A trip to the Garbi Disco in Ibiza (376 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 0.5 on 6 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by max lieberman (View user info) at 2008-10-31 01:02:56 EDT
Boogie down with the Garbi!
It's 1 AM on Saturday the 20th of September. I'm exiting the room and walking across the courtyard when I have to stop and check the bottom of my shoes. The Garbi has some weird tree growing between the beach wing and the lobby that smells like rotting aborted babies when it blooms. The surprising part is that it looks like any other tree so why they bothered to plant something so offensive eludes me. (I forgive you again Garbi.)
The bar has a couple of Fly-Tasties sitting there unescorted. I figure I should hit on them since I'm somewhere between clean/freshly washed and Debonair/Dapper. I order a Famous Grouse with ice and the bartender doesn't seem to understand. "Cubas, Ice, Ice Cubes, Ice Cuba..." I'm motioning in the air with plink, plinks like I'm putting the cubes into the glass.
The two girls look at me like I'm a trouble maker and my chance to make a great first impression is over. I'm on damage control as the bartender looks dead at the hotter of the two girls and says in a Spanish accent, "So happy he no ask for neat."
I tip him a single Euro so as not to let him know he got the best of me and the two girls kiss a little. To put an exclamation point on my failure and before I can get out a, "so where you from," the hot one stands up on her stool and tongue's the bartender. That's my Q to exit as I believed the show is just to get rid of me. It's a little after1 AM and I'm out the door and 20 steps to the left to the Garbi's Disco. For some reason there is no cover charge on a Sunday morning and I figure that's not a good sign.
I figured right since the multi colored exterior of the Garbi gives way to some plain looking marble stairs. Once again, the designers of a club in Ibiza don't get it: A basement? The view from the Garbi is incredible but the view from the Disco is of concrete. It's the equivalent in the size and shape of a subway tube. I'm expecting the 1:30 to San Antonio to pull up any second and from the boring hum-drum sounds of the squawking music, it just might be hitting the breaks on final approach.
Everything I had bad dreams about in the past has come to fruition. There are 30 people in the bar and it looks like the "Land of Lost Toys" has the morning off and is vacationing from the North Pole. If the crowd was a little more freakish, Barnum and Baily could have sold tickets. The only thing missing was a pair of Siamese twins.
So I feel right at home since I'm the only American and the only person over 40 in Ibiza. I am a freak compared to the perfect Italians obviously shunning this place. I figure there is a reason the freaks are here: It's safe to be normal.
I buy the bearded fat lady a drink and am considering the purchase of a round for the bar. There is a couple that looks like they are about to penetrate each other at the back of the dance floor. Not that there is an actual dance floor but there at the rear of what could be considered the end of the train platform. A DJ booth looking more like a judges raised courtroom box is on the right side just past the non-descript bar. The whole place is bleak, dark, dingy, and confusing as to where people should congregate.
I've been there for 10 minutes and realize I've been standing with my mouth open the entire time. This is a cosmic moment for me as it's the time to realize that I'm in Ibiza with the officially ugliest crowd of all. What's worse is I realize I am the best looking person in the bar. That's really scary as I'm never considered more than a 5.
I'm busy trying to decide if I'd rather be a king among fools or go down the street to Space and be a fool among kings. The Bearded lady (I can't figure out what country she's from) has grabbed the amazingly ugly contortionist and dragged me to the dance floor.
I'm trying to contemplate how much better this place would be with the two Nazi's from Anfora and wish I would have got their number after all. I'm doing my best not to vomit or spill my Scotch as the Luarel and Hardy routine tries to make a sandwich out of me. I realize it's my best way out of this mess. As they turn back-to-back, I slyly throw the remainder of my drink on the floor like I'm curing bad luck. I give them the "hey, I have to go to the bar cause my drinks empty" expression and gestures and rush to the bar. This leaves them to their own accord and I'm greatly thankful.
A couple more minutes at the bar and a shot of something Cinnamon-"ish" later, I am beginning to revel in the monster I have become. The strong man is trying to start a conversation with me in what I think is Swahili so I'm taking the least of two evils and look for relief with the stick-and-ball shapes still on the dance floor. I buy the strong man a drink since the only other objects that have paid attention to me are leaving as one has hurt her leg slipping on some carless persons spilled drink. I am my own worst enemy again.
The vista de' nada is starting to grind on me but I choose to stay for another hour as more of the "out" crowd arrives. It's a veritable who's-not-who of painful bliss. I would say it's like watching fat people kiss but since there were really fat people there kissing... There is one woman there that looks perfectly normal so I shimmy on up to her and say hello. My mistake as from the smell of her breath and the missing teeth she's obviously the flame eater. At least she speaks English and that's a break but she's distracted by her friends that are coming down the stairs. It's the nearly Siamese twins from the pool bar that were kissing earlier and the amazing Tattooed man I recognize as the bartender in a sleeveless T with a collar.
She runs off to pollute their air and I'm grateful there is a chance to get away. I keep hope alive the sword swallower is at least a halfway decent looking female but she no-shows and I figure enough is enough. I've slipped the bonds of insanity and am walking the distance from disco to hotel and could have sworn I heard a "Ho-ho-ho." Seeing no sleigh, I suppose I'm safe and won't be mistaken for a resident of the North Pole this day.
I think we can safely say of the Garbi's Disco that if you were on drugs you would have a great time...but isn't that any where? Otherwise, stay away unless you're a recent graduate of clown school.
User Reviews
Submitted by Replen (user info) at 2008-11-02 05:55:54 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I liked it.
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2008-10-31 19:32:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
You sound like a shitty tipper, max.
Submitted by Lib (user info) at 2008-10-31 19:06:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I read this with a Mickey Spillane voice in my head. I don't know why.
Submitted by woolfe (user info) at 2008-10-31 05:08:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
No Comment
Submitted by EmissionImpossible (user info) at 2008-10-31 04:35:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
im a 7
Submitted by locksly (user info) at 2008-10-31 01:45:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I'm in Ibiza with the officially ugliest crowd of all. What's worse is I realize I am the best looking person in the bar. That's really scary as I'm never considered more than a 5.
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LOLZ