Day 2 was designated as a beach day, the sun was scorching and temperature was probably somewhere around 30 deg C
We spent a large amount of time on the beach, probably a good 4-6 hours or something, just kind of lazing around and getting burnt by the sun.
Being that Ibiza is such a tourist trap, there are con-men fucking everywhere roaming the beach, throughout the day, overly friendly young girls walk around and sit with groups of guys (or hot guys sit with groups of girls) and offer them what sounds like the most amazing experience, some of the claims we heard was a party boat with free alcohol, a beach party with all you can drink alcohol... etc etc. These nights out are of course limited entry and stuff and as such they need to take a deposit.... you pay them 20 euro and then pay 20 euro on the night... So... we just give them 120 euro and then they walk off and we turn up to the club and assume it actually exists? IDUNTHINKSO.
Lots of banter in the ocean, including seeing Ian scream like a little girl at starfish, we are still making fun of him after returning home.
This is where the day gets rough.
Im not sure if i clarified it yet, but the people on this holiday is 4/6 of my housemates (me, luke, ian, duncan) , and 2 friends from lukes course who I'll hopefully never see again (Phil and ryan)
Our house came back from having a swim in the ocean to discover that basically all of our bags had been stolen... whilst 2 people were with them, right under their noses.
Fuck.
Losses:
Me : Phone, Vest, 5 euros
Duncan : Phone, Bag, Shirt, hotel keys
Luke : Wallet with 10 euro (all cards), hotel keys
Ian : Everything? (Wallet with all his holiday money in, full set of clothes, new phone, book....)
Pretty shitty. Especially Ian who lost probably around £300 or £400 worth of stuff
I Lost all the photos I took on my phone as well, and I was pretty much the only one on the holiday that was taking photos, this is why there are pretty much no photos of the holiday, which actually makes me more upset than losing the phone itself.
We got back to the hotel and found out we had to pay 40 euro for each set of keys stolen, as they had to change the locks and stuff. Expensive and annoying, but necessary I suppose, better than having my passport stolen.
Spent a few hours sulking, having a nap and so on until dinner, where we went to a beachfront restaurant for a cheap burger and chips or something to that effect.
The night rolled in, and we decided to meet up with the girls...
But where would we meet them? They decided to meet up at the London Bar again.
And so the 10 euro pitchers appeared again.
The girls sussed out that phil is a virgin (forever alone) and took it upon themselves to try and teach him how to pull girls, they tried teaching him a subtle technique of slowly brushing a bit of the girls hair out of their face and offered themselves as practice dummies. Phil spent the next hour or so essentially palming poor kate in the forehead instead of brushing her hair out of the way. It was painful to watch and I still dont understand how anyone can be so shit at life.
Earlier in the day, duncan took out 50 euro for Ian to survive off for the rest of the holiday (as he literally had all 150 euro or whatever of his holiday money stolen), Ian somehow manages to lose this 50 euro at the London bar, unsurprisingly he is kind of bummed the fuck out at the fact he has lost all of his money twice in one day.
The alcohol is hitting me pretty fucking hard.
We leave the london pub and go into a Vodka Bar, which was like a free entry club-bar place, the music was pretty good and they had smoke/fog machines and lazers all over the damn place.
Of course by this time I was out of it. I stumble to the toilet to throw up, but all the stalls are taken, I start to feel dizzy and worry im about to collapse - at this point an english skinhead gets in my face and starts shouting at me, I ask him to help me get to a seat, he does, I am surprised at the kindness of said skinhead.
The next half hour or so is a blur for me as I am essentially slumped on a sofa in this foggy club, the only thing keeping me conscious is willpower at this point, I pump my leg in time with the dance music to try and keep myself in the game, I have no idea where the fuck any of my friends or the girls are at this point and the last thing I wanted to do on my 2nd day in Ibiza is pass out in a club when I can barely find my way back to the hotel when sober...
I open my eyes at one point and the skinhead is like inches from my face, thankfully he skips the rape and gives me a bottle of water and we basically have a chat about how nice he is and how he hates seeing people have a bad time, who am I to argue - he was genuinely a pretty nice guy for helping me out.
The rest of my housemates find me and realise I need to get home, I promise them 'ive got this' and slump back on the sofa to sober up a little more.
We eventually leave the club and get back to the hotel alive.
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