Ibiza Bounce

We wave down the water taxi which sweeps up to our stern and we step aboard, dressed in what we think are our coolest Ibiza clubbing outfits. It is only a short trip to the beach where Murphy the taxi driver drops us at the wooden dock. I tip him generously hoping that he will remember us when we need to be rescued. A board-walk from the dock leads over a beach of white boulders to an enormous deck, where row upon row of oversized sun loungers draped in white cotton and shaded with huge white parasols, are covered with bodies wearing large sunglasses and small swimming costumes, all bouncing to the beat of the club music which booms out over the bay.

We walk further along the board-walk, weaving our way through glamorous guests and even more glamorous staff; pretty tanned waitresses in uniformed T shirts, security men looking mean with tell-tale ear phone and bulging biceps; and handsome swarthy waiters carrying white magnums of Moet which they dispense into glasses held by long languid limbs. This is Blue Marlin, self-styled as 'one of the best bars in the world' where the chic of Ibiza go to be seen. Of course we order Mohitos feeling slightly intimidated by the thirty-somethings that surround us, all trying desperately to look at ease, however, once we adjust to our surroundings we relax and find the atmosphere cool and laid back. We are efficiently directed to a table where we order sushi and more Mohitos, watching the bodies parade up and down, more a cat-walk than a board-walk, and it is fun to observe. As sun sets we move nearer the DJ, who stands behind banks of electronic equipment, headphones attached, also bouncing to the mesmeric beat. In front of him is a dance floor where two girls in black bikinis and high heels gyrate to the throb, and in each corner, VIP areas are cordoned off, occupied by groups of hedonists who are served an endless supply of tequila shots and more magnums of white Moet or pink Laurent Perrier. An impossibly handsome man dressed in denim jeans, denim shirt, Ray Ban sunglasses and huge Mohican head dress strides up the board walk and takes possession of two beautiful girls who whinny and sashay around him, while camera phones record the shameless mating dance.

Behind the DJ is a huge screen which flashes up images of what one assumes to be the fashionistas, seeking the reflected glory of the Blue Marlin. As night falls the lighting system throws pink and blue shades onto the palm trees around the dance floor, adding to the air of sophistication and glamour. A couple approach and embrace us, with air kisses and smiles. We have no idea who they are but we smile and move on - it seems to be the thing to do. We decide that it's time to go and we call in Murphy. The tip was clearly effective and in no time he is by our side, greeting us by name, and he whisks us back to the peace and serenity of Juno. However, despite being 400 metres off-shore, the beat of the sound system follows us, the bass notes penetrating even the not inconsiderable structure of an Oyster hull; but we have had Mohitos and we are now cool sophisticated clubbers, at ease with the Ibiza bounce.

We finally doze off to the lullaby of Blue Marlin but at four am we are awoken by a yet louder sound system. I stagger up on deck to see that this new cacophony emanates from an Ibiza party boat, a converted ferry with the largest amplifier in the world, which has decided to motor through our anchorage, shrieks of laughter punctuating the pounding bass. The sound is deafening, impossible to sleep, and eventually one of the large motor yachts loses enough sleep and patience to intervene, blasting the air with loud blasts of its fog horn. The party boat bounces away to vandalise another bay, leaving a trail of vibrations in its moonlit wake and peace once more descends.