I hate superlatives, I rarely use them, and this past weekend could have been one of my favorites ever and Ibiza could quite possibly be my favorite place ever. Imagine me lying on a towel, in my slightly-more-European-than-usual bathing suit. I have my hands behind my head, my sunglasses as the only article that is blocking my skin from absorbing the perfectly warmed sunshine. White sand in between my toes, as a two topless young girlfriends are playing paddle in the surf. Biggie is telling me "it was all a dream" as I lie motionless, in awe of what life has given me.
That is a morning in Ibiza.
I touched down after a small delay at the Ibiza airport on Friday, anxious to meet up with Nick who was waiting for me at the hotel. I hop in a cab and arrive at our apartment and it was not more than five seconds that I put my bag down that Nick offers me a drink. Since I landed so late, we had to get ready to go out for the night. I would say rush, but I think that page was torn out of the Ibizan dictionary. I put on my ravers best and we head down the beach boardwalk with only one worry in the world, do we go to Space or Pacha tonight. Considering I may have personally funded a family vacation for the Pacha family by attending their Buenos Aires, New York and Madrid locales, we decided to switch up the plan and go to Space. Not too many Euros later, we enter into this massive warehouse. Rooms upon rooms, the main one having ceilings at least 100 feet high and a DJ booth more ornate than Cleopatra's hootinany. I felt like a child in at a new playground, having to touch and see every inch of it before I picked a place to start playing. Nick and I cut a rug, forbidding the cessation of such a party.
6am ROLLS around and we decide to head home, just enough for tonight, we don't want to overdue it. But as they say, when in Ibiza...swim in the Mediterranean before you go to sleep. Right? Nick and I run to the beach front by our hotel and leap in with reckless abandon. Nick said it was warm, it wasn't. While I was slowly removing enamel from my teeth from all the chattering, Nick is perfecting his backstoke up to the Pass Or Die buoys.
I yell, "Nick, what are you doing!? Come back!"
To which he responds, "It's chiiiiiiiiiilllllllll!"
Bueno, lo que tu quieras Nick.
We woke up too early the next morning, but Eagerness pulled both my legs over the side of the bed and lifted me upright. After a quick meal, we set down at the beach for the day. Heading back we decide to rent scooters and explore the downtown areas, plus it being the World Cup, we wanted to find a local restaurant to have a bite and cheer with some Spaniards. After I revealed the fact that the Scooter rental lady was having an affair with the previous customer (married), she shooed us out of the store and we rode downtown. The downtown intrigued me almost as much as the club/beach scene. It had a sufer town, west-coast, Laguna Beach vibe, with unique retail stores and hippie accessories. I impromptu shopped for about an hour finding some amazing shirts and jackets, perfectly complimenting my style. We sit for some Sangria and futbol and whine and moan about how difficult our lives have become.
Tonight we go to the Opening Party for Amnesia, as if the massive warehouse was not "opening party" enough. We return to the house for a shower and a change, then prepare ourselves for an Ibiza Saturday. Now after hearing about 20 years filled with fairy tales and cartoon dreams of what Ibiza had to offer, I pulled my skeptic hat out of my bad and fastened it, though loosely, atop my head. Our cab pulls up to this shopping-center of a place with thousands of people outside. We step into the pre-purchased tickets line like good little tourists and await our turn to become prophets of the romanticized land of Ibiza. I walk in to three stories, masses of people, bartenders, security guards, dancers, light shows, whistles, vibrations and chaos. They had a man playing a lit-up neon violin, perfectly harmonizing with the insane electronica. They had dancers of all races, genders or gender bends as humanly possible. Multiple screens and thousands of lights... you know what...see for yourself.
www.amnesia.es click Galerías and roll with me. (Caution: Mute volume if playing at work because a party may automatically start in your office if you do not heed this warning.)
There were several room but Nick and I did not make it past the main room, too much to see. The best way to describe what happened that night is to describe how we looked at the end. Nick had a pile of sweat accumulating under himself like the Silver Surfer on sabattical in the Sahara and a smile on his face like a Jack-o-lantern. I had multiple silver streamers, ones that shot out of some celebratory explosion coming from the ceiling, hanging all over my body. My feet were hurting from jumping and I was vibrating my body with my head dangled back just trying to expose enough surface area of my skin to take in all the fun that surrounded me. We walked out of the club at about 7am (standard leaving time) and into a shameful sunrise. As if my Mom had just pulled back the bedroom curtains 5 hours before I was ready. We get a ride home from locals and hang out for a bit before I crash.
Getting home on Sunday was hilarious considering Nick required 14 naps (I counted) and had to lean against a wall while I ran down streets looking for a cab to take us to the airport. Our silent cab ride to the airport was just fine considering my ears will still reverberating to the over-sensationalized weekend.
On our cab ride back to my apartment in madrid, our conversation with the driver went as follows: