No Regrets!

This morning, I played some Vengaboys’ “We’re Going to Ibiza!” for Jerry in the room as he packed his stuff, gave him a giant hug, put him into a cab, and sent him on his way to catch his flight back to Norway. We’ll miss him.

And then there were four.

Even though we’d only spent a couple of days in Barcelona, I felt like we’d gotten a really good feel for the city. Historically, culturally, and architecturally interesting, with a great easygoing, social vibe. Everybody liked it.

But the late nights in Barcelona had taken a toll on Dave. He wasn’t feeling so great, a bad omen for what was supposed to be several days of hard partying in Ibiza. Barcelona was supposed to be the warm-up, and Ibiza is not a place to go for recovery. Crossing fingers for my boy.

We grabbed our morning refreshments and ham sandwiches and took a taxi to the airport for our flight to Ibiza. David, our very personable taxi driver, talked to us about Barcelona football, proudly proclaiming (like many do) that Messi is the greatest to ever play.

At the airport, we headed to the Vueling (rhymes with “quelling”) counter. Unrealistically low baggage weight limits (15 kg) meant we were sent to another line to pay some absolutely ridiculous fees: 12€ for every kilogram over the limit. The resulting charges ended up costing us more than the flight itself.

When boarding, they stuck it to Dave even more by charging him 60€ for his backpack, which they deemed too big for the overhead bin, even though it ended up going onto the plane and into the overhead bin with everyone else’s bags.

We navigated the beautiful airport, noticing that the arrows on signs indicating “go straight” point down, opposite the upward-pointing convention we use at home. Interesting.

Dave and Matt kept things light with a constant stream of obscure movie references, heavily weighted toward Arnold Schwarzenegger. From RoboCop to True Romance to The Running Man to Predator, there’s always a line.

The flight to Ibiza took barely an hour. We had a Nick Swisher lookalike on our plane, probably the closest we’ll get to a baseball star run-in on this trip.

Leaving the airport, I was surprised by how built-up and industrial Ibiza looked. Not quite the youthful and remote paradise I’d imagined.

But the Ibiza Gran Hotel, our home for five nights, was incredible. Dave got us a Deluxe Suite, spacious and luxurious, with a balcony offering panoramic views of Marina Ibiza and the picturesque Dalt Vila fortress shimmering in the evening light.

By the time we went down to Zuma, the fancy restaurant connected to our hotel, Dave was feeling awful and looking like shit. The food was good, but the meal was abbreviated when Dave had to excuse himself and head back to the room early.

Matt, Tony, and I lingered at the bar in the middle of the restaurant and, perhaps sensitized by Jerry’s observations in Barcelona, recognized that most of the women in the restaurant were prostitutes.

We headed out for some bar-hopping in Ibiza Town, wandering through a series of alleys that reminded me a lot of the Greek islands. But we didn’t find much activity. A young woman beckoned for us to sit at BCB Tango, the bar where she was hostessing. Her name was Claudia. She was cute and spunky, and it didn’t take long for her to offer us drugs.

At the next bar, Tony struck up a conversation with a couple of women. When one of them said she was from Rome, Matt responded, “Oh, are you Greek?” Agnes and Doriana were, in fact, Italian.

We were out until 4am.

This morning, Dave woke up thinking he had a bacterial infection similar to one that had once put him in the hospital for a week. He was talking like he might have to leave the trip and head home for medical care. Matt and I begged him to take it easy and find some medication at the local pharmacy. Dave bailing on the trip at this point would be very shitty.

We had a road trip planned for the day, which required me to head back to the airport to pick up our rental car. That turned into a bit of a production, as there was no signage for Gobycar, my rental company. I walked the entire length of the airport twice, asked agents at other rental companies, wandered through the parking garage, and finally called Gobycar customer service, where I was given shitty instructions to just go to the parking garage and wait for a van. Eventually, one came to pick me up.

Armed with some cold drinks and ham-flavored Ruffles, I headed back to the hotel to collect the boys. Dave rallied, ready to go with no fever and a half-smile on his face. Matt was satisfied, having had plenty of time to poop while I was out. Tony met us at the hotel, and we were off.

Our manual-transmission Nissan Juke had a janky, busted clutch that made it tough to catch the gears properly, but as the designated driver for the day, I eventually got the hang of it. A speed-limit alert binged nonstop from the dashboard, but Dave figured out how to turn it off.

Driving around, the landscapes and architecture of the small villages made Ibiza feel a lot like a Greek island.

Our first stop was Cala Gracioneta, a small beach where we enjoyed a delicious meal of sea bass and sea bream fried with hoisin sauce. One of the best dining experiences we’d had on the trip so far, though the bees diving in for scraps after we finished were a bit annoying.

A quick drive by Cala Salada, then a longer stop at Cala Comte, where we left Dave in the car to relax for an hour while the rest of us explored the beach.

Then off to Cala d’Hort, where a monolithic rock just offshore reminded me of Oregon’s Cannon Beach. We managed to get Dave out of the car for this stop and were glad he could experience the magnificent views with us. Each beach seemed more beautiful than the last.

Our final stop was perfectly timed for the famous sunset view of Es Vedrà from the cliffs. We left Dave in the car for this one, as it involved a bit of walking from our inconveniently parked car to the cliff’s edge. But the breathtaking view out over the water was spectacular, with the sun peeking out from behind the clouds right at the end.

As darkness fell, we headed back to the airport to return the rental car. Quick showers at the hotel, then off to dinner at La Gaia for a fancy tasting menu.

The dining experience began with a tour of the restaurant and some miniature appetizers. Amazing meal, and on this night I had my first oyster. Matt enjoyed the meal but said it was the worst oyster he’d ever had. If that was the worst, maybe I need to give oysters another shot someday.

We let Dave head back to the room after dinner. Matt and I headed into Ibiza Town for another attempt at nightlife. We wandered through the alleys trying to find the highly rated Funky Room, only to find it completely empty when we arrived. So we returned to Zoo Bar Ibiza, the same place we’d visited the night before. We’d been there only a few minutes when Matt announced, “I don’t feel funny. Let’s go.”

Back at the hotel, Matt and I were still wide awake and ended up having a great conversation about life, family, work. All the stuff. Dave slept and coughed and snorted nearby.

Tomorrow is our Ibiza sailing trip. Hopefully, Dave is feeling well enough to join us.