great allure in exploring the unknown, partially because it comes with risk. It is easy to take the familiar path and pass on opportunities because they seem scary, or present something alien. But aren't we always looking for something new? What fun is there in chasing the familiar?