excerpts from ibz, #4

Tuesday, July 19, 2016
Ibiza, Spain

We paid our tab and waved goodbye to our server at La Bodega, the tapas restaurant where we decided to eat on our final evening in Spain. It’s tucked alongside the Portal de ses Taules—one of the few entrances to Dalt Vila, Ibiza’s medieval walled city. Its location was convenient because, despite our charming server’s mandate that we didn’t order enough, we somehow managed to roll up the stone ramp to the outer bailey. It would not be incorrect to refer to us as literal balls of cheese.

This was our first time in Dalt Vila after the sun went down. There’s a commercial section right inside the fortifications with restaurants and kitschy souvenir shops and people abound. The streets wind around the ancient hilltop city and sometimes they just end, replaced with a stairway taking you up a level. We ducked out of the crowd on one of these stairways and climbed up, emerging on a deserted cobblestone street.

We meandered back and forth this way, up the medieval hill. With the exception of hoards of stray cats and a few locals—all of whom seemed to be taking one final pull from their cigarette before entering their homes—we were the only ones on the street.


There’s a promenade at the top of Dalt Vila which overlooks the Mediterranean. Silhouettes of couples canoodling on the wall. The waves crashing against the cliff below. The moon illuminating the sea for miles out. It was easy to see how ancient residents of this walled city felt safe. What would they think of the horny teenagers (and adult gay men) making out here?
And the coconut ice cream?



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