The Siren Calls - June 2011

kimajy

kimajy

Well-Known Member
OK – after many fantastic rollercoaster rides in Ibiza, I was finally persuaded by a mate to write up a proper travel ‘blog' of my trip alone to the island last week to tell the story. Clubbing, bars and days after feature heavily (of course) but sit alongside many wonderful experiences of what the rest of the island has to offer.

A typically private person when it comes to sharing my thoughts, feelings and sometimes experiences, it hasn't been at all easy to open up like this for me. What's to follow is an ‘open window' and very personal account, entirely factual – at least by my recollection, that is. I do suffer from the lack of an experienced editor and I apologize in advance if any of what follows is too long for some. Just switch off ! To keep things manageable, I've decided to post up shortly in instalments.

I hope some of those who take the time to read on will find the journey informative or entertaining (perhaps both). It's certainly one, like all trips to the island, that I'll never forget and perhaps some of what I've written and will shortly post will strike a resounding chord, with more than a handful of readers.

It was the usual impulsive decision to head to the island last Wednesday and as always in those situations, a host of mountains must be successfully climbed to sup the sweet nectar of the Island of Dreams…
 
Miles to go before I sleep

Wednesday 15th June

Mid-morning. Thames Valley. It's no good – saw the moon on the brink of being full in the sky last night and have to go out to Ibiza again. Forecast for the rest of the week is atrocious here and it's blazing sunshine on the white isle. I'm packed out with commitments from 1st week in July through August and a May Bank holiday just wasn't enough. Flight tonight £43. Long-stay parking £30. Apartment 98 Euros. Flight back early Saturday morning 39 Euros. Car 100Euros with 2 lots of out-of-hours. Deal !

One last obstacle – client flying in for a meeting tomorrow. But it's Beach Polo week in Platya d'en Bossa with a Polo Players Night and Full Moon Party on the cards at Nassau Beach Club. Quick call settles it .. client bites and we'll meet there instead. It's closer for him anyway. Sorted !

Excitement swells and it's hard to concentrate through lunch with another client today. Dodge out of afternoon boozeathon and head home to pack. Can't even do two days on 5kgs hand-luggage with a laptop and I can't be a*sed to have to buy stuff on arrival. So stuff a case and scour Spotlight for last-minute info. McRackin – don't know where we'd all be without you ! Get carried away on Spotlight and leave dangerously late….

Oh heck – accident and 4mile tailback on the M40. What is it about a bit of rain & the roads here ? Emotions run from anger to disappointment to fatalistic resignation. The lanes start crawling .. might still make a short-stay car dump and a run to the gate ? Cry back to the siren to see me through this – it's been worse before and I answered your call. Be cool – it's just a test. What will be will be.

Crawl for half an hour and then the Red Sea waters seem to part. Risk losing my licence and make it to the long-stay entrance with 15mins to go before check-in closes. Heck, it's Birmingham. I'll risk it – my case has wheels and I can always jog it if the bus doesn't show. But it does .. On a mission here and I fly out of the car. The bus starts touring the car park and I look for my wallet to stow the ticket. Where the f*ck is it ? Did I leave it at home ? In the car ? Empty rucksack and have case out .. it's all over again before it starts – is this an omen ?

The bus returns to the spot where I boarded it before heading out to the terminal. In a desperate plea I ask the driver to wait while I get something from the car. He warns me to run and I oblige. I love him. Wallet on the passenger seat. Why can't I be more organized ?.. Finally on my way, despite myself. My luck is turning around. Tell my story at check-in and I'm given an extra-leg room seat for free. They've cashed up for extras so I'm let off the £20 checked bag fee too. Grab bottles of Rioja & champagne from the ‘open to everyone' section to celebrate, just as they're turning out the lights. I'm the last guy through on the last flight out.
 
Thursday - wee small hours

Thursday 16th June

Can't even snooze on the plane. An unordered meal appears in-flight. I'm starving and must look like I need it ! Second time on this - thanks, Thomson. Descending, it's 2am and I see the full moon beaming a shaft of light down onto the sea below from the window. It's beautiful and my heart lifts. The rest of the plane is mainly families with toddlers and seems oblivious. Never mind. All is well with the world today and my path has been cleared.

The car hire guy driving the bus looks well f**ked, but he's where he said he'd be and sorts my little black Peugeot 207 out. Too dark to see if it's damaged, but what the heck. I'm on my way.

I call Alain at Sunset Point (SP) to let him know I'm heading over to Cala de Bou and he can soon get to bed. He's very chilled. It's warm when I arrive and the entrance strewn with fallen Bougainvillea flowers is a reassuring and welcoming sight. I'm one of only two guests staying tonight. For once I'm sensible and take time to put phone, camera and laptop on charge, champagne in the fridge, have a shower and put some shorts on before heading out for what's left of the night.

Sure I'm too late to find out if there are any secret all-night full-moon parties at which to see in the daylight hours (asked around later and don't think there were in the end .. but could be wrong !). it's 3.50am already, so options are pretty limited. Head into San An.

Get parked just round the corner so shut off my senses and take a chance on Hush for my welcome Red Bull & Vodka (RB&V). It's my first time in here. What a result. Had next to no expectations of a West End bar, but the place is going off. The residents are rocking the joint. I feel on top of the world and about twenty years younger as Age of Love (‘Watch out for Stella' mix ?) is dropped by a lady DJ who shows up for a couple of spins. Work up a sweat dancing till daylight, spill out with the mashed melay, then crank up the stereo (such as it is) and head home by 7 for a bit of shut-eye.
 
Day 1 - a civilized start .. and a tow truck

Rise at 11 and feel remarkably well. It's hot, I need to get out there and enjoy it and I know that plenty of exercise, fresh food and fruit does wonders for the stamina – especially for those of us who aren't in our 20s anymore. I'm due to meet up with my client in Platya d'en Bossa (PDB) late this afternoon so still plenty of room for a bit of time to myself.

Head to Cala Conta and settle down to an early lunch table at restaurant S'illa des Bosc. The sea is just too inviting. Lunch service is, of course, leisurely so go for a swim off the rocks after putting in my order for a fabulous Ensalada S'illa des Bosc (the tuna carpaccio and sundried tomatoes it comes with are just what I fancy) and a glass of bubbly. Very civilised. I finish up and head back to the car to make my way to Cala Jondal.

Now I must confess ignorance to the fact that sea water and certain car keys do not mix well. I've had more than one bad experience with swimming and losing keys in the past. However, my proper home is near the sea, my car has an electronic central locking/immobiliser system with remote and I swim with my own car keys most days in Summer, when the water temperatures of the South West coast of England are manageable and the weather permits. I've swum with hire car keys in the past without a hitch ..

I hit a flat spot as I learn yet another lesson to just NEVER risk taking car keys into the water. The iginition won't fire. There some sort of electrical defect.. My mobile has no signal. I take my rental contract back in to the restaurant and a tow truck is called by the very lovely staff. Thank heavens I didn't do this somewhere remote. I'm still in denial at this point and think this is just a technical hitch with the car itself .. oh the optimism ! Couldn't possibly have twatted another car in Ibiza on my first day here, could I ?!!

It all turns out to be manageable. My head is already at Cala Jondal. CD stack is light this trip so buy a bootleg copy of Blue Marlin Day and Night Vol05 CD off a vendor from Senegal, waiting for my ride. I know damn fine it'll skip and fall apart by the time I'm going home.. but .. just love Atfunk – Disconaut. I first heard this track playing during my trip out on May Bank Holiday weekend, chilling with a bottle of champagne on the beach at Yemanja before the new Ushuaïa Beach Hotel opening party. Heads were nodding and toes tapping on sunloungers and at tables all around. It's pretty much a lazy afternoon there in musical form, and the score puts me right on the level.

The tow-truck guy is cool, unphased and in good spirits. He shares his bottle of water and we bridge the language barrier to exchange some convivial stories on the way to offload my first hire car of the trip. We take the lovely scenic route through Sant Josep and stop at the nearby gas station to refuel the little Peugeot sat on the top of the tow-truck, on our way back to the rental depot. Thankfully I'm not so inexperienced as to return it less than full with a 70Euro tank paid up, on the back of a truck or otherwise. Tow-truck guy is dead impressed at my level-headedness and jumps out to refuel it for me.

At the rental depot near the airport there's much to-ing and fro-ing. There is some talk of water and keys, but such is my state of denial that I have trouble making connections at the time. They could already have been in the water anyway or the seals must be defective – seemed odd why they should fail when my own suffered no such sensitivities.

As the car was returned with a full tank, after what seemed an eternity I was handed the keys for another on a straight swap – same model, silver this time, with no hubcaps to worry about (result !) – and an updated contract showing car number 2 .. Sorted ! Onwards and upwards !
 
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Car number 2

Mid-afternoon

It's still fairly early. My Blue Marlin bootleg is playing fine and I decide to chill awhile at El Chiringuito in Es Cavallet instead. I get grief from an offloading artisan pulling in to let cars pass on the narrow approach and there's tension in the air. This place is incredibly beautiful in the morning but despite the chic little stalls and fabulous setting there's something self-conscious about the atmosphere today. It's crowded and I take a stroll along the beach instead. A small group is fishing with a makeshift line and hooks with swimmers all around. A flat fish has been caught and one of their number is grappling to release it from the hook.

Don't feel like getting naked right now and concerned about petty theft if I take a dip with the crowd that's here, I bail to take a pit-stop at the lovely Boutique Hostal Salinas. Walking across the pathway to the restaurant is a restorative experience in itself. There's an eminent Sitar player coming along tomorrow to give a concert - what a venue for him. Although the plunge pool looks very inviting, I resolve to move on, skip Sa Trinxa today and head to one of my other favourite spots, Cap d'es Falcó, instead. Not least to clear my head from the hire car fiasco.

The dirt road through the salt flats isn't nearly as bad as some people make out (especially in daylight) - but I learn that if you approach from Salinas, it's best to overshoot the first sign, pass the little supermarket and head back along the second turning off the tar road as if you're coming in from Ibiza town. It's the first section of the Salinas-side approach track that has potholes you could easily trash a bumper in.. Fortunately, I don't.

I arrive and there's no music other than the sea lapping on the rocks and a small crowd of very chilled and happy punters enjoying the comfy loungers with huge cushions facing the sea. It's one of the most comfortable places to sunbathe and chill I know of. A great Mojito is mixed for me and I take up residence on my very own lounger at the front to catch some rays.

Eventually, I warm a little too much and the sea is calling me again. Leaving my car key and cash with the barman (trust them completely here), I brave the boulders to take a dip. You can't really swim off those rocks – too shallow and a not insignificant tide could give you a battering if you ventured out and the sea kicked up. But you can carefully enjoy a refreshing ‘dunk' without damaging yourself. My meet-up at Nassau Beach Club is drawing near and I have to get going. So sad to drive away.

Despite the heat, my new CD is still playing fine (bonus !) and I enjoy some favourite chill grooves on the way to PDB. I'm early so decide to check out Sirocco where Finca am were due to kick off their launch party today with DJ Pippi from 4pm. It hasn't really kicked off yet and is still in very downtempo mode. Scoot next door to Nassau and settle down on a front-row sunlounger with a fantastic frozen mango daiquiri, as waves of joggers pass virtuously by and an impromptu volleyball game kicks off on the section of beach beyond the club perimeter. It looks fun.

The music's great as they're gearing up for the Polo Players Night and Full Moon party. Players and their possies are indeed already in evidence. I rendez-vous with my client, who's in ‘work mode'. My mobile is working again, thank goodness. Our meeting goes well and we're both happy.

We share some more drinks and a few laughs, but my client's busy and decides to fly home rather than check out the polo. I bid a fond farewell and look forward to a fun night ahead.
 
Sunset approaches

I've really enjoyed the vibe at Nassau today but decide to bail on the rest of the party, Sirocco and the White Ibiza Summer Launch I'd been eyeing up to look in on at Atzaró (not really dressed to mingle !). Stop by La Terraza at Ibiza Corso in Marina Botafoch to briefly quash my curiosity by checking out the 7th Heaven opening pool party (no idea what to expect), but it looks completely dead. There's something about this venue – I wonder whether it'll really survive. Despite craving a dinner at the Fish Shack in nearby Talamanca, I skidaddle back to San Antoni for sunset.

Old habits die hard and it still feels somehow ‘right' to be on that side of the island when the sun starts to set. There are just too many gorgeous places to go in Ibiza. Park up in Es Caló d'es Moro and take a swim in the sea (WITHOUT car key !). It's a great way to mark the start of the ‘end of a day' and a bit of a long-standing ritual for me.

Dry clothes from the car and a swift 5Euro Mojito at Canguiri bar on the way to the Rey de Copas (OK – old habits die hard !). I'm starving and dreaming of sunset and a meal at Cap d'es Falcó that could have been.. It's much busier now than it was at the end of May, despite some clouds building, and I need my food fix pronto. Mint Lounge to the rescue (as always when you're alone or haven't booked a table at Mambo), with a pizza and one of their special caipiroskas .. and a complimentary glass of cava for pud.

Ibiza randomness sets in and I spot a mate from the watersports at Playa s'Estanyol. He's there to see a friend who's supposed to be DJ'ing at Café del Mar but phones are dead and DJ friend is nowhere to be found.. we chat about plans for later and he's going to Kehakuma at Space. 20Euro entry and the prospect of having even a little ‘space in Space' at once seems a good idea. I grab a ticket and head back to the Apartment for a swim in the pool.
 
Early darkness

Back at Sunset Point, I'm feeling very sociable indeed and meet a group of Spanish girls from La Coruña staying at a friend's villa round the corner, who are using the pool. They're gorgeous and fun and it's a hard call not to stay .. but I've bought my ticket now and really should go to Space ! They're off to Formentera at 10am tomorrow (:eek:) followed by Supermartxé and are clearly excitable about the prospect of both. I know the words to a couple of anthems :)oops:) and their joy is infectious as we wibble along. I half-commit to joining them to Formentera tomorrow.. you never know, I might be up by then (?@*!!!) and the obvious possibilities for tomorrow are too good to pass up on :)spank:). Although I wouldn't choose to go to Supermartxé under normal circumstances, with a bunch of Spanish girls it could be quite the Fiesta and a great atmosphere. So swim and change, then it's off back to Platya d'en Bossa.
 
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Friday 16th June - Wee small hours @ Space

Doing my best to be sensible as it's still just before 2am, I splash some ‘RB' into a large glass of ‘V' at a ticket bar before heading in to Space. That'll do me, I think … No queue and the place is relatively quiet, by no means dead. The music is OK as I arrive and it's all perfectly acceptable. Nonetheless, I still have a nagging thirst and can't stop thinking about those Spanish girls at the pool. Head straight to the bar for another RB&V. Some of us just have no self-control at all and resign myself to the 15Euro price-tag like a lamb to the slaughter.

Enjoy the vibe for an hour or so before spotting my mate from the top of the steps and join up with his crew. The music's picked up, everything's picking up, we're grooving and I'm starting to have a great time. But it's getting more crowded. Sparked-up rollies are hidden in palms all round and, desperate for a fag but not wanting to lose my spot, I tank a sneaky one at the back. I know, there's no excuse at Space with the options on offer, but it was just like old times. For a brief few moments, I was in heaven again.

Should have left it there because I get caught by a bouncer mid-way through my second a while later, no doubt after indiscreetly blowing smoke high above the dance floor in an effort to avoid my neighbours getting a face-full. Feign ignorance of the ban, apologize profusely and escape being ‘removed'. Another RB&V follows at the bar to show willing…

Nip upstairs to check it out, but the music isn't doing it for me. When I get back downstairs I've lost sight of my mate and have no will to fight for a spot again. It's now just too crowded for me, even on Kehakuma night.

Drop in to Ibiza Underground on the way back for a nightcap. Great music from Don Juanito et al but the place is virtually empty and just too dead. Guess Thursday's not always the best night to go or I've got the timing completely wrong – it sure wasn't especially early. Starting to feel very out of sorts from over-generous measures or something, figure it's high time I called it a day.

Back at Sunset Point the swimming pool is closed off and the Spanish girls have gone to bed at their villa ready for their ‘early start'. So should I, but it's a gorgeous balmy night and I'm still buzzing off the red bull. I instead polish off my bottle of chilled champagne from ‘Open to Everyone' alone on the balcony, send some texts and e-mails I probably shouldn't have in the cold light of day, and crash out like a baby a little after 5, like a good boy.
 
The morning after the night before – my last day ?

Friday 17th June

Oh s**t. It's 11.30am and I've slept through my rendez-vous with the Spanish girls. It was that b***dy bottle of bubbly after I parked up the car for the night that did it. Realize I never got a mobile number either. I knew where their villa was and had thought, in my rather merry and childish excitement, that this would be enough. If I'd got up vaguely in time it may well have been ... but when will I ever learn about those back-up plans ? :rolleyes:

With a dose of ‘drinker's regret' and a lack of respect for my performance, I fire up my laptop to check when my flight home actually is, feeling slightly on the fragile side. It's at 3.30am tomorrow so Supermartxé probably would't have been a goer anyway. Tell myself I don't feel so bad now about ‘missing the boat' with the Spanish girls. I ‘steel it', regroup the senses and head downstairs.

So it's my last day and I'm determined to make it a good one. Desperate for a coffee and water but there's no-one at the bar. Can't work out what I'll need today so throw my entire unpacked suitcase in the boot and head out. Short stop to pick up several huge bottles of life-saving water and I also manage to restock my fag supply at the Tabac just up from Kumharas (so easy to park) before they close for siesta. Lord knows how I'll get all those cartons in the case, but anyway..

Feeling hot and feint now, I down a litre of water and head out in the vague direction of Cala Salada. Spot a greengrocers and pull over to score a banana and a couple of muffins. Force down the banana, but the muffins are too solid.. decide there's no point even trying to have a decent lunch today.
 
Can Pou (finally..)


My insides aren't feeling a hundred percent today. Know I need to ‘clear the way' before going anywhere too remote, especially if I wind up getting ‘back to nature', but I need a cup of coffee with a fag to force the issue. Can Pou to the rescue. Even in my hung-over haze the sign-post doesn't pass me by. I back up the car and swing into their bar laughing to myself at the irony, to be ‘rescued'. The Marlboro red-double espresso combo is instant medicine.

About to leave, I spot an offer of a 4,50 Euro fresh Ibizan apricot smoothie on Can Pou's blackboard and can't resist. If it's as good as the food in here I should be in for a treat. From inside, I can see through into the back and spot someone peeling considerable quantities of fresh fruit. When the smoothie eventually arrives, it's like pure nectar from the gods. I thought Yemanja's smoothies were good ‘till I tried this. I mix up and down two sachets of rehydration salts with another half-litre of water in the car before heading off. I am now truly well again.

Just as well ….. Nearly go crazy trying to get parked at Cala Salada and I can't even turn the car around. My head just fills with a haunting image of the healing feel of the Northern beaches. I actually wouldn't mind some quiet time alone to relax and the North is calling me again, like a siren.
 
An eventful afternoon in the North with Car no. 2


I'd clocked at some point in the past that if you turn right off the road to Hacienda Na Xamena there's a dirt road that takes you down to the beach to the private island at S'illa des Bosc (a.k.a Sa Ferradura). This is not the island near Cala Conta that yesterday's restaurant was named after, it's another one near Sant Miquel. Whilst I've remembered the tip on how to find the turning, I've somehow forgotten the warnings about the road not being kind to cars …

I find the turning easily enough and start heading down the hillside. The road is a dirt track strewn with rocks out of which gullies wide enough to swallow a tyre have been carved by the rain. It's very steep in parts, just about wide enough for a 4x4, two-way and there's not a pull-in in sight. I'm well under-equipped with my little silver Peugeot 207 but brake hard and push it into 1st gear to crawl the track with the clutch out. The best words I ever learned for situations like this are “use your engine braking !”

It's perhaps one of the longest kilometres or so of my life. The odd barely useable pull-in starts to appear but crash barriers – you're joking, right ? Waves of mild panic set in at the sheer steepness and condition of parts of the road. I try to curb my imagination as to what would happen if I broke down, got a flat, ditched in one of the many gullies or met a car coming the other way. Only a complete nutcase would take this on without a 4x4 and there's no way on this earth I could back up in a hatchback. Let alone the spectre of trying to get back up-hill on the return journey. And what about making my flight tonight ?

I fight the panic back even more as the ominous lack of residents' cars parked up in the pull-ins suggests even they'd rather not take this on…. could it get any worse downhill ? Don't think I would have reacted so intensely if memories of yesterday's tow-truck weren't still so fresh.. there's no way a recovery vehicle would get down here.

Cry out again to the island to see me through this - stop playing with me, I'm not taking this lying down !!! Thank heavens for the stop at Can Pou – it was seeming nothing short of prophetic by now. Nothing for it but to try to keep calm and carry on.

As if by magic, a local car appears parked in a pull-in round a bend and the existence of a bar on the beach is of course a dead give-away– people did manage to get down here after all. That said there were perhaps two regular cars and the rest were 4x4s. Nonetheless, at least I wasn't the only nutcase on the island after all. The last stretch down is super-steep, so I decide to cut my losses and park up. Panic turns to exhilaration as I realize the beach is in sight. I had conquered my first major challenge of the day and the little silver Peugeot was still in one piece.

This place was remote, but not empty. It was beautiful and almost took my breath away. But I think there was some deep-seated shock involved somewhere as I feel very alone and a need to phone home swoops over me. I'm here without the knowledge of my kith and kin. After recent experiences, some guilt had set in at not having touched base since I arrived, just to check everyone was OK and to let them know I was too. Strongest signal yet on the mobile and really nice to hear a friendly family voice and have a laugh. But I still find I can't talk about being here. It was raining like cats and dogs back home and the gardening I'd promised to go help with on Saturday was a no-go. Agree I may as well skip going home this weekend….

It takes about five seconds to dawn on me that I wouldn't be using that flight home tonight. I was staying ‘till Sunday and that was that. I was floating on air.

Pack up my snorkelling gear, water, muffins, fags & towel. Stow car key somewhere safe (hope I can find it again !) and hike down to the beach. Head straight over to the boulder-strewn side of the island and it doesn't take long to find a spot all to myself out of sight of the beach.

The sky is cloudless, the view unbelievable (sheer cliffs above and sea beyond) and I'm arrested by the overwhelming beauty of my surroundings. Yep – I ditch my boardies and spend a wonderful couple of hours getting back to nature - chilling, swimming and exploring the rocks nearby. Feel so alive and liberated, I even manage to get the muffins down me (solid food tastes good again !). Eventually a couple of exploring teenagers appear and although this doesn't bother any of us, my illusion of a totally private space to myself is inevitably shattered. I figure it's time to head out anyway.

Hadn't got round to snorkelling yet, but spot a slipway down some steps off the track back up the hill to the car. There had been a couple down there when I arrived but it was deserted now. The risk of offending some nearby middle-aged bathers on pedaloes and a couple of other snorkellers is outweighed by the thought of hiking back to the car in wet shorts and I ditch them one last time – purely for practical reasons. I don't have issues with nudity and enjoy the unique sense of ‘freedom' it brings. However, not being built like Rafael Nadal, I tend to think it kinder on those around who are not of similar mind to keep things fairly discreet wherever possible. The snorkelling was OK but not the best. Ah well – at least I didn't bring the gear along and not use it.

Back at the car the intense heat has really brought out the scent of pine. The shade is soothing and welcoming. I spot a path leading along the coast towards Port de Sant Miquel. Can't resist – had come all this way and go exploring. Turns out this is the sensible people's route to the beach and the views of the island and yachts below from the path are spectacular. The view towards Port de Sant Miquel is spoiled only by the eyesore that is the Club Cartago, built into the hillside. I hike about half-way, take some rare photos then turn around to face the drive back. After a pinpoint five-point turn, a couple of wheel spins getting underway, and carefully aligning the front tyres over a rescue ramp made from magazines to grip out of a gully, my African upbringing kicks in and I no longer feel there's anything unusual about driving this track. I probably know how to get out of a fix, as well as the next guy at least. Perhaps I've been in Europe too long ?

My panic has completely subsided and I complete what might as well have been an off-roading challenge in a hatchback in a state of total calm. I'm resigned to any negative eventuality by now, but there is none and I safely emerge onto the road to Na Xamena with the car caked in dust but otherwise unscathed. I'd had a perfect afternoon and was truly restored.

I'd intended to look in on Amanté this afternoon but realise I have to get on-line to sort out extending my stay. So I head back to Sunset Point to appraise logistics and likely damage.
 
Not yet 48 hours and it's car number 3 ..

Alain is cool as always – I could keep the apartment as long as I needed it this weekend. Last-minute flight back with Thomas Cook on Sunday at 11am for £65. Perfect. Car ? They want another 65 Euro to keep it on to Sunday morning although would only have been 10 more if I'd pre-booked for the whole period in the first place .. seems unfair. The silver Peugeot is filthy, could easily have picked up a slow puncture on that road and with a prepaid tank of petrol and out-of-hours return fees to claw back, an urge to give it back rises inside me. Quit while I'm ahead ? It's a 1.4, underpowered anyway, the stereo's c*ap and it's been guzzling fuel.

I find a 2-day diesel from Avis for £56 prepaid online. Collection after 7.00pm. Perfect. Standalone excess insurance for under £6 - sorted. I could go deal with the cars and if all went well, still get back for the sunset. Take a leisurely drive towards the airport through Sant Josep enjoying the views and the soundtrack of Ibiza Global Radio / Ibiza Sonica.

In Sant Josep, something tells me to stop for cash and I heed my gut feelings as always. Opening my wallet, I realize that although I have my cash card, I've somehow left my credit cards back at the Apartment. There would be no hiring of cars without these. Damn it - but I could have found out later at the rental desk and it nonetheless feels like someone is looking after me this trip again. Spin back to pick up cards, refuel the car on the way back and head into the airport terminal to pick up the next car.

I pass up the offer of an Audi upgrade in favour of a diesel Leon. Right call - what a beauty ! Racing red 1.6L with a decent ‘kick' and pre-existing scratches in all the right places laid on. I love you, Avis.

Drive the silver Peugeot into the multi-storey to dump its contents in my new car and head out to the offsite station to get my deposits back. It's the same faces as yesterday .. but no last-minute surprises. Final bus ride back to the airport to drive the new wheels away. Decent stereo and speakers at last !

8.15pm and the Spanish girls are still on my mind – they'll be on their way back from Formentera by now to get ready for Supermartxé opening. I'll most likely not catch up with them now but get on their wavelength anyway after a cherry-pick tour through the ‘CD1'. Albert Neve & David Oleart's ‘I'm Alive' kicks things off, shortly followed by Abel The Kid's ‘Tell Me' and a skip back to Tony Martinez & Josepo's ‘I Feel'. I'm carried away now and Juanjo Martin & First Mike's ‘Set Me Free' is into its 5th minute by the time I arrive at The Egg roundabout in San An.

My ‘decent' stereo's still cranked up and passers-by throw their arms in the air and start dancing on the pavement. When the sun's shining and you're happy, it's not all bad you know and even an old Prog /Tech (even Goa) head like me is capable of appreciating a good old choon when he hears one and is in the right mood..
 
Friday - early evening


Just over half an hour left to Sunset and I'd better be quick if I want my daily dip at Es Caló d'es Moro. The water feels a little bracing this evening (probably as I'm still surviving after 8 ½ hours on a banana, a couple of muffins and a smoothie – now then, no joking matter…). Refreshed, I don some dry shorts and a clean top and stroll down to Canguiri for my mojito aperitif. Is that Balearic Mystique playing out ? .. It's probably going to be a cheesy night for me and I carry on to Kanya for a Gorgonzola Pizza to keep the theme alive. Keep forgetting that Kanya cocktails come by the jug and my not-too-strong 16Euro tropical punch (forget what they call it) is going to keep me going here for a while. It's nice to be served a jug of refreshment without the dirty looks you sometimes get when asking for a jug of Sangria de Cava when you're on your toddles..

The Supermartxé pre-party is well underway and inside the entertainers are busy glamming up big-time by the loos and baring a great deal of perfectly tanned flesh embellished with unfeasible amounts of glitter. Glamorous dancers are strutting their stuff by the pool and new singer (Nayala ?) is giving it her all – “See you all tonight at Supermartxé”. I don't think she will, somehow. She has a tough job - this party is a hard sell in San Antoni with its largely British crowd.

The touts have made a real effort with themselves, but look as if they've given up before they've even started. I'm quite often taken for being Spanish and ten or more years younger than I am (so I'm told ..) and decide that if one of the touts bothers to approach me for this party I'll buy a ticket and give it a go. I'm certainly not forking out for one on the door for this and tonight, I'm open but not committed - a genuine ‘convertible prospect'. But not one of the touts comes near me.

What's up guys and girls ?… not every viable prospect travels with a possy & yes, the local stags and hens will likely all be rounded up for Es Paradis and Eden (so you need to trawl hard if you want to collar punters for a night like this from here). Perhaps in a white polo (aargh !) shirt, without wraparound shades, and with my shorts not being denim (rolled fashionably up just above the knee) - sporting comfy sanuks instead of espadrilles, I just don't look sexy or glamorous enough to be trusted to grace the doors of Privilege suitably attired tonight ? But I could be harbouring a sparkly thong and nipple rings under here for all you know....

Stop it – I must behave. I guess, just never assume that people on their own are not worth talking to (it's a trek down to Pussycat for tickets, the parking's a pain there and we can't always be a*sed). You're touts and ticket-sellers, for heaven's sake. I've done some gritty ‘sales and marketing' myself in the (increasingly distant) past.. when I'm uncommitted, I draw the line at having to collar you guys for a club ticket on the Sunset Strip at a pre-party venue.

Bursting with punch and now feeling restored from my Pizza with Gorgonzola, things (as always) brighten up. Adam and his friend (fire-eaters) show up (we've all got roofs to pay for !). It's nice to see a genuine and friendly face, and the show's spectacular. He comes over for a chat afterwards and offers to try to get me on the guest list for Zoo's after-party at Privilege tomorrow. Cheers buddy – if you can, but I know it's a long shot that one. I send him a text ‘to remind tomorrow'. He's got to get going and I decide to settle up and move on. Café del Mar is virtually empty as usual and the adjacent bars are not inspiring me tonight. I'm feeling sociable, but have given up on the Spanish girls showing here now. I'd never find them at Privilege without a mobile anyway. Oh well… let's go with the flow and explore. Move the wheels to the oh-so-handy car park opposite Ibiza Rocks bar and stick my trainers on.

A quick scoot up the road to bar crawl Hed Kandi (yes, I've stopped calling it The Egg now) and Plastik for old times' sake sets me well and truly on the RB&V trail and leads back to Ibiza Rocks bar, in through the back door. It's feeling so sad in there tonight I don't even stop for a drink. Can't be bothered to take in Linekers so leave by the front for a stroll along the sea front intending to move on to Tulp.

Next door, Ítaca is going off, big time and I pop in to take a look. Result ! It's another place I just seem to forget about sometimes .. Supermartxé have taken it over for another pre-party (great location, right by those buses). Forget pre-recorded beats, the bassline is being pushed out of live drums (man that guy is good). What a treat. The dancers are super-hot and the whole thing is undeniably sexy, if clearly polysexual – there's no mistaking that. But it doesn't matter. I can barely down my RB&V - the live drummer has me in his clutches and I can't stay still. This is infectious, quality stuff. Everyone around is loving it too and ‘avin' it large'. A real Fiesta is going on here. The DJ is unashamedly having a fag at the decks. I take back some of the eye-rolling, Supermartxé - you got this bit right on tonight. Come on, San An – admit it – this rocked ! 8)
 
Night


By late, I was Supermartxé'd out before the big party even really got started (guess you can put on too good a pre-party..) and didn't want to risk spoiling it if the main event was a ‘big club disaster' (how many times … ) All that dancing has cleared my head, everyone is moving on and I decide conclusively to bail on Privilege. I've stayed out too long to go get glammed up now. Being out for over 14 hours and trekking through seawater-filled rock pools in the North had rendered my trainers somewhat damp and pungent. I hadn't been back to the Apartment to freshen up today – more refugee from Glastonbury than Ibiza party animal. After sea-swimming and dancing for hours, my skin and hair are caked in salt. Suffice to say, I'm beginning to feel pretty shabby.

There are some times when spontaneous decisions really don't pay off. Of course, by this hour I should have just called it a night or found a swimming pool to freshen up in. Instead, I head over to Platya d'en Bossa intent on finding a late bar. When I get there, can't face the Jet complex bars (fine if you're staying in PDB but otherwise ..) and I have one of those mental blocks on Delano the Experience Bar at Es Vive nearby. Why does this happen sometimes ???!! I'd clocked that Sankeys doesn't re-open until the end of the month. Think about Aura but I'm probably going tomorrow and being still alone, it can feel a long drive back from there after a hard night anyway. I turn around and hot-foot it back to San An without even getting out of the car.

Passing the turning to Sunset Point, I just can't go to bed. Nothing for it but to hit the West End again. There would be droves of people in a far shabbier state than me, and if all else fails I could recklessly waste endless amounts of money at Temptation in order to get some more drinks in. Things were looking up again (I think), in a ragged sort of way.

When I arrive it's a real struggle to get parked in the West End labyrinth and far messier on the streets than it was on Wednesday. The general level of drunkenness and concentration of brawl casualties is well above-average. Stag-doers clearly outnumber hen-doers tonight. Passed-out bodies litter the alleys and there are many black eyes and split lips in evidence as I wind up the West End way. Those F50s are the soft ground ones, mate – I'd ditch the studs if I were you, or you won't last long on the dance floor in there ! ..

Blimey - know your mates put you up to it, but you look a proper wally in that tutu, son. I thankfully keep my thoughts to myself, breathe in deeply and shut off my senses again to run the gamut. There's no way I'm experimenting with venues tonight.

Dash for cover into Hush where it's a rocking oasis of relative civilisation. The bouncers have done a sterling job. Their eyes are everywhere and anyone who gets too drunk to stand up (or goes arse over tit on the steps to or from the loos) is bounced out the door on a ‘first strike and you're out' basis. It's still early enough to have ample space. I down a couple of RB&Vs to level my frame of mind, grab a bottle of chilled Heineken to take with me for hydration (heck, if you can't have a beer in the West End..) and find a great spot up the steps by the railings to make my home.

My feet are killing me and I'm unbelievably hot tonight. Trainers get shed and stowed near the table and I discreetly sweep the area with the edge of my palms to clear any broken glass over the balcony into the bins behind the bar below.

I'm not the only one with the same idea – a well-dressed mixed possy nearer my age is dancing on the cushions by the tables and one of their number is happily ‘footloose' on the floor too. Years since I danced proper barefoot in a club. Last time was at The End (as it was) in London, for an hour or so until the floor got so covered in spilt drink and shattered glass I had no choice but to put my shoes back on. The music is groovy without being cheesy and I'm very happy. My ‘footloose friend' is mashed and swigs from my unattended beer on the table. I see but don't care. He must need it.

The population swells as the night goes on and I'm gradually forced down onto the steps to dance. People all over the room are starting to ‘connect' with each other and even the bar staff are grooving mentally now. I tough it out as an endless swell of bodies snakes and staggers up the steps in search of space (or the loos) only to career back down again moments later, often heading for the door. My ‘footloose friend' and his possy have given up with the changing crowd and left. I keep a close eye on those trainers in the corner. You'd have to be completely off your head to want to pick them up.. but then again ….

Time is marching on and the bouncer who's been looking after ‘my area' finally spots my bare feet. I know from past experience elsewhere it's a health and safety ‘no-no' ! But I've been dancing my nuts off on the steps by the bar for ages, my feet are in good shape and I've thoroughly enjoyed myself. He very politely suggests I might want to put some shoes on as there's broken glass around. Being thoroughly relaxed, I tell him I've cleared the floor of it and am cool, thanks. The barman who's been grooving nearby adopts an expression of amused disbelief. The bouncer is slightly firmer now – I need to put some shoes on if I'm going to stay, so I casually oblige and take my position up again for a bit more dancing, somewhat hotter but still having fun.

I bail out of Hush around 5. Although I could easily fall into temptation as I still fancy a bit of close company, being thoroughly pungent and soaked in sweat I decide to spare the girls at Temptation the indignity of performing for such a delectable-smelling customer, and myself the inevitable sense of having been well and truly fleeced that a night in a strip club brings about.

Back at Sunset Point, I'm seriously filthy and dying for a swim. Having forgotten to bring or buy soap or shower gel, and struggling for hot water at this hour, it beats a shower. The pool is locked off. I case the complex and it's not looking hopeful until I spot the gate to the pump-house room has been left open. There's a do'able shimmy up a rock ledge and over the wall nearby. I grab my towel from the car, get my swim in after all and crash feeling relaxed and refreshed as daylight dawns.
 
Saturday morning - get thee to the market

Saturday 18th June

Last proper day. Leap out of bed around half eleven feeling lucky to be alive, well and still in Ibiza. Had the elements not so obligingly intervened, I could have been back in Blighty participating as a ‘who can stay awake at the wheel' contestant in a 4 hour driving challenge, ending in a restorative day trimming hedges off a platform and limbing trees with a chainsaw. All this whilst doing my best to hide evidence of a deepening suntan that oughtn't to have been feasible given the recent bad weather… It all makes the air smell even sweeter. I try to get on-line to check out bar, event and club options for tonight on Spotlight but my laptop isn't connecting today and I'm just not going to waste any more of this perfect day trying.

Conclude I must have put away a fair few red bulls yesterday as despite all the exercise I'm not hungry. Grab 2 bottles of frozen water from the Apartment and hit the road. I grab the map. So where to today ? Then I remember - the “car boot to end all car boots” in Sant Jordi at the Hippodrome on a Saturday morning. If only flea markets could be like this in UK..

A fascinating wander round the dusty labyrinth of cars and stalls selling anything and everything leads back to the café steps near the entrance from the side of the car park, where a DJ is spinning infectious afro-brazilian beats which make me think I'm back in South America and my feet want to dance.

On the other side of the square, some good old-fashioned Goa psytrance is spilling out of mobile speakers beside a vintage VW campervan and some impressive paraphernalia is spread out on a psychedelic throw. The dreadlocked vendors are clearly still living in the late ‘80s or early ‘90s and have a wild and hunted look, as if they're trying to work out why the rest of the world still seems to be spinning outside of the Mandala. I'm thrown right back to my ‘latter teen years'. Happy mashed-up thoughts come flooding back of mystery open-air trance parties deep in the English countryside with their strobes and fire FX, which inevitably ended in marathon stealth commando-missions back to Ops Base through random fields in the early hours, convinced you're being chased by giant cows.

Ibiza Global Radio is broadcast from a car radio beside a stall of colourful childrens' dresses for Sunday best. You can imagine little tots looking really cute in these, holding their parents' hands on the steps of the local village church.

Ethnic jewellery, hippie bracelets and wraps are all around. I take a look, but I'm conservative with such adornments and generally feel they'd look better on a girl than on me. I do often wear a couple of (probably highly unfashionable) faded old surfing bracelets, more out of habit than design, but that's about as far as I go.

Adding a different shade of colour, a sheet-white English lad in his early 20s is there with his Dad. They're overheating whilst doing their best to flog tupperware off a folding table. Is he coming out or is Dad going home ? Haven't had a coffee yet and whilst my heart does go out to them for tenacity I can't quite bring myself to ask the story.

As I finish doing the re-rounds, I spot a massive Nepali tie-dye throw (tent roof ?) in blue/lilac tones being sold by a group of ‘modern Hippies' and succumb to temptation. It's 15Euros. My African reflexes have truly faded with the years and I decide not to bother haggling. It's getting furiously hot, I need something more than water on my stomach and people are starting to pack up. My senses are overloaded and decide to cut and run with my impulse-buy.
 
Chilling - Way out West


I'm so close that there's nothing for it but to head to Cala Jondal and drop in at Yemanja. I try to make it here every trip and never regret it – one of my all-time favourite places on earth. It's packed. Blue Marlin next door is busy too. The bay is wall-to-wall large yachts but the super-bling is thankfully more concentrated in Blue Marlin. There are several large Italian groups in, though, and the atmosphere in Yemanja is uncharacteristically self-conscious.

I'm still in no mood to eat so grab a fresh fruit smoothie instead and chill to the unmistakeable grooves at a comfy after-table just on the beach. They're playing Atfunk's Disconaut as I take my pew. The barman has done exactly as I asked and mixed my glass of goodness up with banana, mango and orange. It's lovely and I consider treating myself to a massage, but my mind drifts and I get a vision of Es Vedrà which just won't go away. It gets just too busy at Cala Jondal, so I take a few discreet photos (always forget to do more of this in Ibiza), settle up and hit the road again.

Get it together enough to pick up some shower gel and top up water supplies at the supermarket in Sant Josep, and arrive at Cala d'Hort. It's Saturday and the parking is a complete nightmare. Even the attendant sounds Italian and he's quite rude to me as I try to manoeuvre the car. I can see the beach is packed. This is just not cool.

Sa Pedrera ? Maybe later. I head for Cala Carbó instead, but miss the turning and end up at Cala Vedella. There seem to be lots of Brits around today but it's not packed. It's funny, but I never clocked this as a favourite British spot. The parking alongside the beach is easy, though (as is the water access) and I'm in need of a swim. Head to the slipway area at the North side of the beach where bodies are unmistakeably Spanish. I feel relaxed about leaving my stuff on the slipway here and take a long refreshing swim out.

Still haven't worked up an appetite and decide to hit Cala Carbó after all. Parking's a dream and I head straight to the boathouses and up the path that leads to the rocky sunbathing platform beyond. I have it to myself. Bliss ! There are a couple of local lads diving off the rocks just below the path leading here. I fancy snorkelling across to the other side of the little bay but stupidly have brought too much stuff along with me (including the car key) to be happy leaving or hiding it here. It's right about now a companion would have been really welcome to share some of the responsibility of it all. Never mind.

I'd had but a glimpse of Es Vedrà on the drive down but she was now out of sight. Not out of mind, though. Love a hot sun and I feel its healing rays push my cares away. I'm relaxed and can't be bothered to go all the way to Amanté today. Atzaró is tempting me but I'm peacefully happy by the coast, decide to stay and drift off for a snooze.

Suddenly I'm right in the thoroughfare of young group of three shapely topless girls and a guy in speedos excitedly clambering over every boulder in the area in their Havaianas. They're Spanish and friendly enough, but their presence is being well and truly felt after a while. My mind drifts back to my naked hours alone at S'illa des Bosc (Sa Ferradura) yesterday and I cannot help but think I've been given my quota of such privileged luxury for one trip. It's the weekend and it's right that the coast is here for everyone to enjoy together.

I pack up my stuff and head for the car, which is shaded by trees behind the restaurant. I'm about to go when I spot an unmarked path leading into the surrounding hillside..
 
Stairway to Heaven

The air has a heavenly scent. The hillside trail beckons. I don my trainers, ditch my shirt and head off to check it out. The path gets narrower to non-existent in places and forks start to appear in the tracks. My head is sufficiently set now to 'clock my landmarks' as I explore deeper and deeper into the wilds, rather than leaving a marker trail. The remains of an old stone wall.. the bush with a dead branch facing the pathway back and so on.

As I turn around to face the bay, the views are stunning. Huge bushes of Rosemary have grown together from both sides of the trail and I get an aromatherapy hit as I part them to walk through. The sun is fierce now and I'm in and out of welcome shade as I ramble along rocky trails higher and higher up the hillside leading to, well, no particular place. It's deserted and peaceful.

A sheltered clearing appears beneath a tree where fallen leaves have dried and gathered on the dusty ground. I stop, take off and lay down my clothing, assume a Lotus position with remarkable ease (it's been a fair old while !) and clear my mind. It's been ages since I felt this sense of calm. I'm at one with myself and the earth and a deep understanding and sense of total acceptance washes over me. I can't think ill of anyone or anything. I have no questions I feel I need answers to. I'm completely sober in every sense and with a clear head. There are times when the best soundtrack is the sound of silence.

There's something inexplicably powerful that exists alongside the wonderful bars, clubs, beaches and music that holidays in Ibiza are made of. Tuning in to it, for a short time, is a rare and privileged experience which happens to me every now and again. Never when I'm consciously looking for it or trying to orchestrate it, always when I'm completely sober and usually when I'm alone. When it really hits, the feeling never stays around particularly long but is intense, benign and intoxicating. It's one reason I never think twice about coming to the island by myself, and I know never to try to control or seek this experience out. If conditions are right, it finds me.

I return to the car and without consciously making any decision to do so, head towards Sunset Ashram. I don't even light up a Marlboro, for once. Pick up a girl hitch-hiking at the side of the road. She's a waitress there and due at work by 6pm. She asks the time - it's 5 to. She shows tangible relief at being driven and thanks me in the usual Continental way. When we hit the big car park the place is absolutely packed. I look around - my usually spot-on instincts are telling me there's ‘love in the air' at Sunset Ashram this afternoon and all conditions are perfect. Any other time I would have just stayed and played (which, with hindsight, I probably should have done) but after my time on the trails and the sorry state of disarray I got into yesterday, I want to go freshen up to make the most of it. It's close to ‘home' and I can always return.
 
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