Mara and Julie left on the third day, and I moved back to Playa d'en Bossa into the former bachelor pad of one of the biggest resort owners. I was in a studio penthouse with a huge balcony that boasted a 360-degree view of the ocean and island. It also sported a jacuzzi tub surrounded by windows and a waterbed and bar. The possibilities... hmmm...

I found my NY friends at the beach and they offered to let me crash at their place for a couple of days, which was good 'cause I was spending a month's budget in just three days. They had a gorgeous seafront condo with 3 bedrooms and two baths (again the damn saltwater though), and I and another "stray" they found slept in the living room and on the huge balcony. This other stray, who'll remain nameless to protect his journalism career, is a reporter for a prestigious United States news magazine, and let's just say that after watching this guy party, I'll think twice each time I read a news report in this magazine again!

The NY'ers were total rave scene veterans, regulars at the recently closed Twilo in NY. They had the clothes, the attitude and body glitter in every conceivable color. Not only could they dance and had "liquid" like pros, they were quite accomplished in the drug scene too. Open drug use in Ibiza is pretty much the norm: people on the beach make bongs out of their water bottles, chant the constant mantra of "wanna buy some hash?" – and then there is the perpetually happy, Ecstasy-induced looks on the faces of 90% of the island's population. But these guys could have won an award. Actually, one guy in particular was the winner. Sal – by day a vice president for a known NY firm – by night, Fu*&ed Up Man. One day/night that I was there he took 6 hits of E/X, coke, hash and K – a popular club drug called Ketamin, known in pharmaceutical circles as a cat sedative and curiously enough sold over the counter in Spain. Then again, this is the same country that sells absinthe...

And guess who got the job of taking care of Sal? At one point during the night he lost his voice and then started freaking out about all the people in the club. Later I lost him in the bathroom. When he didn't come out I sent in a security guard to look for the "half-naked guy with gold glitter all over him". The guard returned saying "he's fine – he's just dancing in front of the mirror..."

Then there was one of the girls who hit a "K Hole," essentially a bad K experience. When she emerged about 45 minutes later from her heads-down trance-like state, she said she was seeing distorted images of her friend Ted (who was stroking her hair and whispering calming things to her the entire time), seeing his face melt and stretch out, she felt like she was in snow and couldn't distinguish reality from fantasy... and understood that, which made her panic and think she was crazy. Fun drug.

In five days we hit all the top clubs – Privilege, Amnesia, Pacha and El Divino, with a quick stop in Space (which I wish I had spent more time in). I was in dancing heaven. Even the grocery store played house music! But after five days with an average of 3 hours sleep per day, plus the outrageous prices (US$25-$50 to get into the clubs) were overwhelming my wallet, my body and my mind and I know I had to leave or get sucked under. So I escaped to Barcelona for some peace and quiet. Or so I thought...

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