Tuesday, September 28, 2010

It's amazing what you can get for €60 and a short skirt

Ibiza, Spain
Wednesday night at Amnesia, and VIP tables were going for more than my monthly rent. One side of the club was packed with partygoers gearing up for the coming Espuma. 
On the other side, La Troya was in full freak mode.
It was not looking like a good night. We couldn't reach a consensus on how much we were willing to pay for another Espuma night. The doorman refused to negotiate with us. In the end, the boys decided to call it a night and head home. The girls stayed and planned on going through the regular entrance so that Jess, who had just arrived that day, could also experience Espuma. Truth be told, I wanted to go home and just sleep but I thought, "Just suck it up. You'd want your friends to do it for you, too."

But then our luck turned and there was nothing to "suck up."

It started out as a joke: "What do you think the doorman would say if we came back one more time and asked how much a cheap table would be? He'd kill us!" And then it started to seem plausible ... maybe we could get a cheap table since we don't care about being near the gogo dancers. It would just be nice to be in the VIP area. I was giggling with the girls but got more and more scared as we approached the doorman, who looked at us like we were cockroaches he wanted to crush under his shoe. I was cowering behind the girls when I suddenly saw the velvet rope being lifted. We were in!

We momentarily thought we got gypped. We got VIP access for a €300 bottle but weren't given VIP bracelets and were told we had to keep our bottle at the bar. But after a few minutes of chatting up the guy at the velvet rope, Nath worked her magic and suddenly we had full bottle service at a €900 table.
From there, things just kept getting better and better. Diego, the bronzed Columbian man who hosts Espuma, found us. He had tried to help us in our earlier attempt to negotiate with the doorman and was happy to see that we eventually got in. He disappeared momentarily and then came back with a round of drinks for us. What?!? Diego, a man so iconic in the Ibiza experience that he appears in a David Guetta video, was buying US drinks? Somebody pinch us. We were in shock.
We danced on and on, in utter disbelief at how the night was progressing. As we got closer to the start of Espuma, Cel tapped me on the shoulder and whispered, "Keep dancing. We're trying to get something!" I dance my ass off (should I lick the bottle, maybe?) wondering what in the world we could get next ... et voilà! The velvet rope lifts and we're suddenly at the table directly behind the gogo dancers—for €60 apiece, short skirts, and a lot of charm (none of it mine).

The show unfolded in pretty much the exact same way as the previous Espuma party. The gogo dancers filed out in the tiniest of bikinis and did their little dance, Diego riled up the crowd and sprayed them with champagne, the foam cannons went off and the crowd started getting swallowed up in Espuma, and then we dove right in.
What made all the difference was that we now knew the man wielding the water hose. As we danced on the podium and in the foam, we waved at our friend Diego who sprayed us directly with water so we wouldn't get completely overwhelmed with the foam. At some point, he even took Nathalie's camera and snapped pictures of us partying in the espuma. This picture pretty much says exactly how I felt at that moment.
When the Espuma started to subside, we got cleaned up, said goodbye to Diego, and made our way home. As the sun rose, we raided the fridge for an impromptu breakfast and collapsed in giggles rehashing the night that was. One for the books, ladies! 

Images by N. DeClercq and Céline F.

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