Ok, yes. I admit it. I went to Ibiza. But, trust me, I'm not proud of it. And I blame Liz for insisting we went there. After pondering this for the last 2 months, I've realised there really is only one word that properly encapsulates the essence of Ibiza: Louche.
Don't get me wrong though. It wasn't like I was counting down the seconds to escape the place, however imagine Manchester on a tropical island. How enticing does that sound? I should also add that I arrived with a slightly bitter taste in my mouth after missing a bullfight in Barcelona the previous day.
AND, I challenge anyone to find a good tapas offering on the island. The local dish may as well be British-style fish 'n' chips. Straight off the boat from Brighton.
And fuck, there are some posers there. If they're not mindbogglingly off their head, the superficial tourists that flock to this place will be pouting, flexing, eye-shagging, head-tilting, sunglass-lifting and eyebrow-raising. It actually makes the people that frequent The Establishment seem down-to-earth. Ibiza was also the first time I've asked a stranger to take a photo and received an outright, "no". The beaches there are undoubtedly some of the best in Europe, but the vibe of the place is simply not relaxed, friendly and fun. There's a sense of drug-fuelled passive aggression that permeates the island.
And then there's the cost of everything. There's basically two ways to entertain yourself at night in Ibiza. You can hang at the beach bars and clubs or hit the superclubs. The regular beach bars are expensive enough. But the Superclubs will hit you a meagre 40 euros just for entry. After discovering that beers were 10 euros a pop and spirits around the 18 euro mark (!!!), we thought we'd sneak our own Vodka in and simply buy the soft drinks for it. Our night at Pacha Club ended up being a relatively dry one, after we were charged 8 euros for a (small) glass of Coke.
Because I'm on holiday, I don't like being so negative, so let me offer you something positive about Ibiza...
...something positive, something positive...hmmm, nup, got nothing. Wait, I lie. Watching the sunset from Cafe del Mar and Bar Mambo over in San Antoni on the west coast was certainly memorable.
So, you can see I'm not a fan of the infamous place that the Vengaboys loudly advocated back in the late 90s (and destroyed a classic song in the process, originally about Barbados). But if you're one of the tools at Good Vibes that insists on removing their shirt and stands there (with their back to the stage) pouting while catching regular glances at their own reflection in other people's sunglasses, then Ibiza is for you.
Now, here are some photos.
Mark being hounded by a local restauranter. He likes his chuppa-chups. As does most of Ibiza actually.
Figuretas Beach. It's not all bad.
The only real 'touristy' thing in Ibiza. The old town.
A disco in the old town. There was even a market for disco biccies back in the 18th century.
Look, I'm smiling.
This was one of the other positive moments of our Ibiza stint. A shop named Pantera. Drag the waters!!
Mark and I with our Melbourne pals Mel and Kate. They're actually still there as I write this. Working in clubs selling NOS (nitris-oxcide).
Bora Bore Beach Club. Need I say more?
Some cafe.
Liz, Mark and I awaiting the sunset at Cafe Del Mar
Mark and I have a quiet moment watching the sunset. Awwww cute.
Eric Morillo doing his thang at Pacha Superclub
Pacha...
Emerging from Pacha at 8am. Mmmm top of the world!
Mark. Failing to make it all the way through the next day. Pathetic.
The hiccie was not a result of me being an Ibizan sleaze. I just shouldn't have let Liz within 10m of my neck.
Sure, it was a low-blow. But I had to get Liz back somehow...
Oh, and don't go thinking that I spent my 3 or 4 days in Ibiza moping around being a bitter, bitter sod. I did crack the odd smile occasionally.
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