I only went to Ibiza, didn't I?

[Wordbender]

Hello all! Long-term member and occasional poster, Wordbender here, safely gathered from a week in mad-bonkers Ibiza and what an eye-opener that was and no little mistake. Those young people, eh? What are they like?!! Well, let me tell you.

 

My eldest lad 'works security' (hoys drunks into and out of a couple of clubs in San Antoni) over there and I haven't seen him for a couple of months, so that's why I dragged my saggy ass to Ibiza. Taking the dreadful with the smooth, I'm glad I did.

 

Even a rounded fellow such as me learns plenty about himself in a place like Ibiza. For instance, who could have imagined that acres of unbridled boobies could become 'meh' in around two days? The sight of a well-turned chest in a cheekily cut gown beats the lolling lallies all hands down, in the rheumy eye of this uncommitted clubber at least.

 

I've already dallied too long on matters lallular, but I'm forced to make mention of the 70-something, thonged-up silicone sister who made breakfast at the beach bar quite uncomfortable for me and my basin of sizzling sardines. I now know that, within my self-oppressed world of the proper and the improper, there comes a point when exposing our ghastly bodies to an unforgiving sun is simply not in the public interest. Before I'm cyber-lynched by the feministas, that restriction applies equally to we chaps. Buckets of gut and man-boobs do not make for mealtime viewing.

 

Ibiza fashion surprised me, and I'm quite the Gok Wan as you know. I'm sad to report that the influence of that unfairly talented Katie Jordan Price-Andre-Reid-Mostchaps is the major styling force for young ladies. The black hair, with cheap extensions revealed perfectly by the glare of the Spanish sun, matches the equally false lashes and genuine designer fake tan. Add some sort of toga dress-thing, the strappy boots, a subtle hectare of costume bling, even a tiara or two, and the look is complete...crap. Baffling.

 

Young gentlemen prefer to shave their bodies to avoid hair spoiling the cut of their physical jibs. There is disturbing evidence of eyebrow pluckage and I'm sure some of these fellows are no strangers to the ouvre of Mssrs Revlon and Clinique. Quite what the likes of Lord Baden-Powell would have made of those young, hard, hairless male bodies a'glisten with scented sweat, I shudder to think.

 

Amusingly, these poor chaps still cling to the 'crutch of trouser below the nutsack-swing line' look. This not only leaves the arse of their strides hanging like a soggy nappy, it lets us enjoy the sight of their underpants. Class, that.

 

Drug dealing is more brazen here than in any mainstream resort I've ever lurked in. African entrepreneurs roam the beaches and byways, selling knock-off sunglasses from one box, and coke, skunk, ketamine, MDMA and ecstasy from their grubby pockets. Some bars sell the same across the counter, and it's all a bit sinister, really. That ketamine gear is an absolute b'stard, and my son reckons it's the cause of more insane rucks than any other drug, including booze. Yesterday, he was having breakfast with two other doormen and a couple of sturdy police officers, when a ket-head just ran over and started pushing him around. My son knew the score immediately, and immobilised the bloke, but ketamine apparently promotes the impression of invincibility and the idiot just kept lashing out. The outcome was inevitable and the police eventually dealt with it in their normal sympathetic way, with batons and pepper spray. My son is a huge man, his two doorman mates are even bigger, plus the law was there too; yet that poor deranged sod decided that attacking them was the way forward. The man didn't utter a word throughout the five minutes of frenzied conflict and it's probable that he'll have no recollection whatever of what the hell he did, but put a blade, bottle or lump of rock in his hand and somebody could be killed.

 

The Ibiza plod taser first and beat the crap out of you second. My lad said, 'that was someone's son, dad,' and shook his head. I found the whole thing seriously scary, and told my lad that he was someone's son, too, and made him promise to put his own welfare first, but I knew what he meant. Poxy drugs, and a pox on those who prey on the 'invincible' young 'uns.

 

In happier news, a visit to the further-flung regions of Ibiza revealed a stunning island beyond the reach of clubbing culture and the excesses that sustain it. The food was, generally, excellent, especially anything fish-based, and I enjoyed the squids' finest hour, here. Gilt head bream is the fish of the gods and sardines the size of herrings (body type-athletic), are the fishy dish that can be savoured any time, any place, anywhere.

 

Prices went from mild to mad, with the biggest rip-offs inevitably directed at the young, free and bladdered. How'd you fancy between 50 and 100 euros to get into a club, and 20 euros a drink once you're in? Then again, at certain times the kids have booze lobbed at them for next to nowt, and 7 euros gets you a pint of Vodka and Red Bull (four vodkas in that, thanks ), plus a shot, plus a beer. Healthy alco-options, no?

 

I was working for much of the time but saw enough to form the cock-eyed opinion you're suffering now, and certainly enough to know that I'd go back and have a week off-piste as it were. The invitation's there and I think I'll graciously accept it.

 

There we are then, a very much potted Ibiza, as briefly enjoyed by possibly the least likely raver that insane island has ever seen.

 

If you have - thanks for reading.

Edited August 11, 2010 by Wordbender

[Elton]

If this doesn't make it into the next Rough Guide, the worlds will be a sadder place.

 

[chesters1]

AH Ibiza ...the isle of white without sun,warm sea ,girls ,more girls ,chaps hoping desperately their really not gay ,chaps getting **** and playing gay with other drunk non gays .the thought horrifies me ever going i can well see why the brits are hated worldwide .

i'l do my bit not going abroad if others do their bit not coming here!

on the plus side did i mention girls

Edited August 11, 2010 by chesters1

[Janet]

Fabulous, and welcome back!

 

Janet

[Wordbender]

... i can well see why the brits are hated worldwide .

 

As a reasonably 'worldwide' type of chap, Chesters, I'm happy to report that, in my experience at least, we Brits are not 'hated' at all, mate. In fact, apart from some unpleasantness in a decidedly French bit of Montreal, I've always been treated with the utmost friendship, courtesy and generosity.

 

I believe that the lurid headlines generated by those few hooligan Brits abroad represent the truth about as well as 'anglers' who leave litter and discarded tackle behind them.

[Zigs]

Good report Wordbender, I was in stitches about the first bit. The drug scene is very worrying though. My brother used to work in Es Cana on the other side of the Island. I used to stay with him regularly.

 

Like some, I used to enjoy a bit of a smoke, but then I was getting offered this new (at the time) drug called extacy. Never did any.

Terrible to see ketamine is out there now, like you say, turns people into tanks.

 

We loved the unspoilt parts of the island, felt so sorry for my brothers landlady, she'd moved out there in the 1920s & built a lovely house with a roof top garden. We used to go round for afternoon tea, but it was a bit difficult to enjoy as she'd been surrounded by high rise hotels with bars blasting out the "dolche vita". Last I heard, she'd moved back to Barcelona.

[Newt]

... we Brits are not 'hated' at all, mate. In fact, apart from some unpleasantness in a decidedly French bit of Montreal, I've always been treated with the utmost friendship, courtesy and generosity.

 

That was because you spoke English, not because you were English. Much of Quebec Province is that way and if you speak English, you need to also speak French or you need to stay away. You can get by reasonably well without French if you speak German or Russian or whatever and never let on you speak English.

[Wordbender]

That was because you spoke English, not because you were English. Much of Quebec Province is that way and if you speak English, you need to also speak French or you need to stay away. You can get by reasonably well without French if you speak German or Russian or whatever and never let on you speak English.

 

I'm sure my unrepentant Englishness had a great deal to do with it, Newt, but this particular incident occurred in a sports bar where a group of local worthies were picking on some lads from Newfoundland. My friends and I had enjoyed the hospitality of the Newfoundland people during a trip to St. Johns a couple of years before, so when it kicked off in the bar, we stood with the Newfies. It was all over in a few frantic minutes but those beastly locals called us horrid names and conducted themselves like complete cads.

 

Anyway, that was a minor pimple on the otherwise smooth face of my global adventures, so I'm happy to consign it to the dustbin of experience.

 

All the best.

[Zigs]

Votre blaireu est on feu, vous avez un grand conard dans votre tete. Votre femme avez une visage comme un cochon.

 

Haben se dachs ?

 

That would get me by i'm sure.

[Wordbender]

Votre blaireu est on feu, vous avez un grand conard dans votre tete. Votre femme avez une visage comme un cochon.

 

Haben se dachs ?

 

That would get me by i'm sure.

 

 

Oh yes, I can't see that causing any grief, Ziggy.

 

Well, some over-sensitive types may react with the odd baseball bat, but I'm sure the rest will take it in the right spirit.