Image by ST33VO
‘Why? WHY did I do this to myself?’ I groan into my pillow as the stark sunshine invades our hotel room, shedding light on the chaos we had left in our wake the night before. Discarded clothing is strewn across the white tiles, empty cans of non-descript alcohol lie scattered amongst handbags and sticky-soled stilettos, and my hair smells of sweat and smoke. I feel grim.
The catastrophic hangover was worth it however, as anyone who has tasted Ibiza’s nightlife will know. My recollections of Eden nightclub are hazy, at best. One of the most popular Ibiza clubs in San Antonio, Eden is practically beach front, which explained the soggy denim shorts… I’d clearly felt the need to take a dip at four in the morning. Investigating further, I discover that my purse is as vacant as my memory. Excellent.
Image by Abeeeer
Despite the vast array of things to do in Ibiza, for your average 21-year-old, there is only one reason to visit this sun-drenched Balearic isle: To obliterate your liver party. Which is why, merely a few hours later, I was on a packed local bus full of party-goers heading for super club, Space. Struggling desperately to supress the urge to vomit on my peers, I tried to focus on the alluring landscape of dusty plains and pine trees whizzing past my window. Cue nausea. I closed my eyes to dispel the ever-enduring effects of my hangover, and listened to our tout (vendor of tickets to Ibiza events) discuss the evening’s itinerary.
‘So we’ll head to a couple of bars first for our free cocktails and some banter, then enter the awesomeness that is Space at around 10.30, OK guys? It’s going to be a long night! Here are your wrist bands, first round of shots on the house!’
I shuddered at the thought. How was I going to survive another night of intoxicated debauchery? My friends came to the unanimous conclusion that I needed more alcohol; standard drunken logic. Hair of the (severely delayed) dog it was then. Resisting the protests of my queasy stomach, I managed a couple of sickly-sweet cocktails and surprisingly, started to feel a little better. My toes even started tapping to the thumping bass I could hear reverberating from within the walls of the alien-looking dome of the club. A frisson of excitement and curiosity quashed any fatigue I was feeling. This was going to be a big night.
Image by ST33VO
‘Super club’ barely begins to cover the breed of clubs in Ibiza. Space is aptly named however, as when I emerged at around 6.30am to the sound of birdsong (vaguely deciphered through the ringing in my ears) I felt – and probably looked – like I’d just returned from a completely different planet, one where hearts beat to the bass of electronic music, strobe lighting equates to gentle ambiance and everyone is deliriously happy. I’d survived the night entirely sober.
Image by David Boyle
‘Why? Why did we do this to ourselves?’ groaned my inebriated, exhausted companions. I grinned as I hailed a taxi. ‘So, Privilege tonight right guys?’
NB: The distinct lack of my Ibiza holiday snaps is due to the fact that, well, my mum reads this blog and quite frankly she doesn’t need the photographic evidence of her daughter drinking tequila from a dancer’s belly button. Get your Ibiza 2012 t-shirts ready folks and enjoy!
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