Ibiza, in the 90's. How I fell in love with this amazing island, way back in 99.

Ahhhh Ibiza. It’s my favourite place in the world. Perhaps it's nostalgia - but Ibiza in the 90's holds a really quite visceral space in my very being. It has been my favourite place in the whole world ever since my first ever trip there in 1999. And we travel a lot. In fact we're selling everything right now to travel full time with our kids - read more about us here. In fact, if I’m honest it was my favourite place before that. I know that sounds mental, but it was. Or rather, I knew it would be.

There's not much evidence of my first trip to Ibiza, as this was a time before camera phones. I love to look through this amazing Ibiza_past account on instagram, so head here for some amazing old school Ibiza images.

Cafe Mambo + the sunset strip, looking a bit different in the nineties

I started getting into house music when I was 18. I totally fell in love with it, that and going clubbing. It consumed me. I literally lived for the weekend and going out dancing to amazing DJ’s. I spent all of my spare time getting immersed in this scene; listening to music and reading clubbing magazines, Mixmag, DJ, Muzik mag, Jockey slut. Anything I could get my hands on. It wasn’t that easy in those days as there was no internet. So I’d spend all of my lunch hours in WH Smith, reading magazines for free. Then on payday, I’d buy them… although I didn’t ever have any money left as I’d spent it clubbing. Obvs. I loved to read about Ibiza. This magical island, where the sun always shone, everyone was welcome and it was house music 24/7. A non stop party. As someone who grew up in a place that was a polar opposite to this laid back Balearic heaven. East Manchester, where it rained all of the time and being different was frowned upon it looked like another world, a world where I wanted to be. Trust me I looked different, I remember being on my way out, stopping off for a drink in the local pub waiting for my taxi to the club, ready to go, dressed in some of the nineties finest club wear, think orange Paul Smith velvet pants, a skin tight John Richmond Destroy top, with see through strips on and some natty Patrick Cox wannabes….. You soon find out that standing out was not the done thing. So I dreamed of going to the island and being allowed to be free, to be me.

This was a time before the minimum wage and I was working in the proper low end sports shop, JJB sports at the time. For those that don’t remember it. It makes Sports Direct look positively chic. It was cheap, the main fare was 5 year old football kits from Austria’s 2nd division. We had a good laugh though. The biggest laugh was the weekly pay. I remember the usual weekly wage was about 80 quid. Take out £25 for keep. £10 quid on my bus fare and it only leaves £45. Now I know that people make jokes about being able to go out with a fiver, drink all night, go for a curry after and still have change left and all that shit. But that wasn’t the case in the clubs. My taxi home was £15, although I used to try and stay out till the busses were running the next day, many times I’d walk the 6 miles home so I didn’t waste any money that could be spent in the club. Now this lifestyle and terrible wage didn’t leave much left for saving. So foreign holidays were just not an option.

Some of the images from the Old Ibiza Clubs - Clubbers guide to Ibiza 1999 CD

I had to make do with pictures and dreams. I used to get the Ministry of Sound – Clubbers Guide to Ibiza albums as soon as they came out. These were compiled by my fave DJ at the time Judge Jules. They were his guide to what tunes would be big on the White Isle that year. The music was amazing. Just listen to some on our Ibiza 1999 Spotify playlist here. It wasn’t just about the music, they had an amazing sleeve in them, with a booklet, full of amazing images of Ibiza, superclubs, beaches and villages. All so bright and vibrant, bathed in sunshine and hedonism. The bright blues of the seas and skies contrasting with the sun bleached land. I honestly used to stare for hours at these photos daydreaming about being there.

Images of ibiza vibes

Fast forward to my 21st in 1999. I was living with my Ex and eldest Son Joe, who was only 4 at the time. I had got promoted at work, to a supervisor, so was earning more money, but we had a mortgage, toddler and nursery fees to pay. So there was still no money for hols. We still went clubbing whenever we had a babysitter, so that didn’t help with budgeting. I was given money for my 21st. in all honesty, this was probably to buy a car, put towards my future and do something sensible with. I remember thinking…. Errrrrm sack that. I went shopping for some summer clothes and went in the travel agents. 2 for Ibiza please. As soon as possible. I booked us a week. It cost us something mad like £200 quid each, imagine that nowadays.

This was it. I was going to Ibiza. You really could not imagine my excitement. I’d never actually been on a plane. I’d been to France with my parents, but that was ages ago. I didn’t even have a passport though ! So after a last minute trip to the passport office in Liverpool to get a speedy service. It was game on.

I probably expected a bit too much from the off. I honestly thought that the flight to Ibiza would be wild. I thought it would be full of full on clubbers all dancing in the aisles in crazy outfits and that the party would start in the airport. In all honesty, it was pretty full of old people and families. Still, I was in the mood for a party. I got a bottle of vodka from duty free, you could take it on the plane then, so that helped. We had spotted one other couple that were clearly clubbers as we boarded. We made eye contact as we sat down, with a knowing glance. We knew what each other was going for.

We got chatting to them on the transfer coach, they were called Phil and Vicky. They worked as entertainers in clubs all over Europe. Doing fire shows and carrying snakes and all that kind of stuff. So we clicked. They said that they weren’t going mad that night as it was already quite late. So they said we should just have a few, down the West End. I had only heard snippets about the West End. If you ever see Ibiza Uncovered, Brit abroad style programmes, showing what are basically pissed up nob heads, with no respect or self control on holiday, acting like idiots. Then this will be in the West End. It’s like one street that contains every single absolute whopper, absolutely smashed on free shots and shit lager. They are all there and they are wild. I later realised that this is a good thing. As they are contained, kind of like in a zoo, which allows the rest of the island to live free of their shit. At the time, I didn’t see it like that. I thought this was it, it was like any town centre on a weekend, but warmer. I had dreamed of this moment for years…. And there I was, stepping over a fat Geordie, who lay on the floor, with his pasty arse hanging, shouting obscenities and covered in sick. I couldn’t take it. It was hell. I was so sad, I started to cry.

A few consoling words of reassurance from Phil and Vicky later, I felt a bit better. They assured me that this was not Ibiza at all. Don’t worry, it will all look better tomorrow. Well I felt a bit happier. So I had a few more drinks, headed to Mambos, started getting the taste for it. I felt the vibe a bit more, soon enough as the sun came up, things had got a bit looser I ended up skinny dipping. There was no point in going to bed, so we went straight to the beach in San Antonio. As the day wore on the music started at Bar M, the sister bar to the crazy place that was Manumission. I started to feel it a bit more and thought OK, this could be more like I hoped.

That night, we were going out, for our first Ibiza clubbing experience. It was a big first night. It was Cream at Amnesia. We started with the pre party at Bar M. This was crazy enough as all of the big DJ’s playing the club, also used to play the pre parties, so the line ups there were better than most clubs back home. I don’t remember that many details about the night, but I know it was amazing. Ibiza was turning out to be every bit as good as I had hoped. We had an amazing night in Amnesia, flitting between the harder trance sounds in the main room and the more Balearic housey vibes of the terrace. Ibiza had well and truly delivered.

Cream at Amnesia 1999 - Club poster

We went from the club straight to an afterparty. We thought it was a good idea to go straight to a moped rental place and get a couple. Now, in hindsight, this was not the most sensible thing. If my kids read this, don’t do it. Daddy was a fucking idiot. I rode straight into a bush. We parked that idea. Got our towels and headed to Kanya. At the time it was on the outskirts of San An, so wasn’t that well known. The vibe was amazing. It had a pool and a DJ, playing amazing vocal house during the day, that got a little more pumping as the day turned into evening. I absolutely loved the place and swore I’d be that DJ one day. (I did get to be that DJ one day too and play at that very same place - more on that some other time maybe).

Kanya bar in the nineties

It was now Friday. Back in the day, weekends were usually the transit days. Meaning the clubs did not have their best nights on at the weekend so we decided to save ourselves over the weekend, for what was the biggest night on the island, or actually the world. Mondays in Ibiza meant one thing, Manumission at privelege. We were going to save ourselves, but my fave DJ Judge Jules was on at a night that was known for being a bit crazy, Sundissential, was a Sunday party in Birmingham. They hosted Sundays at Pacha and Judge Jules was on. This was my chance to make those hours spent daydreaming over the Clubbers Guide a reality. No way was I missing that. So we headed to Pacha and had an amazing night. 99 in the clubs was the year that trance went boom. So we danced to what are now classics such as Veracocha – Carte Blanche, Madagascar – Art of trance and what is total cheese, but is now my guilty pleasure. Alice Deejay – Do you think you’re better off alone. Listening to that euphoric trance, in Pacha in Ibiza was all a bit much. I cried again, but these were happy tears of pure joy.

The scene of the Sundissential afterparty - Ibiza moments can be anywhere

There was one particular song that I really liked on that years Clubbers Guide album, it was very girly house and I hadn’t heard it anywhere else ever. I still never do, apart from when I play it as many years later I managed to find an old copy on vinyl in a charity shop. It was called All I Need, by Angel moon. I said before I went, whenever it was on, that I would only really know I’d done Ibiza, when I heard that, in Ibiza. We went to the after party with Judge Jules, we’d been chatting to him in the club (we actually used to chat to him a lot when he played golden at Sankeys in Manchester, but I'm sure he was used to wide eyed clubbers bending his ear). I was chewing his ear off and told him all of this. I know he probably thought “what is he going on about”, but he played it for me anyway. I was dancing, in some random spot in Ibiza town, with a vodka limon as the sun came up. Job done, I had made it. As the after party wound down and the sun rose and got hotter, I soon realised that the plastic leather look pants I had chosen to wear, were far more suited to a Northern England climate than a Balearic one. I honestly don’t think I’ve ever sweated that much before, or since. Lesson learned… Ibiza fashion is different to home.

The next day, we were hanging out at Kanya and we were approached by some people who told us that they worked for the promotions team for Godskitchen. A big night from Birmingham, that hosted Tuesday nights at Amnesia. They said they were looking for good looking, confident clubbers and that we looked good and would we like to join the parade on Tuesday. Flattery will get you everywhere, so we said yes. The parade was going to have to wait as we were told to meet at Kanya on the Tuesday to find out what we would be dressed as. But before that there was a small matter to deal with.

Manumission at Privilege Ibiza 1999 flyer

Now Mondays in Ibiza were very different to back home. In the nineties/early noughties Mondays meant one thing and that was Manumission. It was quite simply the biggest club night on the island, no, scratch that… The world, in the biggest club in the world. The night actually started in Manchester, in a club called Equinox in the heart of the Gay Village. Manchester at the time was a tough place to run a club as gangs were taking over. One particular incident saw the two brothers who promoted the night, heading off to Ibiza. It turned out to be something of a blessing. The brothers were Andy and Mike Mckay, who soon became know as Andy and Mike Manumission. The home of Manumission was a club called Privilege, formerly known as Ku and one of Ibiza’s legendary venues.

Unless you have been to Privilege you just cannot comprehend the scale of this place. As you drive across the island, on the main road between Ibiza Town and San Antonio, you reach pretty much the highest point, near the village of San Rafael and you look out, you will see a crazy looking building on the hillside. It’s a strange looking place, with palm trees, a central block, with a terraced arch way and the huge dome. I remember being amazed by the size of the place the first time I rode past on a moped and saw it from a distance, I couldn’t believe that a place like this existed, for the sole reason of people going to dance to house music in. I couldn’t wait to get inside.

Manumission at Privilege Ibiza 1999

The whole island was buzzing about Manumission and it was pretty much all most people were talking about. It had a crazy hype about the night. Manumission prided themselves on being different, in particular they didn’t promote the DJ side of things. I remember not actually knowing who was going to be playing that night, which for me as a massive music geek was a new thing. We jumped on the “Disco bus”, a coach which headed to the club from San Antonio. The bus was full of clubbers, it turned off the main road under an archway, into the complex that housed the club, with it’s own carpark and walkway to the doors, it felt more like entering a village than a club. It really shocked me. We walked in and I could not believe the size of this place. The main room is huge, like seriously huge. Palm trees line the sides, with a high ceiling and mezzanine floors. In the centre of the club is a swimming pool, at the time, the DJ booth was a mirror clad centrepiece on a bridge over the swimming pool. We wandered around, the club had outdoor gardens, a restaurant, and even a DJ in the toilets. I had to take a moment to take it all in and get my bearings sat in the open air of the dome looking up at the stars and the scenery around. As the night went on, things got more unbelievable, there were mime artists, people walking the tightrope above your head and even the sex show…. Which I never really got TBH. Too busy dancing to watch that.

DJ booth Manumission at Privilege Ibiza

DJ legend + pioneer of the Balearic sound - Alfredo

We stayed there, dancing to Ibiza legend and one of the fathers of this whole scene, Alfredo till the sun started streaming through the huge glass windows. There’ something naughty feeling about dancing in the daylight. I remember dancing on the bouncy dance floor over the pool, looking at the time and thinking that I’d normally be starting work at about this time. I knew where I’d rather be. As time was getting on and we knew that we had to meet for the parade that afternoon, we decided it was best not to head to an afterparty, but headed back to get a shower and a freshen up ready to do the parade.

The parades were always a big feature of promoting nights in Ibiza back in the day, not so much these days. All of the big nights used to host a themed parade, a group of dressed up reprobates parading through the town, playing music, dancing, carrying banners and just generally attracting a lot of attention for the upcoming night. They would snake through the town and finish up at the main pre party. Then they would move onto the club and spend the rest of the night/next day there.

We met up at Kanya in the afternoon and were told what the plan was. The theme was savages and we were asked if we were ok to be body painted. Always up for some daft stuff, I said yes. I wore nothing but a grass skirt, afro wig and a pair of sandals. Body painted in black and red head to toe and carrying a skull on a spike. We were told that we were to walk through San Antonio, dancing around as we made our way to the pre party at Bar M. We were quite a group and people clapped, cheered and joined on the back of our line as we snaked our way through the town, down to the seafront. We headed into bar M and were told to go wild. All of the crowd were cheering as we all ran in, we headed up the steps to the DJ booth, which at the time was set up a tree in the bar. As security moved out of the way and let us all up, the DJ dropped Pete Heller – Big Love (The Dronez mix). This is such an Ibiza tune and it was certainly a bit of a “moment”. We carried on dancing, but my partner at the time was starting to feel the effects and wanted to go back. I had to walk her back to our apartment. Not wanting to miss out on my last night and also because my bag with all of my clothes in was with the promoters I headed back to Bar M. I had to leg it as I knew that the entertainments team was due to be heading up to Amnesia for the night shortly. I had to run through the backstreets of San Antonio, getting some strange looks. I took a bit of a wrong turn and came out bang in the middle of the west end, right at KFC. On my own, wearing a grass skirt and body paint. I legged it before the masses realised and set upon me. I made it back, but the promo team had already headed up, so I had to blag one of the promoters to give me a lift. He wasn’t happy about me getting body paint all over the interior of his hire car, so I had to sit in the boot. But, nothing was going to stop me making the most out of my last night, especially seeing as though the reward for taking part in the parade was VIP entry and free drinks. A great night was had, I even got to dance on the huge podiums where the professionals go in the Amnesia main room. God knows what I looked like up there…. But never mind, you only live once right. This experience lived on as i was actually photographed and appeared in a DJ magazine Ibiza special. I was well buzzing to see myself in the very magazine that i used to read as my inspiration to go.

Little old me, in DJ magazine.... In body paint. Ibiza parade

I rolled back to the apartment after a little after party. We had to checkout at 11 and so I had half an hour to try and scrub the body paint off. Not easy as that stuff had soaked into my skin after being on for god knows how many hours and mixed with dancing sweat and dry ice. I managed to catch up on a bit of sleep that afternoon in my last few hours in the Ibiza sun. We headed to the airport and on to the plane. I remember looking of the window as we took off, seeing the runway, the Salinas salt plains, Es Vedra and then the island all getting smaller. The thought of going back to grey old Manchester and peoples sweaty feet in the sports shop did not make me happy. I felt so sad… I was crying again. But I’d had an amazing time and I knew that this was just the start of a life long love affair.

Let me know in the comments box about your first time in Ibiza. Was it in the 90's?

I love all the old stories.

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