Grumpy In Ibiza

A version of the next Grumpy column. Will be posting photos on Facebook soon. Enjoy.

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.

Postcard From Ibiza

Well we finally made it to Ibiza. I always said I wanted to come here just once in my life. My life has revolved quite a lot around dance music and clubbing for some time now, although the doofing scene of partying in the wilderness has caused me to see clubs much less in recent years. So just once, I thought.

I was under the impression that Ibiza had lost it's charm a long time ago. I saw that Real Ibiza reality TV show years ago. Over time I've spoken to a lot of people who have DJ'd here or partied here or just have an opinion about the place. Some friends with taste keep coming back each year, but I've had a lingering feeling for a long time that I missed Ibiza's glory days, perhaps with a little hope that I was wrong.

Bottom line? I like nice things. I like music and culture and style. We're due in Barcelona next and I like Barcelona. Loved Barcelona actually, but we still chose to extend our stay in Ibiza. I like it here a lot. I've had nothing but a good time in spite of friends who have never been here assuring me that it's a horrible, tacky place with nothing to offer but drunk Brits. With all due respect, they have no idea. I thought maybe it was going to be a bit like Surfers Paradise in Queensland; it's nowhere near as tacky as that place.

Yes there are drunk Brits. Pasty flesh rubs shoulders with the taut and tanned. You will bump into ugly, tasteless people wherever you go. But even in the most crowded club or beach party, everyone I have encountered appears to be here to party and have fun. I have not seen any agro... well a couple of people got thrown out of Pacha by security but I don't know what that was all about and I don't care.

Ibiza town is a nice place. Stylish little town with plenty of good food places about. Ibiza is not all about house music, drugs and drinking. There is plenty of that if you want it, but it's very easy to get away from all of that.

The first night we were here we went to Space nightclub. We are very lucky because a friend works there and we got in for free and were given free drinks. This is the one downside of Ibiza's short party season; it can be shockingly expensive. 60 Euro will get you through the door. Enjoy dancing sober because the drinks are horrendously expensive. We went to Pacha the following night with no contacts, and it was 60 Euro each to get in, 34 Euro for two JD and cokes. And I have to say it wasn't really worth it. The night was called Flower Power and the music was retro. I like California Dreaming etc, but this was just one cheesy cliche after the next with no mixing and it wore a bit thin after a while. The place was rammed and I just couldn't get into the vibe. The vast majority were having a blast though, smiles everywhere, not an agro drunk Brit in sight. Maybe it was just the shock of handing out so much money for so little. I don't normally care what it costs to have a good time but that was a shock, especially when you do tha exchange rate math. We can fly from here to Barcelona (next Tuesday) for the same amount it cost for two drinks at Pacha.

Oh and did I mention I got lost trying to get out? These places are big. Home in Sydney has a capacity of 1500 or something. I think places like Space and Pacha are about twice as big and I took a wrong turn, The Dreaded One was engulfed by the crowd and I wandered lost for about half an hour. My phone buzzed with texts from The Dreaded One but my eyes are fucked and I can't read my phone without my glasses. I knew what she would be saying anyway - where are you what the hell are you doing I'm waiting for you outside. It was a bit embarrassing. I kept finding my way to the same rooms I didn't want to be while Mama Cass belted out that tune I used to like so much but didn't want to hear ever again. In the end a security guy saw and recognised my confusion and showed me the way out. He seemed a little amused. I like to think I'm not the first to have been lost in Pacha. I was fucking glad to get out.

Anyway, a night or two later we went to a place called, I think, Kumares. Beachside place where Nightmares On Wax were playing a live set as the sun went down. A totally classy evening, sand and couches and beach-beds, white wine, friends and fire twirlers. I remember looking around and thinking how can you improve on this? Upbeat chilled music (been into NOW for years now) surrounded by cool people while the sun and clouds put on a pretty show... I like Ibiza a lot.

We're going to try to get to Cafe del mar probably today. Might also go back to Bora Bora. It's a club that spills onto the beach, and around 4.30 the relaxed vibe ramps up a bit until the beach and inside the club are one big, thumping party, planes roaring in low for landing at the nearby airport with party-goers cheering a welcome to the new arrivals.

You can knock places you have never been to and I really did think I'd come to Ibiza just once and probably never come back. But I'm staying longer than I expected to and I really wouldn't be surprised if I find myself back here again. Next season, perhaps. Or 2012, around Boom time.