Ibiza – Part 3

I’m writing this at Ibiza airport, all checked in, but with a couple of hours before boarding. Last time we went away (to Tenerife), this was by far the most difficult time for me mentally. Waiting around in airports once you’re ready to go home is pretty boring at the best of times, and when your mind is wandering off towards an uncertain but certain future it can be pretty tough. So we’ll see how we go?

Today we had half a day or so spare after having breakfast and checking out. The hire car didn’t have to be back until 6pm, so we decided to drive about a bit and visit Sant Antoni and Ibiza town.

But first, T wanted to get a tattoo. She did this when she was here before, and this time wanted to get the Pleiades cluster as it was one of the things we looked at when we went stargazing in tenerife (and some of the others were much less attractive), so she’s been thinking about it for a while, and came up with the design on her phone. One of the common themes of mine is that I’ll be forgotten – every time I think about it, I well up. And this is T’s way of helping me know that I won’t be – a visual representation of a beautiful moment we had together looking at nature’s beauty at its finest. We went to a tattoo shop on platja d’en bossa where she’d had another one done, and very quickly the guy had her design printed out, scaled and ready to size up for her arm… and half an hour later, done. It looks lovely – as I would expect with someone with such a good eye for design.

Sant Antoni…. looks pretty different when it’s grey and drizzly! I’ve been there a few times in the past, all in the height of summer and enjoyed a good few nights out, from the early days in Eden (when it seemed like the most amazing club on the planet) to waiting patiently for a cab to take T and me to see Martin Garrix in 2022. But in the rain… shades of Swanage in mid-February, really! I’d love to be there on a really miserable day in the winter, see how it really feels then….

So with that out the way, off to Ibiza town. And as soon as we parked, the sickness kicked in. I felt awful again – no energy, pretty disorientated and zero decision-making capacity. After a bit of messing we found somewhere for lunch but most importantly had a strong coffee and that seemed to shore things up for a while, so we could look around a bit. The weather was picking up so we sat on a bench in the harbour… and both ended up in tears. It’s difficult for both of us, for different reasons. For me, what’s happening means a potentially painful time, and then the end of all possibilities. No more T, no more Ibiza, no more … well, anything. And I’m still mourning that each time something new comes along that’s in the “last time you’ll see/do this” category. And because we’ve spent some special times here, that was all the more apparent for us. And for T it’s in many ways more difficult. She’ll have to live with the consequences afterwards. We won’t be doing these things again, the two of us who really are kindred spirits in so many ways. It’s funny because we’re actually quite different but have very similar values and love many of the same things. And somehow she will have to make sense of all of this and find a new life ‘next year’. It won’t be the same, but at the same time I don’t want her to never come here again, and never enjoy the freedom of dancing like I’ve seen her do this week. I’d never want that to be the case.

So that was a tough 15 minutes on the bench. People are obviously walking by while all this is happening, and I do wonder if anyone even notices (although Shane – the guy we saw in London who saw me crying and came in to talk to me in a ‘Paul’ sandwich shop – did), and if they did, what they think is going on. I bet it’s not what is actually going on, because at the moment, I look healthy. Even though I’m really, really not.

We both love good food (I have T to thank for this), and while my ability to consume some of it has been curtailed or removed, I can still have and enjoy some treats. So we found a local bakery which had some amazing cheesecake-like confection which was great, and ate that on tables out on the (quiet) street.

More normality, thankfully.

And then time to make something of and no idea what to do… so I picked a random location about 20 minutes away which was another random bay with a small beach, and went there. Parked up and went to the beach, which was deserted (as was the rest of the place). I’m sure in a month it would be bedlam, but right now it was really quiet and much needed. Another teary discussion was had – T sometimes thinks that because she’s not upset all the time that I’ll think that she’s not upset. I’ve heard her cry. Really, really cry. I know this is devastating for her. And it’s devastating every day. It’s not even happened yet (in a sense it has, in another it hasn’t), so it’s like each day we have to go through losing each other. But I never think it’s like she’ll just go, “Right then… that’s that out the way – NEXT!”.

We’ve got so much history and know each other so well…. so that when I walk past a place in the town called “Flippers” she had a bet with herself I’d say it in a stupid west-country accent. Which of course, I did. Right on cue. Kids found the video of the re-enactment of my predictability amusing, so that’s a bonus of being immensely obvious if nothing else.

It turned out this quiet backwater was right by one of the places we were considering staying… which was on “Carrer des Munt Kilimanjaro” which tells you all you need to know about how accessible it was. And it would have been properly out of the way, so right choice made in that respect.

And then back to the airport. All procedural, other than ensuring we have enough medication with me to make sure I’m OK for a meal or two. I carry the creon as carry-on as there’s no way I can get away without it. The other stuff is buyable or just can be left, but without creon, things would get messy. But I’ve never been asked about it, so I guess airport scanners can tell what drugs are what!

And that, dear reader, brings Ibiza to a close. For this blog, and for me. It’s a place I came to late (I was 35, on Mark’s stag week), but have kind of fallen in love with – and I know that’s a polarising opinion for a lot of people who have an opinion on the place – often negative. But the clubs and the dancing… is where it’s at. Not the instagram or whatever platform, just coming here for the music and to enjoy yourself – that’s what it means; not showing to other people what a good time you want them to think that you’re having. I knew T would love it since the first time I saw her dance, and while it took a long time for her to come here, she loves it every bit as much as I thought she would. I hope that in time she will be able to come back here and love it again, even if it is in a different way.

It’s been a difficult few days in many ways – both emotionally for both of us and physically for me – but it’s been well worth it. I never thought I was coming back here, let alone I’d have probably the best Pacha night I’ve ever had, and a surprisingly good night at Ushuaïa (I didn’t think that Tomorrowland would be my bag, let’s say), and an amazing meal at Hostal La Torre. All of it with my favourite person in the whole world. Worth the risk and the moments of dodgyness and fear.