Ibiza Blog Day Seven: The one where I meet a Cornishman

Tuesday morning (well, afternoon) I am woken by a knock at the boys’ door and it turns out to be one of my girls. There is a need to go into town and as I have overslept it seems, so I grab the nearest item of clothing which happened to be a vest, for a man, with the word ‘Ripped’ on it. Those who know me will know that this is a visual LOL because I am not at all ‘ripped’ and the vest barely fit me, I was practically wearing my bra and the vest as two very separate items. Shorts were also included in the ensemble, despite my lack of clothing I went with it as I had more urgent matters to address; coffee and pastry!

San Antonio town during the day is a rather odd place; girls stroll around in just bikini’s (there isn’t a beach really around San An) Boys are always topless and those brave enough to face the midday heat with a hangover can be seen downing pints of fizzy pop whilst holding their heads in their hands, probably wishing they were lying down in a darkened room. Cafe’s litter the ‘strip’ of San An harbour and all the venues sort of merge into one, with various waiters willingly taking your money for their full English breakfasts and TINY coffee’s. Whilst hunting down some market stalls to buy tat from (incidentally, I am still wearing my anklet bought from said tat market) I stumbled across a ‘Proper Cornish Pasty Shop’ and insisted we went in.

My childhood holidays had been spent trawling the county of Cornwall and as I’ve since visited every year (for 23 years) I like to think of myself as an adopted Cornish-person, and so I took a chance by assuming the guy working there was, in fact, a genuine Cornishman and asked him where he was from. Luck! He was a genuine Cornish person and we went on to play 15mins of ‘Who knows where this place is etc.’ He also explained that all of the ingredients for everything made in his little bakery, in San An, had to be shipped from St Ives, Cornwall, to even allow him to call his bakery ‘Cornish’! Wow. I’m not even sure how much demand there is from the Brits abroad for a Cornish pasty and this guy was seemingly going through a lot of effort to supply the hungover louts with pastry and meat goods. Still, not to be rude I bought a chocolate pastry thing and a can of coke from him.

 

After our stint in town, testing our strength with hangovers in 33 degree heat, we set off back to the pool. I was still wearing that ridiculous vest which had now caused two men to repeat ‘Ripped’ to me as they passed, in a scoffing, mocking tone. This was after all San An and apparently manners are checked-out at the airport, which means people feel they can say and do exactly as they please. Its like word vomit is contagious out there.

 

Poolside once more for the remainder of Tuesday, hanging about on lilo’s with the Welsh boys and enjoying more 2 euro wine. Tuesday evening was spent eating and watching the sunset once again on the sunset strip and we find ourselves clapping as the sun went down. This again is only socially acceptable in Ibiza, on the sunset strip. If you do this at home (as I have discovered) people think you are incredibly odd. And tend to frown at you rather a lot. As we had been to Space the night before we decided West End would be our venue (s) of choice and hit Delilah’s first for some karaoke goodness and Grandslam gagging. Another excellent night in the West end ended with my discovery of KFC chicken, which may seem odd to readers as we also have KFC, its just I never fancy chicken after a night of drinking yet it just made sense in Ibiza!

 

*Since this day I have become the adopted owner of aforementioned vest and plan to wear it at my leisure until its returned to ‘Beefa Boyfriend’ at a later date. If I wear it in your presence you may mock me*

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