The white isle

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So how to prepare for the impending week in Ibiza, well there is a God because we arrive in Logrono bang smack in the middle of the festival celebrating the grape harvest. From the off its apparent that she's not going to let us off lightly. We take in a bullfight, having seen one (which I'll admit I wanted to) I'll agree they're as mindlessly gruesome as you might imagine but the 30,000 locals in a purpose built arena suggest it'll be around for a while yet. The old town is buzzing so after a spot of people watching we go indoors to a bar about midnight, when this starts to die down a couple of hours later we resolve to call it a night ... but we just take an innocent walk down to the end of the street, just to see .... unfortunately what greets us is an enormous marquee packed with young folks practically begging us to show them how to dance, the Spanish band complete with trumpets step on stage and we're in business 'til its hardly worth bothering going to bed.

And we didn't see one person with a glass of wine, curious.

Well time to put any aspirations of cultural enrichment on hold as we board a very early plane from Barcelona for Ibiza, two very tired boys arrive on the White Isle after the trials of Logrono and the subsequent 7 hour drive across the country in the baking heat ... two memories: there is an awful lot of nothingness in the middle of Spain and an awful lot of windfarms on anything resembling a hill.

We spend most of the day recovering in bed for the battle ahead (God bless Jackass ripoffs on MTV), little did we know that the sun would be an absent friend from then on. Tonight we celebrate our arrival with a little slice of Mr Peter Tong but first we brave the strip in Ibiza town and is really is an assault on the senses, all a bit overwhelming (there speaks someone over 30) but dwarves and nipple tassles play their part in the street party. We finish as the sun calls time on the night, getting a critique of the evening from someone who claims to be Mr Tong's manager (his story holding up well under questioning) and a girl dressed in an improbably bright outfit .... good times

Day 2 takes a while to get going but eventually we find our way to Bora Bora beach bar, about 15 mins after we arrive (4:30pm) the bass gets turned up and the dancing starts ... we are but pawns.

Day 3 and the Gods decide that our eyes have taken enough punishment and the heavens open, we escape to a nice little bar around the corner with the sunday papers in hand (the trusty pairing of Observer & Times with News of the World for 'balance'). Treated to a fine tropical thunderstorm & we don't leave for 7 hours, don't think I've ever read the papers so comprehensively.

We finish off our time by hiring a couple of scooters & exploring the other side of Ibiza. A few dicey moments with it being my first time but we escape the town unscathed and you really do only have to get 15 mins out before you're on a dirt road overlooking a beautiful deserted beach surrounded by untouched forest ... albeit sometimes with an isolated beach bar (the Blue Marlin if you ever find yourselves in need), once again who are we to argue.

So we depart with the odd memory & sporting the scars of battle (I managed to have an argument with a rock whilst swimming so am now sporting 4 stitches & some apparently very fetching black & blue eye shadow)

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