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David Wensley
amazing weather, amazing girls, amazing amounts of alcohol, amazing nightlife. Amazing everything.

Every summer, thousands of young, British party animals descend upon the small but beautiful island of Ibiza. They arrive clutching their suntan lotion, Ben Sherman shirts and Oakley sunglasses, and head for their hotels, intent on having the best week or so of their lives. And it usually happens.

I went to Ibiza in 1998, the Summer after I finished my A Levels, and had the best fortnight of my life, packed with everything a young lad could ever want from a two-week holiday – amazing weather, amazing girls, amazing amounts of alcohol, amazing nightlife. Amazing everything.
The first thing that you notice about Ibiza is that it is just like Britain. Except for the weather, of course. The place is full of ‘greasy spoon’ cafes, full of English bars with British pool tables and most of all it is full of Brits. The constant annoying high pitched whirring of mopeds, the big Northern lads with their beer guts hanging with pride, the Southern lads with their ‘Police’ sunglasses and Man United football shirts, all being harassed by the ‘looky looky’ dudes. OK, so this is a bit of a generalisation, but you can see what I am trying to say. Ibiza is basically Britain abroad, which obviously isn’t a bad thing, considering the amount of British people that flock there each summer.

Labelled the ‘Clubbing Capital of the World’, Ibiza has many huge clubs, average capacities of well in advance of 6000, and the World’s best DJs; the place is dance music fan’s idea of heaven. The Clubs are among the biggest in the World, and are full of young people dancing like they’ve never danced before, greeting each new person they meet like an old mate they haven’t seen for years. The atmosphere is incredibly friendly, everyone out to have a great time. Admittedly this may be due to certain illegal drugs, but it sure beats drunk-fuelled fights.

Not many people actually drink in the big clubs in Ibiza, due to the price of a bottle of lager - £7 if I can remember correctly, and those who do tend to be not only a lot poorer than when they went in but also asleep by 3 or 4, when the club is open until 8am. When the clubs close, the clubbers tend to do one of three things – go to another one (some open all day), go home to sleep off the night’s activities (with or without companion!), or go to the Café Del Mar.

The Café Del Mar is situated on the beachfront, a place that looks more like a big bar than a café. It is known, however, not for the beer that they serve, but for having some of the most beautiful views in the World. I would suggest that if you go to Ibiza, you cannot possibly leave without going to the Café Del Mar, where you can sit and watch the most beautiful sunset that you will ever see. I was told about it by a workmate about two weeks before I went, and I initially thought that it sounded a bit like a saga holiday addition, but I have no regrets at all about going to see it. If a reckless youth like myself can appreciate it, anyone can.

Ask the average parent about what goes on in Ibiza and they will tell you about the horrendous drug problem, the promiscuous youths who plan to have sex with as many people as possible and the lager fuelled fighting that goes on. They will tell you exactly what they read in their ‘middle of the road’ newspaper, where you can practically guarantee that every summer an article will appear, warning them about what their offspring are getting up to when they attend places such as this (usually with a case stuffy of two girls from Manchester or Liverpool who slept with fifty men between them.) But is this all rubbish? Of course it is, it’s a perfect example of newspapers creating a minor moral panic, jumping on the bandwagon trying to create a moral campaign about the terrible ‘youth of today’.

In the fortnight that I was in Ibiza, I never saw a fight, never saw anyone force drugs onto someone that didn’t want them, or never had them forced onto me. People tend to think of Ibiza as Brits causing havoc abroad, getting drunk and fighting with other holidaymakers, but it genuinely wasn’t like that when I went.

Club 18-30 do their many trips to Ibiza each summer, where they cajole loads of young nutters to go with them to the island, and when them there they are forced to play ridiculous games, many of them involving alcohol and nudity, which really isn’t my cup of tea. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no prude, but I prefer to go away with people that I actually WANT to go away with, not some Northern egg chaser who thinks it is amusing to get his d**k out in front of girls, drink until he vomits all over his Burton Loafers and sleeps in a bush, before getting back to the hotel in the morning and telling his mates that he consummated his relationship with Dutch twins all night.

I had the best two weeks of my 21 years so far when I went to Ibiza in 1998 and there were many reasons why; I had just finished my A Levels, and wanted to celebrate ending school forever, also because I was with 21 of my best mates from the previous 12 years of school. It was also because Ibiza is such a great place, with loads to do, great music and DJs, lack of trouble and beautiful weather.

© David Wensley

Also by David' Welshy' Wensley

Before you go Advice

David Welshy Wensley
Something needs to be done to stop idiots from spoiling our beautiful game.

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