Summer in Ibiza: Part 2
After spending 14 hours in air conditioned planes, leaving the airport in Ibiza felt like walking into an oven. The sun was scorching, and the humidity was suffocating. I wasted no time finding a cab, hopping into the first one in the lineup just outside the airport. The cabbie looked at me through his rear view mirror and cranked the AC.
The ride to the Ushuaia Ibiza Beach Hotel was quick, and when I got to my room, dirty clothes strewn about one side of the room welcomed me; clearly my buddy had already arrived and made himself feel at home. On the desk, I recognized his handwriting on a note.
Welcome to paradise. Have a shot and meet me at the beach behind the hotel. I’ll be by the pool.
Exhausted and red-eyed, I grabbed the half-drank bottle of Patron from the desk and poured the pale gold nectar into a sticky shot glass. Throwing it back and feeling it burn all the way down jolted me awake, but I knew I’d need more than that after the flight. A stainless-steel armoire cradled a mini-fridge, so I popped it open and snatched a can of Red Bull.
The beach was only a five-minute walk from my and Jake’s landing pad, and once I saw the pale white sand and aquamarine surf, I understood why my buddy couldn’t be dragged away from it to await my arrival. Rows and rows of topless babes rubbing sunscreen on one another made up the landscape. At that point, the exhaustion disappeared. I made it to paradise.