Ibiza is a lovely island. A paradise of pretty villages, rolling pine covered hills and some of the finest beaches in the world.
San Antoni is unfortunately a particularly crusty scab on the face of this fine island. Upon approaching the town you will instantly feel a mixture of dread and disappointment. The grey dilapidated blocks of flats that greet you are reminiscent of Brazil’s most dangerous favelas or the ghettos of Cape Town.
Upon reaching the bus stop on the outskirts of town, you can sense that you have made a mistake coming here. The stench of urine is so strong that you would be wise to bring a facemask with you, or maybe even a sharp knife with which to remove your nose.
Heading from the bus stop down one of San Antoni’s many dirty alleyways is truly a feast for the senses. Vomit, wee, poo, blood; you name it, San Antoni’s alleyways are plastered in it.
I believe the alleyways of San Antoni should become a UNESCO world heritage site, seriously. There is nowhere else on the planet that epitomises European binge culture like they do. They must hold so many world records- most urine stained streets, largest pile of regurgitated kebab meat, most STD transmissions in a single night, the list goes on . . . .
As you emerge from the trauma inducing alleyways you will come to the center of the town.
I imagine the Romans felt a similar sense of horror when they first stumbled across the barbarians in Germania. The center of this town is filled with the most uncivilised human beings the world has ever produced. British douche bag teens with those twattish bodybuilder vests and flat peak caps worn at ridiculous angles swarm the streets like rats emerging from a sewer. Fat slappers with almost nothing on to cover up their sagging mammary glands may as well walk around with a sign on their forehead saying ‘i’m easy’. Illegal immigrants grab your wrist forcefully in an attempt to try and get you to buy the most cheap looking tat known to mankind. Obese, aging locals sit at the cafes in a shroud of cigarette smoke, wondering where the f**k it all went wrong.
Turn left at the town centre and you will come to the Hard Rock Cafe and various other places of congregation aimed at bleeding the gullible tourists dry.
Turn right and you will walk through the immigrant area of the town where Muslim women glare disapprovingly at the frolicking half naked party goers drinking and smoking, as if they didn’t know that this is what goes on in Ibiza.
The next area offers you a range of tempting dining options. It is a real foodie paradise. If you like overcooked burger fresh from the freezer then you will be in heaven, but if your tastebuds are slightly more developed than many places will do you a toastie. Constipation is a way of life here so don’t expect anything fresh or green on your plate, apart from the odd bogie that the chef has kindly left for you (this will not usually be added to your bill, they are a generous people).
At this stage you will probably have realised that turning back and heading for the bus stop is your best option, however, if the thought of navigating the mazes of alleyways soaked in bodily fluids doesn’t appeal to you, there is a cliff just outside the town which you can jump off.