D
DexCeeMeth909
Guest
The (mis)Adventures of Andre27 and DexCeeMeth on the White Isle, V. 2.0:
Trip One - 12 August - 19 August:
*author's note: I was not on trip one (my understudy stepped in this time), but I've taken liberty and license with sordid tales as if I were for the sake of entertainment.
Where we stayed: Hotel Playa d'Imperial, Cala Llonga.
What we thought of it: It was shit, don't stay there. Quite family-oriented, received scathing looks each day at dawn when we returned ragged and worse for the wear. One saving grace - the beach was good for recovery time.
Tuesday: Settle in at hotel, eat at La Marina in Eivissa Harbor. Great decor/ambience, but not the greatest food. A bit pricey as well. But it's all right, we were headed to Carl Cox @ Space that night and our spirits we're high. Stopped at our favorite pre-space joint, Tantra Café (yeah, tantra, bay-bay) to enjoy the decidely American-style supersized drinks (basically, TUBS of liquor for a mere 8 Euros - other clubs take note) in the company of all the beautifully crazy Italianos. Love those bastardos and their boundless passion.
Headed off to Space @ 1 AM to easily the longest line in all the land waiting for the great Coxy. No worries though, only a 25-30 minute wait in the end. Went straight to the discoteca and into the open arms of the best crowd all around - best dressed, best looking, best use of sweat as a fashion accessory, best EVERYTHING.
Coxy's set was really great, perhaps not spectacular - due to some exorbitantly high expectations - but still stellar. Eclectic and fun. At about 4 he made way for the Dutch bosher, Micheal de Hey, who raised not only the BPMs but also the intensity of the buzzing crowd with some straight up techno MADNESS.
Five-thirty came calling and so did bedtime.
Wednesday: After a generous three hours sleep by Ibiza standards, recovered on the beach as best we could in the sweltering 40 degree heat.
After a listless afternoon in Ibiza town for food and shopping, got ourselves ready for a night at Pacha with Deep Dish and the sexy beast from Jersey himself, Morillo.
In da club (with a bottle full o' bub) about 1:30 AM we checked out the terraza while getting anally raped for a few drinks. Deep Dish came on at two and Morillo promptly stepped in for the back to back bidness for about 4 hours. Deep Dish rocked. Morillo...well, did not.
At least not this night. His tracks seemed more an interruption to the flow that Deep Dish created and were trying to rebuild each time they returned. Dammit. Toward the end of the night, Erick just needed to stop the madness.
Deep Dish fecked off, seemingly none too thrilled with the showing, around 6 and left Erick to his own devices. He started to play a decent set, one to which we've grown accustomed from Morillo, but at this point it was just a bit too little too late. We strode out with the blaring farting noises of 'Satisfaction' fading behind us as a new realisation began to dawn with the morn': Space is the place and E-man needs to move onto Act Two.
Thursday: Ibiza routine - beach in the morning, lunch in Eivissa Town at La Brasa (one of our favorite places to eat on the island).
Excitement abounded as we were headed to peep on of our favorite jocks, Kleinenberg at the neophyte PinUp. Come midnight, off we went. Quarter-hour later, something was amiss, or more aptly, MISSING. Namely, the crowd. Where was it? Probably no more than 15-20 people in the club (does this REALLY happen in Ibiza???). We did our duly best to prop up the bar for 30 minutes or so, drinking some reasonably priced vodka limóns. The smooth house by one of the best djs in the world with so little crowd felt like we were getting a private show. Great, great time, but we were definintely disappointed we didn't have more people to share the magic with. Around 1, the tide started coming in, brining a few more people who were actually staying, but at this point still no one was dancing. We finally decided to do our civic duty and make like Pink getting the party started, being the only two people to stride out to the dance floor. In 30 minutes, the energy picked up and the dance floor filled, Kleinenberg like the pro he is, starting to sense the shapeshifting and playing some peak-time beatz.
Just before two, he handed over the properly lubed up crowd to Bill Patrick, unknown to most, but who promtply made the crowd take notice with some WIKKID, WIKKID tech-house. From this point until close, a proper display of tag teaming took place with a bueno meld of house/tech-house/prog/breakbeat.
The overall vibe felt like the paragon of all intimate house parties given by two spot on jocks for the serious, clued-in clubbers. Noteworthy mention: at one point, we were actually able to converse with Sander and Bill, both sweethearts (my word, not Andriy's). Sander was even kind enough to purchase me a drink, due in no small part I'm sure to the shirt I was sporting specifally for this party - which said in big, BOLD, WHITE letters, "WILL F*CK FOR COKE." 
Good times had by all...
Friday: Supposed to have been our day off. Lunch at the Jockey Club in Las Salinas, stared at some nekkid bapage on the beach...rounded up the afternoon/evening with a snippet of Tongleberry's show at Café Mambo.
After about half a dozen very potent capirihnas, off to bed early...only to wake up to...
Saturday: THE FOOKIN' RAGIN' IBIZA FLU. Bastardo! Cue abrupt end of our holiday as the remaining days were spent bathing in our own sickly sweet stench in our un-ACd rooms. Feverish calls and screams in the night were let out as we missed three parties of the year to which we had so been looking forward.
Half-hearted attempts at bolstering our spirits and our health were made, but alas, nothing could heal our ailments and Space, DC10, and Cocoon would have to wait to devour our brain cells until the next trip (foiled!).
Which leads us directly into...
Trip One - 12 August - 19 August:
*author's note: I was not on trip one (my understudy stepped in this time), but I've taken liberty and license with sordid tales as if I were for the sake of entertainment.
Where we stayed: Hotel Playa d'Imperial, Cala Llonga.
What we thought of it: It was shit, don't stay there. Quite family-oriented, received scathing looks each day at dawn when we returned ragged and worse for the wear. One saving grace - the beach was good for recovery time.
Tuesday: Settle in at hotel, eat at La Marina in Eivissa Harbor. Great decor/ambience, but not the greatest food. A bit pricey as well. But it's all right, we were headed to Carl Cox @ Space that night and our spirits we're high. Stopped at our favorite pre-space joint, Tantra Café (yeah, tantra, bay-bay) to enjoy the decidely American-style supersized drinks (basically, TUBS of liquor for a mere 8 Euros - other clubs take note) in the company of all the beautifully crazy Italianos. Love those bastardos and their boundless passion.
Headed off to Space @ 1 AM to easily the longest line in all the land waiting for the great Coxy. No worries though, only a 25-30 minute wait in the end. Went straight to the discoteca and into the open arms of the best crowd all around - best dressed, best looking, best use of sweat as a fashion accessory, best EVERYTHING.
Coxy's set was really great, perhaps not spectacular - due to some exorbitantly high expectations - but still stellar. Eclectic and fun. At about 4 he made way for the Dutch bosher, Micheal de Hey, who raised not only the BPMs but also the intensity of the buzzing crowd with some straight up techno MADNESS.
Five-thirty came calling and so did bedtime.
Wednesday: After a generous three hours sleep by Ibiza standards, recovered on the beach as best we could in the sweltering 40 degree heat.
After a listless afternoon in Ibiza town for food and shopping, got ourselves ready for a night at Pacha with Deep Dish and the sexy beast from Jersey himself, Morillo.
In da club (with a bottle full o' bub) about 1:30 AM we checked out the terraza while getting anally raped for a few drinks. Deep Dish came on at two and Morillo promptly stepped in for the back to back bidness for about 4 hours. Deep Dish rocked. Morillo...well, did not.
At least not this night. His tracks seemed more an interruption to the flow that Deep Dish created and were trying to rebuild each time they returned. Dammit. Toward the end of the night, Erick just needed to stop the madness. Deep Dish fecked off, seemingly none too thrilled with the showing, around 6 and left Erick to his own devices. He started to play a decent set, one to which we've grown accustomed from Morillo, but at this point it was just a bit too little too late. We strode out with the blaring farting noises of 'Satisfaction' fading behind us as a new realisation began to dawn with the morn': Space is the place and E-man needs to move onto Act Two.
Thursday: Ibiza routine - beach in the morning, lunch in Eivissa Town at La Brasa (one of our favorite places to eat on the island).
Excitement abounded as we were headed to peep on of our favorite jocks, Kleinenberg at the neophyte PinUp. Come midnight, off we went. Quarter-hour later, something was amiss, or more aptly, MISSING. Namely, the crowd. Where was it? Probably no more than 15-20 people in the club (does this REALLY happen in Ibiza???). We did our duly best to prop up the bar for 30 minutes or so, drinking some reasonably priced vodka limóns. The smooth house by one of the best djs in the world with so little crowd felt like we were getting a private show. Great, great time, but we were definintely disappointed we didn't have more people to share the magic with. Around 1, the tide started coming in, brining a few more people who were actually staying, but at this point still no one was dancing. We finally decided to do our civic duty and make like Pink getting the party started, being the only two people to stride out to the dance floor. In 30 minutes, the energy picked up and the dance floor filled, Kleinenberg like the pro he is, starting to sense the shapeshifting and playing some peak-time beatz.
Just before two, he handed over the properly lubed up crowd to Bill Patrick, unknown to most, but who promtply made the crowd take notice with some WIKKID, WIKKID tech-house. From this point until close, a proper display of tag teaming took place with a bueno meld of house/tech-house/prog/breakbeat.
The overall vibe felt like the paragon of all intimate house parties given by two spot on jocks for the serious, clued-in clubbers. Noteworthy mention: at one point, we were actually able to converse with Sander and Bill, both sweethearts (my word, not Andriy's).
Sander was even kind enough to purchase me a drink, due in no small part I'm sure to the shirt I was sporting specifally for this party - which said in big, BOLD, WHITE letters, "WILL F*CK FOR COKE." Good times had by all...
Friday: Supposed to have been our day off. Lunch at the Jockey Club in Las Salinas, stared at some nekkid bapage on the beach...rounded up the afternoon/evening with a snippet of Tongleberry's show at Café Mambo.
After about half a dozen very potent capirihnas, off to bed early...only to wake up to...
Saturday: THE FOOKIN' RAGIN' IBIZA FLU. Bastardo! Cue abrupt end of our holiday as the remaining days were spent bathing in our own sickly sweet stench in our un-ACd rooms. Feverish calls and screams in the night were let out as we missed three parties of the year to which we had so been looking forward.
Half-hearted attempts at bolstering our spirits and our health were made, but alas, nothing could heal our ailments and Space, DC10, and Cocoon would have to wait to devour our brain cells until the next trip (foiled!).
Which leads us directly into...
