Another beautiful morning, waking again to the sound of waves - will I ever get sick of this? I doubt it.
It's an earlier start then usual for no other reason except we all got to bed at a reasonable time last night. Kathy is running along the same route we took yesterday. I've already hung up my runners. Tam is swimming in the ocean, cutting the water like a dolphin or something. I can see her from the balcony - only if I squint and raise my hand. Need sunglasses quick smart.
I can feel my cold coming on a bit stronger now, a little sore throat, a few sniffles and a head full of muck. But I'll power on.
Plans are afoot to take to the cars today. After lunch, we are heading towards Ibiza town and the ferries, keen to catch one to the small island of Formentera. Supposed to be nice.
It's Tuesday today - surprised that I know this. Probably to do with the fact that our final member of the Ibiza Party Crew is arriving tonight from London, aboard the jewel of easyjet's extensive fleet. No doubt the flight will be late, but you never know.
Hard to get everyone organised when we are in such a relaxed mode, but we are finally on our way: a two car train winding along the roads of Ibiza's countryside, destination: Ibiza Town!
And we're late. Too late for the ferry to Formentera. Next one is around four and that won't work either. A shame, but we are in a relaxed mood, so we shrug it off and think of options. Map out, tourist books out, coming up with Plan B.
Talamanca: a small beach just around the corner from Ibiza Town. Close by and easy to get to - that'll do. And it's not too bad, if lacking a little bit of soul. The sands are nice, the water inviting and there's enough bare breasts and tight dick togs about to cater for everyone's tastes. We pull up a couple of umbrellas and lounge chairs, paying the roving money grabber for the privilege.
Harry and Christy are digging in the sand, making holes, making sand castles, using whatever they can get their hands on. Sounds like they are having a good time, despite lacking the required instruments for serious sand castling.
Three tanned, muscle bound, gay men in ball hugging speedos enter and exit the water, one at a time, Daniel Craig style. I wander in also, sans steroid pecs and super size tackle. Our resident married couple plus one wade into the water. The frisbee from the villa gets thrown around. The water's fr-fr-freezing. We return to the beach.
After a few hours, we decide it's time to go our separate ways. Tam, Christy, Paul and Harry will be returning back to San Vincente for dinner and wine at the villa. Kathy and I are heading into Ibiza Town to kill time before heading to the airport. We will also suss out the car park situation in the Town for a potential re-attempt at the ferries tomorrow - but to a different location this time.
Adios to one and all!
Ibiza Town is buzzing with cars, people and tourism. Driving through its one way streets and narrow alleyways is not fun at all. Actually, I'm not driving, Kathy is, but co-ordinating the search for a car park using a map from Lonely Planet is no easy gig either. We find one car park, a dusty old, disused block where a hundred cars have parked in no semblance of order. After some careful negotiation and foolhardy swearing, we decide to look elsewhere. We find a smaller car park which, by luck, has a spare spot.
It's close to six and Ibiza town is winding down. The streets aren't full, mainly due to the fact that we are one week away from busy season. The bus loads won't be arriving for another few days. It's a pleasant wander through the old Town. A bit of shopping is required first: shorts for me (I've been wearing jeans or bathers these past few days) and some sand digging tools for Harry (as requested by Paul and Christy). We are successful on both counts, including a rocking beach kit for Harry.
Text 1: Easyjet flight delayed by an hour.
More time to kill. But not to worry, there's plenty of stuff to discover. We pass disco themed shops for Space and DC10, wander through a shopping and entertainment district that can only be custom made for chavs, and take a stroll along the water line. Returning back a different way, we walk down a street that's filled with gay bars and cafes. See three bronzed gay guys at one of the outside tables - could be the blokes from Talamanca, but hard to recognise them with their packages safely tucked away.
A little bit early for dinner, so we head to the small port in Ibiza Town that services a few small ferry services and a number of private boats. Sitting on the bench near the water, we check out maps and ferry times to places such as Platja d'en Bossa. A few confirming calls to the gang back at San Vincente (who are having a merry old time on the red wine) and we decide the ferries can wait for another day. Instead, Kathy and I devise a smorgasbord of beaches for tomorrow which is met with approval by all.
Time for dinner: at the recommendation of our villa hosts (via their very informative welcome pack), we seek out La Bodega, a restaurant situated at one of the gates to the Dalt Villa. It's nice and warm out and the sun is on the cusp of bedding down for the night, so its perfect for a romantic meal. It takes some time to find the place but worth it in the end. We settle down to some beautiful tapas and lush sangria.
Text 2: Flight delayed again, another hour.
More beautiful tapas, more lush sangria. Around ten, we decide we can't hang around too much longer and we can't keep drinking sangria as Kathy has to drive. So its a bit more walking around Ibiza town, avoiding dark streets and dodgy characters, venturing into the brighter establishment of the Pacha store, and finally making our way back to the car park. Kathy is super tired and I'm listing a little too. It's close to eleven now.
We get lost in the streets of Ibiza town, my orientation and map reading skills reaching a new low when I take us down a one way three lane street, going the wrong way. Ibithans seem a patient bunch, not one horn blast. We get lost on the outskirts of Ibiza town; dead ends and wrong directions. Finally we find the main highway and head to the airport.
The plane is a little later than expected so Kathy pulls up a couch and power snoozes and I wander the airport corridors looking for nothing in particular. Thirty minutes later, the "Arrivals" screen blurs and I can just make out the word "Landed" in capital letters. I rouse Kathy from her slumber and we hover near the arrival doors, peering through the side windows to see if we can catch a glance. It's like waiting for family at Tullamarine or Heathrow.
The doors part. A figure walks through, tired and heavy shouldered, but smiling, smiling, smiling. The final member of our Ibiza crew has arrived.
Photos: http://www.flightline.co.uk/, http://thebosh.com/, http://ibiza.unlike.net