Later Saturday morning I wake from my luxurious kip feeling surprisingly lively and well considering I had my head down the loo not 5 hours’ earlier. We met by the pool early enough to decided that today was the day we braved the beach!
Now, due to the many thousand aforementioned naked muscle-men that frequented Ibiza, I had spent most of the holiday asking these random and well-stacked individuals to show me ‘Which way to the beach!?’ and expected them to get the GTL reference, replying with a bent arm and therefore a flexed gun. A random gun-show if you will. I never found one man who had no idea what I was talking about either which I guess always helps. Now it was actually time to ‘go to the beach’ and we girls really did need to know which way it was too, so off we went to the harbour in central San An in search of a beach-going boat.
I wasn’t the only casualty of alcohol-related pukiness that day, and as we sat in the scorching hot midday sun waiting for our ‘beach boat’ to arrive, silence had taken over our once lively and chatty group. Once re-fuelled with coffee, pastries and diet coke (standard) we were once again ourselves and jumped on-board a boat for what turned out to be a lovely day on the beach.
Readers who are European/ holiday in Europe or are ladies, will all be aware of the beach policy once on holiday- no bikini tops to be worn. I have no idea where this ‘policy’ came from but I remember once being scarred as a young child by an older, topless lady whilst on the beach in England. I was happily minding my own business and suddenly from nowhere I was confronted by a pair of spaniel ears amongst the surf. I was very confused as to why this lady had chosen to take her top off and it was only until I went to a beach in Portugal that I realised that actually we Brits are apparently the only people who keep their bikini tops on and therefore we’re in the minority.
This policy of ‘No tops’ is also only appropes for the beach, if you go topless by the hotel pool you are considered a floozy, slutty and more often than not find yourself crowded by men who can’t believe you’d dare be topless in such a public place but are all-too grateful none the less. The beach however is a totally different ball-park and you are frowned upon and made to feel in the minority if you are actually wearing both your top and bottoms. Weird. So we got involved with the locals and soon all worries of nipples and unnecessary wobbling were soon forgotten as we soaked up the rays and observed the ‘Tutti Fruti’ men on the beach.
Saturday evening brought another excellent club night at the world’s largest superclub Privilege- even better we had tickets to Radio 1 presents. Excellent. We decided to give the ‘free bus’ another go and although we arrived unscathed we endured a hot, sweaty journey amongst cocaine snorting girls and boys popping pills like smarties, still C’est la vie- it was free and we weren’t mugged! Its the little things…
Once we had arrived at Privilege, which is again in the middle of nowhere in desert land, I managed to get licked on the neck and face raped on the way into the club, however this was not going to deter me from having an excellent night. We arrived in the main room to the fabulous sounds of Sebestian Engrosso, the club was massive– it had a jungle in for heavensake- and there were various side rooms with Skrillex and Red light playing. We caught some of Mista Jam and Red light before heading into the main room to enjoy the likes of Benni Benassi, Pete Tong and the excellent Annie Mac. It was a brilliant mix of sweat, confetti and smoke and kept us dancing until 5am when we decided our hangovers were truly setting in.
Ending another great night out another of the girls was to be a sickness casualty, right as we were boarding the free bus, but we never leave a man down so we camped out in the desert until sickness passed and the next bus arrived. KFC stop was off that night and we all trudged back to the hotel for 7am and some well earned snoozing.