It seems I’m somewhat of a vagabond these days. Yesterday morning I came home after a short weekend trip to Ibiza. It wasn’t my first time on the White Island, last year AM and I did a brief stint for 3 days and I really liked it. I’m not a fanatic like the Italian, but I have to agree that there’s a party atmosphere like nowhere else and you can’t really complain about the weather. Sol sol sol!
Anywhere I can top up my tan is a winner with me. Then if there’s music playing and parties going, I’m ok with that too.
The Italian and I stayed in the outback, in a perfectly sized little countryside house. I could eat ripe figs straight from the tree for breakfast and I even had a go at a pomegranate. Now, the pomegranate tree was extremely exotic for a Swede like myself. I’d never seen one before, and therefore wasn’t completely successful when I cut one piece of fruit in half only to discover green seeds. Not ripe.
But I had plenty of other things to eat and drink. There’s a current sushi craze on the island and although I do love Japanese food, I want to eat rustic Spanish food when I go to the Iberian peninsula (and its islands).
John Dory fish with crisp potatoes, courgettes and tomatoes was the best meal we had, served on the beach with music blasting from Blue Marlin next to us. I finished with a Kit Kat ice cream, which was as good as any fussy dessert with a fancy name. Simple does it.
Our last meal, three hours before the plane took us back to London was an experience too. But mostly because we sat eating our dinner al fresco and people around us were dancing like mad to Swedish House Mafia-esque music. I liked my burrata main course (although the wild mushrooms that came with were surprisingly hideous and nearly inedible) and the grilled langoustines as a starter was the perfect light choice. Too bad there weren’t more on the plate.
Unfortunately, we didn’t make it to Formentera (an island close to Ibiza with fantastic food reputation and crystal clear water), but on the other hand we witnessed a silver full moon, encountered a Mussolini look-alike, danced the evening away at a pool party at Ushuaïa, and also had time to see Aloe Blacc sing “I need a dollar” live at Pacha.
Next week I’m staying put. It’s a promise.