Grumpy In Ibiza
Our first night in Ibiza was a blast. A DJ friend got us into one of the big clubs, Space, and gave us drink vouchers. Apparently, he told us, drinks are a bit pricey, so this was all very good and much appreciated. The music was great, the club was way bigger than anything I've been to, and the crowd seemed like a typical club crowd with most people being there for the music. The dancefloor was rammed and pumping. We wandered a lot and personally I was just a bit amazed at the sheer size of the place. All in all, an excellent night.
Second night... all I can say is if you have connections, use them because The Dreaded One and I went it alone to Pacha and I had no idea until then what my friend meant about the prices - 60 euro each to walk through the door. That's roughly AU$90 per person. For an average Monday night with no headlining act. In fact I was damned if I could see a DJ at all. The night was called Flower Power and the music was hits from the 60s and 70s. There was no mixing and it felt like listening to a retro radio show. How did they justify that cover charge? Still, we wanted to experience Ibiza in all its forms, so best make the most of it. At the bar... two JD and cokes cost 34 euro. That's around the AU$20 mark for one drink. No fruit, no cocktail shaker or little umbrella, no complicated booze recipe, just bourbon and fizzy sugar. We've since booked our flights from Ibiza to Barcelona, and for the price of two drinks at Pacha you can fly from here to Barcelona.
It was probably the shock of all this that I got lost trying to get out later in the night. It certainly wasn't because I was drunk. The Dreaded One wandered off, I took a wrong turn and next thing I am hopelessly lost in retro hell. I kept wandering into the same rooms I didn't want to be in while Mama Cass banged on about all the leaves being brown and the sky being grey... I used to love California Dreaming but suddenly I never wanted to hear it again. For half an hour I was hopelessly lost while The Dreaded One kept texting from outside asking where I was and what I was doing. My eyes are pretty fucked and I can't read my phone without my specs so I didn't bother trying, but that was exactly what she was texting. Woopsie, sorry, how embarrassment.
Thing is, things have a way of balancing out. People like Nightmares On Wax and DJ Sasha will pop up at free gigs, you just have to keep an ear out. Nightmares On Wax at a beach club (Kumares) while the sun set was perfection (see previous post). No cover charge and the drinks were affordable and the company was cool. I'm hoping to go back there before we leave.
Also, on two separate occasions I was given 10 euro too much in my change. Then last night at the Gypsy Markets after watching the sunset at Cafe Mambo next door to the legendary Cafe del Mar we ordered some barbecued ribs (churrasqueiros) and a couple of glasses of wine from this stand-at-the-counter place, just after a summer downpour of rain that was really quite pleasant. The gorgeous Spanish waitress (who could shout brick walls to rubble... we ordered our ribs and she switched her vocal chords up to eleven to place the order with the barbecue guy and it was hilarious and strangely sexy. She looked like the kind of chick you just don't want to get into an altercation with... which was strangely sexy again... erm sorry, ending parentheses now so so you've to join the sentence back together after this overly long aside... she really was quite sexy though...) emptied the last of the wine from the bottle and glanced at me, knowing that the cup was not adequately filled. Was she daring me? Was there was a faint glint in her dark eyes? I fucking think there was. There was a pause and I was expecting her to take the money but I did a sad puppy dog face and asked in my most fluent Spanish mime if she could put more wine into the cup. She smiled as though I was being cheeky but obliged by opening a fresh bottle and topping up both cups. Then she turned away without taking the 25 euro I estimated the meal to cost.
Normally I am Karma Man and will tell people I haven't paid yet. I'm a shocker for it. But hell, maybe this was karma in action. Maybe the universe took pity on me for the night at Pacha, so to hell with it. The shouty but sexy senorita had clearly moved on to other customers, so I put my wallet away and tucked into the biggest, most delicious pile of ribs ever. (And secretly hoped that when we walked away Senorita Shouty was going to chase me down and... actually, end fantasy here).
I'm heading out this afternoon to Bora Bora beach club where the boobies and bums frolic on the sand to thumping dance music. Going to see if the universe throws any more money at me... actually, Universe, don't bother; I'm more than a bit grateful for the boobies and bums at Bora Bora. Mucho gracias.
Grumpy is Lee Bemrose, freelance writer, leebemrose@hotmail. He prefers cash but will accept boobies and bums.
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