Ibiza – Day Four and Five

By day four I craved the opportunity to be up on my own drinking tea on the balcony. I was getting up earlier each day and sneaking past the girls door to get five minutes peace in the sun. It worked on day four but only because I actually got up before the sodding cockerel did.
We drove into Ibiza Town and I negotiated a public car park with relative ease. I was becoming a master of the weird backwards Seat Ibiza. 
A bit of shopping followed then a walk around Dalt Villa, and I fell in love with Ibiza a little bit more. Dalt Villa is stunning. We ate tapas overlooking the town and said wow a lot around every corner – the views are endless.
Of course we had to get back and swim some more. After dinner we went down to Cala Llonga beach which was deserted – Just for a change. We stuffed our pockets full of seashells and chatted with a lovely British couple we has seen on day three when they were being more intrepid than usand had actually found the pirate tower without sustaining injury.
Day five was a trip to Cala Niu Blau. This was after we negotiated some roadworks in Santa Eulalia and discovered that Spanish ladies with dogs do not understand about the need to walk on actual pavements. I needed my first coffee in five days by the time we got to the beach. Really I needed a stiff gin but it’s not appropriate when in charge of a hire car.
The beach was, well, stunning and pretty much deserted. There is a recurring theme here.
We played. A small naked Spanish child spent time building a sandcastle with Paul and Phoebe and took an instant dislike to Tilly for some reason. We are guessing that from her pushing her backwards and saying “no” when she tried to join in. There have to be some negatives in paradise.
I actually swam in the sea and have a photograph to prove it. Whilst in the sea I chatted to one of the only other people on the beach, who happened to be English, and to live in Sheffield. We chatted about Millhouses park, primary schools and the price of flights. You can take the middle class middle aged lass out of Sheffield…
In the afternoon we went to the hippy market. We didn’t buy much but enjoyed mooching around in the sunshine. The kids did keep asking “is he a hippy?” at a bit too high a volume. I finally agreed that probably the men with dreadlocks and beards who were playing tom toms out of rhythm with each other were highly likely to be hippies and infinitely less likely to sell any of their CDs.
And then back again for swimming. On Wednesdays the top bar is closed so we controversially had to play in the bottom pool, which is about fifty more metres further from our apartment. Shocking. It was wonderful and I had the best cocktail in the world at about 4pm. I was beginning to wonder how this was appropriate in Ibiza and yet not appropriate just after the school run at home.

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