Simon's thoughts and movements

Thursday felt like a beach day, so I decided to strike out further afield again. The Rough Guide made Cala Compte sound appealing, so I got the bus there in the afternoon. It's only a few miles along the coast from San Antonio, but it takes half an hour to get there because it's mostly narrow, twisty roads.
Cala Compte is a tiny beach but very beautiful, with crystal clear waters in which you can see the curiously brave fish that swim in the shallows, practically onto the beach. The sand is deep and goes out well into the water, which makes it nice for swimming, paddling or generally wallowing. One thing I noticed about Ibiza last time is that the water is very calm, with only gentle waves and, bizarrely, no tide. Now I'm reasonably sure the moon's gravitational pull is not optional, so I don't know how that's possible, but I swear the water line never moves.

You really don't have to go far from the major towns to see a completely different side of Ibiza, full of natural beauty and peacefulness. You can see why it became a favourite spot for hippies and beatniks to drop out to, back in the sixties, before it was over-run with high rise hotels and package tourism. Actually I believe many of them are still here, in the Northern part of the island, which is still mostly undeveloped from a tourism perspective.

There is a cafe/bar/restaurant serving organic salads and cocktails looking over the beach, which I imagine is a great place to watch the sunset if you have your own transport (the last bus back is 6.45pm). The 30 minute bus ride seems to be enough to defeat the San Antonio hoardes, and I may have been the only Brit there – I heard Australian, German and Spanish voices, but nothing from home.

When I got back to the hotel I reasoned that I had to go out since it was the last night where I could stay up late (have to be up early tomorrow to catch a ferry). It took several drinks for me to motivate myself to get out, and then I nearly came back after eating mediocre Pad Thai in a restaurant near the hotel. Spain were playing Russia in the European Cup, League, whatever, and the tendency to loud yobishness was even more prominent than usual. I went to Cafe Mambo and had a few drinks there – actually I stayed for ages, but completely failed to get caught up in the party mood. Some time after midnight I figured I really had to make the effort and go to a club, so I walked down to the West End to look at the animals and find out what was on. Cream at Amnesia was the only night that really appealed, and after having a crap time at Amnesia on Monday I didn't fancy returning. There were a few other nights that might have been alright too, but the sheer expensiveness of going to any of them made me balk (damn Euro!)... eventually though, I had to admit that I just didn't want to go clubbing – so I didn't.

It's clear that it's possible to have two completely different holidays in Ibiza – the one where you stay in San Antonio, and the one where you never go near the place. I wish I'd done my research before booking, because I'm sure I would have enjoyed the latter more. Although one of the reasons for coming to Ibiza was to “let off some steam”, San Antonio at least is not the right place for me to do it. I have nothing in common with the people who come here - mostly groups looking to get drunk, “cop off” and/or have a nice fight. It is not a place for a guy in his thirties, travelling by himself, to go. Last time I was lucky to meet a couple of girls on the first night who I got on with, and I spent much of the week with them. The fact I was only 24 at the time probably didn't hurt, either.

Or perhaps it's not my age, or the company – perhaps it's just that I can't relax and get into the party mood – still too much on my mind that I can't switch off. They're not really suitable topics for idle conversation with drunken strangers out to have a good time, and I have been too worried that this is indeed what I'd start talking about to risk initiating a conversation. This is probably an irrational fear – even if it turned out to be true, the consequences wouldn't really be any worse than those of not talking to anyone at all, and it might be that drunken conversation with strangers is exactly what I need to put those thoughts out of my head. Since the seriousness of my thoughts is probably written all over my face when I am out though, it's unlikely that they're going to make the first move. And neither am I.

Oh well. Barcelona tomorrow!