Nothing’s Gonna Stop us Now…..

And so here it is, my final blog from Ibiza, or it would be if I was still there. I am, however, back home, ankle bracelet back in the cupboard and my tan encased in jeans, jumper and winter boots, absolutely bloody freezing. Ibiza, like my brain, seems so very far away. I couldn’t have written this while I was there though, as quite frankly there was so much emotion going on after the Cafe Mambo Sunset experience I doubt I would have made any sense.  It’s been good to have time to reflect.

Sunset at Cafe Mambo is on many a bucket list and if you have ever thought about going, I urge you to make the trip We were fortunate that we were there for the 2015 opening party and the atmosphere was, quite honestly electric as from our beach side table we watched as  disciples of Temple Mambo, silhouetted against the setting sun, descended from all directions. And as the sun set into the sea to the sound of Nessun Dorma ( translation: None shall Sleep, very appropriate in our case)  I  can quite honestly say that it was the closest thing to some sort of spiritual experience I have ever had. I can’t describe it, you just had to be there. Mr Derbyshire kindly suggested that it was probably because I was pissed but the fact that the video I took has bought many close to tears, says it all. It was intensely moving. Some of you reading this probably won’t get it and agree with Mr D but for those who do make the journey, the experience will I am sure stay with you forever.

I have also had time to reflect on the enigma that is Charlie’s Bar, a bar in Es Cana with great staff,  which caters for anyone that enters it’s doors and makes everyone welcome. If you had told me before I left that I would spend a great deal of my holiday in a bar that offered everything from lovingly made cocktails to bingo,  tribute bands, karaoke, freefall vodkas, raspberry sambucas as well as a dance floor, I  would probably have ripped up my ticket, laughed in your face and hung myself. But, you know what, Charlie’s Bar was special. So special that every night we quite literally lost complete track of time. We laughed like we hadn’t laughed in ages, we certainly danced like we hadn’t done in ages and we shared it with new friends who may never have crossed our paths back in the real world.  I will miss our  pizza and chips at 3am and the slightly ( I use that term loosely)  drunken philosophising on the meaning of life before moving on to Granny’s Bar ( no idea why it’s called that, I should have asked) for a wee night cap. Needless to say The Panorama Hotel did very well out of us as we only made breakfast twice but strangely we never seemed to get a hangover. In the real world I would probably have died.

So for anyone of a certain age, or in fact any age, who just needs to reconnect with who they really are, who wants to go out when they are normally coming in, who wants to stay out longer than their kids, sing and dance to  dodgy eighties anthems,  eat chips, pretend to be a DJ, watch sunsets, play darts, drink cocktails, lie on tranquil beaches or lounge in cool beach side bars and generally just learn to be themselves again, then Es Cana, Ibiza could work for you too. For some it may be life changing. As I said at the beginning of my blog, life is short and for me, choosing to go to Ibiza in the first place was a step in the right direction.. Watching my sister and niece blossom in both the Ibiza sun and friendship of strangers was an added bonus. No, I don’t intend to take my fifties lying down. Ibiza was a blast!!

PS  A word of caution. Never buy a pair of trousers the morning after consuming Crazy Mandy Cocktails!

Relight my fire!

The Hotel Panorama is once again calm this morning as the hormonal frenzy which descended upon Charlie’s Bar last night slowly dissipates and wafts gently out over the clear Mediterranean water. Wives have reluctantly returned to the reliable comfort of their husbands and in return husbands have quietly accepted that there is no way that they can compete. Life can be cruel sometimes. As I lay here on my sunbed trying to write, having rejected the call to join in the Daily Puzzle or a game of Boules, conversations are awash with tales and glorious memories….”this is a good photo of you Trace, he looks bloody gorgeous and you can’t see your big belly….”

The exodus from The Panorama last night was something to behold as wave after wave of excitable, perfumed females giggled and wiggled their way to the doors of Charlie’s Bar and as I watched from the comfort of the cocktail bar, the atmosphere began to sparkle with womanly anticipation.There must be a collective noun for it but as I write this nothing springs to mind, probably because I’m exhausted.

I must admit this wasn’t what I had in mind when I headed to Ibiza, being more of a fan of Rudimental than Take That but as far as tribute acts go this has to be one of the best. Dan Hadfield – The Number one Gary Barlow Tribute Act, was indeed every inch Gary Barlow and as the love descended over Charlie’s I found myself caught up in the unified Gazzer glorification. His execution of Pray was sublime, despite the absence of waterfalls and Rule the World brought out a collective passion so intense that I seriously thought one poor woman was going to have a heart attack. It was brilliant. To top off the night we found some old school friends Jean and Jan and made some new ones, the mysterious and very delightful Mr Q (Q because apparently no one apart from his girlfriend can pronounce his name) and Nicky, who regularly travels to Ibiza by herself because, quite honestly, you can. It’s that sort of place.

And so it came to pass that another night flashed before our eyes here in Ibiza. Photos were taken, arms were waved and new friends made and as romance blossomed within our camp, no not me or my sister, and the dance floor emptied, at 3.00 am Mr Q made the very difficult choice between the eighties mega mix and pizza and chips and we all toddled off for some light refreshment. We have promised ourselves a quiet one and an early night tonight because understandably, we are all exhausted but I won’t make any promises. For in this dual reality that is Ibiza, quite frankly, anything can happen.