In the evening we catch the bus into Ibiza town. We stroll around and find some bars we had seen on our last visit. We take up the offer of buy-one-get-one-free, but beer costs €9, so its still very expensive. We get chatting to some people from Manchester. We then buy our tickets for Pacha. Many people had told us this is the club to visit, so we deicide to head there tonight. We find a great Italian restaurant and get a god meal inside us before the night begins.
Steve and I both dislike cues and walk over to Pacha at around 1am. We get in quickly and head around the club. Once we have our bearings he head out to the terrace bar, where the heat is cooler. We spend the night milling around between the house room, the terrace and occasionally the main room, although the music gets harder and harder as the night goes on. Steve ends up chatting to a Russian girl who is very friendly. Steve and I both are wary of her, but Steve ends up chatting with her. We later deduce that she is a prostitute, and her ‘boyfriend’ is her pimp. We laughed when we realise. Steve later goes back and talks with her. She suddenly forgets how to speak English when he says he thinks she is a prostitute. We say goodbye and leave her to her work. Steve had changed some notes with her before, and later thought that she had given him a fake €50 note, as the note did not have a foil. The day after I realise that the €50 and €100 notes have different foils, and she did not rip him off. We also saw a guy getting ejected with force. He kept shouting that the bouncers wanted his money. The put up a good fight, and it took the bouncers a long time to get him downstairs. A big crowd has formed. Steve and I both thought about what was actually going on. Was it someone being removed for partying too hard, or something more sinister?
We have a great night and when the sun rises, and the club starts closing at 7am we head back to Ibiza town. We wander up the streets and wait for the bus. We don’t wait long. The bus is busy, and we have to stand for the first part of the journey. It is perhaps the hardest 30 minute journey I have ever done. We were sweating right from the start, even though the bus was air conditioned. The bus seems to stop at every stop, with people jostling for position. We get seats about half way through the trip. There are some other clubbers on the bus. The Spaniards, making their way to work, don’t bat and eyelid at us; they have seen it all before.