Ibiza

Ever since Jason decided that he wanted to go to Ibiza for his birthday, he has had the Vengaboys' song “We’re going to Ibiza” in his head and has had it on high rotation. Finally, we were on our way to Ibiza for a party in the Mediterranean sea. But before we took off from Málaga, I popped by the trendy Barbershop around the corner from our accommodation to get a new hairdo. Refreshed with a very Latino cut – a zero to three fade – we were on our way to Ibiza.

We got to the airport with plenty of time to spare, despite Jason panicking that we were going to be late. But the spare time was quickly eaten up, as we queued for over 45 minutes to check in, even though we had already checked in online. We had forgotten how painful it was to fly budget Vueling.

As soon as we hit the ground in Ibiza, the party started. We had tickets to see Martin Garrix at Ushuaïa, a well-known club in Ibiza where almost all partygoers hang. We quickly realised that navigating the island may not be as easy as we first thought. Essentially, taxis are the most efficient way to get around. Ride share doesn’t exist, so you are at the mercy of the traditional taxi service. This proved more difficult to find as the hordes decended on any taxi that came by. Jason approached two French girls outside of our hotel and they happened to be going to Ushuaïa too. So we tagged along.

As we pulled into Ushuaïa, a guy came up to us and asked if we could change a 20-euro note. Twenty minutes later, after we entered Ushuaïa, we caught sight of him. He was obviously under the influence of something more than a mojito or margarita. He’d taken off his shirt, had his eyes closed, and it looked like he was trying to keep imaginary walls from falling down, as he made small pulsing motions in the air. Now we know why he needed change.

Prior to arriving at Ushuaïa, the club sent us the dress code. Guys couldn't enter shirtless or wear a vest. All the steroid gym bunnies were told to put on their shirts by security. But strangely enough women could wear next to nothing. Women wearing short shorts and bra tops dotted the landscape of the club. In front of us, one woman, who appeared to have had butt implants, wore a pair of denim shorts that covered a millimetre of her bum and the rest of the material had disappeared up her clacker. To quote the John Waters’ film 'Cry Baby': "hysterectomy pants I call them." The butt implants were obviously done to help distribute some of the weight from her breast augmentation, otherwise she would have toppled over. I'm not slut shaming her; it's just interesting the double standards when it comes to objectifying different genders.

It became obvious that superficial appearances mattered more on the island. Faces filled with botox and fillers and that was just the Zoomers/Gen-Z in the audience at Ushuaïa. Influencers have marketed Ibiza and presented an idealised version. In reality, it is tired, overpriced and overrated. A bottle of water at Ushuaïa cost 12€ (AU$16) for a 300-millilitre bottle, while beer went for 15€ and basic spirits for 19€. Still, we enjoyed our time there.

After a night out, we spent the next day exploring the old town. We sweltered, as Jason continued his quest for shade and a cool place to rest. Maybe it's the paws – the man-o-pause.

The following night, we had tickets to Calvin Harris. As experienced Ushuaïa partygoers, we knew what to expect and teamed up with two girls from the Dominican Republic and Ecuador (but now live in Miami, Florida). This wouldn’t be the last time that we would see the girls.

As we stood listening to the music, waiting for Calvin Harris to come on, three Scottish girls, Kylie, Amber Cornell and Tricia, weaved their way to our patch of the club. Kylie was a little vertically challenged and needed some assistance to see the stage. Jason let Kylie in front of us and this sparked the beginning of a new friendship. Kylie thought Jason was a hot Jason Donovan. Together they are Kylie and Jason - their rendition of Especially for You will be in stores for Christmas. Kylie then turned to me and said in her thick Scottish accent, “and you’re hot too. You're both handsome". I’m sure the soft lighting helped. Needless to say, we now have a "penpal" and a crew we can call on when we are in Edinburgh.

The night soon came to a close and we had to make our way home. The Thursday expedition back from Ushuaïa was relatively painless. We had left 5 minutes prior to closing and were able to snatch the first taxi that came our way. The Friday night expedition didn’t go as well. As we left the club, the line at the taxi rank was already snaking around the corner. We filed to the end of the line and waited as it slowly moved.

After about 30 minutes waiting in line, Jason saw the girls from the Dominican Republic and Ecuador. We bolted as fast as we could and they allowed us to catch a ride with them. Then came the slow ride home. The roads became a carpark as we came to a dead halt, moving only ever so slightly every few minutes. A trip that would normally take 10-15 minutes took 45 minutes. We probably could have walked home, but who knows where we would have ended up.

Over the next few days we slowed the pace a little as we recovered from the 48-hour intermittent party. For Jason’s birthday, he was treated to some fine dining at La Torreta, a Spanish restaurant serving modern, Mediterranean fusion cuisine. Opening with a couple of cocktails, this was followed up with an artistically presented entrée and a tasty main to die for.

All was going along as planned until drama struck us on our final morning in Ibiza. Jason had already gotten up when all of sudden the fire alarms sounded. At first, we thought it must have been some drunken shenigans. When the alarms didn't stop, I started to think maybe this wasn't a drill. The emergency exit had opened and I followed it to the bottom until I reached a passage that was blocked with bikes. Then I looked around the corner and I could see and smell smoke. It looked like I couldn't get out so I backtracked to get Jason. Before leaving the hotel room, we could hear people outside yelling there’s a fire. Within a few minutes, the police and fire brigade arrived. After a hour, the fire had been extinguished and we could re-enter the hotel. It was scary to think of what could have happened if it was a bigger fire.

We can only hope that the drama doesn’t follow us.

Next stop: Maspalomas, Gran Canaria.Read more