Back from Ibiza

Back from the party island, and have come to the conculsion that Ibiza is like a Freudian model for the human psyche.

First the id: this would be the primal gangs of chav's hanging abot the pool in baseball caps, football shirts and flash their fat bellys. They shout, fight, scream. They seduce women by spitting, wrestling and drinking. They inhabit the part they call the West End, which contains endless roving packs, slavish and sniffing, roaring at the sniff of blood.

Next is the super ego: these would be the hardcore clubbers, the cool crowd that see the sunset and shake your hand in clubs. They go to Bora Bora beach and party till dawn, without being drunk or shouting. They grin and feel euphoric. They head towards the sun, jump, run and laugh.

And I guess I'm the ego: First night we spent in the West End and had a great time. Next time it was shite, dirty and grimy. Went to Cafe del Mar twice at dusk, and chilled with the glowing crowds. Manumission was a sprawling overbloated mess, with broken glass all around and phoneys pretending that it's reasonable to pay 8€ for a 33cl bottle of water. A place where it takes 20 minutes to get up the stairs and down again, and adequate circus acts perform on stage. Es Paridis water party for DJ Sammy's birthday was a pure clubbing experience. The main dance floor was a white marble ampitheatre, with at the end of the night (5am actually) opened it's fountains and filled up with water. The steps make it a perfect design for a dancefloor and we danced till past the dawn. Foam party at Eden looked fantasic, Space was ok, though we only saw the terraces. Gorms Garage was our favourite haunt in the West End, where if you buy a San Migel, you get a free shot of apple snapps which makes you want to puke and free bottle of "champagne" which makes you want to die. The bars want to bury you, but the clubs lift you higher and higher.

Ibiza, it's enought to turn you to dance music.