All ready for our first ever visit to Space last Sunday, 22 of us in Ibiza staying in the only hotel to stay - the EsVive, planning on a fantastic afternoon/night/morning in the 'legendary' Space. Fantastic line up lead by Jeff Mills, the iconic Smokin Jo, with a DJ set from Groove Armada. How more amazing could this day be?
How wrong we were.
Met by the saddeningly ever-present grumpy unfriendly and downright rude doorstaff who pointed to a small 'no cameras' sign behind them (Space - maybe it would be a good idea to put a Camera Ban sign on your flyers - would save everyone a lot of time and hassle), we all had to begrudgingly hand our cameras in.... then were told the privelige of having our cameras taken off us would cost us 2Euros (!!!!), and were each given a tiny pink reclaim ticket. Another bad idea - a small flimsy pink ticket in a club as busy, hot and crazy as Space? An armband or stamp - obviously a better idea.
In we went.... and the name Space is obviously meant to be ironic.... Lack of Space is what it's been renamed by our lot. The famous 'terrace' now a dancefloor covered by an ugly black sacking material, there is absolutely nowhere to sit (when you sit on any available corner, shelf or area, belligerent bouncers are soon impolitely shoving you off - there simply aren't enough areas to sit downstairs).
On come Groove Armada and they play a totally amazing set (Chicken Lips - still sounding incredible), but there's just not enough room to dnce - it's uncomfortably busy and people are getting narky with each other.
Then up to the top area, where we spot Pete Tong lording it and an impossibly sexy Skin (Skunk Anansie) having a great time. The blue pebbly flooring and playgroup yellow furniture make the place look like a supermarket kids play area and once again, every member of staff we encounter is rude, abrupt and unhelpful. It's on this floor we meet the Gestapo-like bouncer who makes everyone's lives hell. Pushing people off places they aren't meant to sit, confiscating any drugs spotted (even smoke?!) and taking people's smuggled cameras from them, he basically makes everyone's lives in this area purgotary for the time we're there - people are visibly cheesed off with his approach and leave in droves. Including us (if you go there, he's the black haired meathead with the ridiculous plucked eyebrows - beware).
Smokin Jo, one of my favourite DJs from all those years ago in London, is on in the middle area and we're gagging for a dance.
We're met at the door by another obnxious doorman who simply refuses us entry because it's 'too full in there'. Despite many people leaving in the 15 minutes we left there, he refused us entry time and time again - despite us paying 35Euros to specifically see this DJ... the straw that broke the camel's back was when he allowed about 8 Spanish people in, much to the amazement of the queue forming and waiting patiently to get in. When I challenged him about this, he said "they work here". They patently didn't. I asked for his name at this point, absolutely furious and determined to complain. He refused to give it. We could hear Smokin Jo from where we were. We were refused permission to enter. It looked fabulous.
Downstaitrs, Mr Mills rocked the darkened bottom floor..... and we were finally able to dance.
After doing the oligatory 'losing everyone', I decided enough was enough (we'd been there 10 hours at this point) and wanted out. Going back to reclaim my camera - of course, no ticket. Searched everywhere - no ticket. I described the camera (to the girl who initially took the item from me who remembered me)... I even described the last 5 pictures taken and the 3 videos on there - all of us entering Space (!?) - the make, model number - everything... no joy. Refusing to leave without my camera, I asked for the security manager (Roberto B - err... no surname apparently). He reiterated what the doorstaff had said - no ticket, no item. I then asked for the police - as far as I was concerned, my camera in this dodgy venue was history - I hadn't wanted to put it in in the first place, and this was a £700 camera. I asked for them to get the police. He refused, saying I either had to wait til the very end of the club or come back tomorrow - neither of which was viable as we were leaving that day.
I left, furious, disappointed and resolute that I would never ever venture in this club again.
On my return home, one of my friends came up to me and said she'd picked up my camera - no problem, no ticket, no questions.
So, feeling a little silly, but more angry that they'd given my camera to someone else without any proof whatsoever, that's the end of my Space story.
Avoid - we had a totally awful time there. All 22 of us.
Forget Space - DC10, on the other hand.... WOW.
How wrong we were.
Met by the saddeningly ever-present grumpy unfriendly and downright rude doorstaff who pointed to a small 'no cameras' sign behind them (Space - maybe it would be a good idea to put a Camera Ban sign on your flyers - would save everyone a lot of time and hassle), we all had to begrudgingly hand our cameras in.... then were told the privelige of having our cameras taken off us would cost us 2Euros (!!!!), and were each given a tiny pink reclaim ticket. Another bad idea - a small flimsy pink ticket in a club as busy, hot and crazy as Space? An armband or stamp - obviously a better idea.
In we went.... and the name Space is obviously meant to be ironic.... Lack of Space is what it's been renamed by our lot. The famous 'terrace' now a dancefloor covered by an ugly black sacking material, there is absolutely nowhere to sit (when you sit on any available corner, shelf or area, belligerent bouncers are soon impolitely shoving you off - there simply aren't enough areas to sit downstairs).
On come Groove Armada and they play a totally amazing set (Chicken Lips - still sounding incredible), but there's just not enough room to dnce - it's uncomfortably busy and people are getting narky with each other.
Then up to the top area, where we spot Pete Tong lording it and an impossibly sexy Skin (Skunk Anansie) having a great time. The blue pebbly flooring and playgroup yellow furniture make the place look like a supermarket kids play area and once again, every member of staff we encounter is rude, abrupt and unhelpful. It's on this floor we meet the Gestapo-like bouncer who makes everyone's lives hell. Pushing people off places they aren't meant to sit, confiscating any drugs spotted (even smoke?!) and taking people's smuggled cameras from them, he basically makes everyone's lives in this area purgotary for the time we're there - people are visibly cheesed off with his approach and leave in droves. Including us (if you go there, he's the black haired meathead with the ridiculous plucked eyebrows - beware).
Smokin Jo, one of my favourite DJs from all those years ago in London, is on in the middle area and we're gagging for a dance.
We're met at the door by another obnxious doorman who simply refuses us entry because it's 'too full in there'. Despite many people leaving in the 15 minutes we left there, he refused us entry time and time again - despite us paying 35Euros to specifically see this DJ... the straw that broke the camel's back was when he allowed about 8 Spanish people in, much to the amazement of the queue forming and waiting patiently to get in. When I challenged him about this, he said "they work here". They patently didn't. I asked for his name at this point, absolutely furious and determined to complain. He refused to give it. We could hear Smokin Jo from where we were. We were refused permission to enter. It looked fabulous.
Downstaitrs, Mr Mills rocked the darkened bottom floor..... and we were finally able to dance.
After doing the oligatory 'losing everyone', I decided enough was enough (we'd been there 10 hours at this point) and wanted out. Going back to reclaim my camera - of course, no ticket. Searched everywhere - no ticket. I described the camera (to the girl who initially took the item from me who remembered me)... I even described the last 5 pictures taken and the 3 videos on there - all of us entering Space (!?) - the make, model number - everything... no joy. Refusing to leave without my camera, I asked for the security manager (Roberto B - err... no surname apparently). He reiterated what the doorstaff had said - no ticket, no item. I then asked for the police - as far as I was concerned, my camera in this dodgy venue was history - I hadn't wanted to put it in in the first place, and this was a £700 camera. I asked for them to get the police. He refused, saying I either had to wait til the very end of the club or come back tomorrow - neither of which was viable as we were leaving that day.
I left, furious, disappointed and resolute that I would never ever venture in this club again.
On my return home, one of my friends came up to me and said she'd picked up my camera - no problem, no ticket, no questions.
So, feeling a little silly, but more angry that they'd given my camera to someone else without any proof whatsoever, that's the end of my Space story.
Avoid - we had a totally awful time there. All 22 of us.
Forget Space - DC10, on the other hand.... WOW.
