Who in their right mind would have considered saying ‘Nay’ to a trip to the White Island? It took me about three seconds to agree to it. 4 a.m. starts may not rock my boat, but when the boat is full steam towards the Med, you just can’t help but nodding, smiling already.

The crew had already been there for four days, snapping locations and the ‘Swimwear Shimmer” set part of the shoot. I was their second girl, only needed for a full day and two long gowns, the “Summer Dream” set.

Please allow me to play something for you while you carry on reading…

A gorgeous villa on top of one of the hills bordering San Antonio was Base of Operations. With seven rooms to choose from it seemed odd that nobody was inside, until you entered pool territory, then you joined the sunbed brigade and forgot the villa was behind you. In fact, you forgot there was a world somewhere. The outside bar was right beside it, shadowed by glorious bougainvillea, when you see that fuchsia, you know you have arrived.

Juanito, the local maitre, cook, driver, tour guide, professional whiner, and overall comedy central was taking care of breakfast when I arrived. He sliced the juiciest watermelon with four samurai-worth incisions and I got ready for make up. Sandrita, the make up wizard, barely stopped giggling while introducing me to the crew’s antics from the night before. No wonder they could not peel themselves off the lounges. The shoot was taking place around the back in the private garden. It overlooked San Antonio and the bluest sky met the bluest waters as far as you could see. No time to stare though, we were rolling as soon as I was dressed.

Whoever dare telling me ‘modeling’ is one of the easiest jobs around will get a (pathetic) left hook. For about three hours I was joyfully suspended from an old swing, upside down, hair all over the place - it is not supposed to have a mind of its own, but it does - and wearing a grass length multi layered Badgley Mischka that was too incredible for words. The dress had a phony Latin temperament and did not enjoy being shot the wrong way up, too delicate. Let’s not forget the swinging of the swing, the Mediterranean sun, and the ever present “Summer Dream” tag. I felt seasick, but somehow I loved every minute of it. That is how powerful a dress as such can be.

Sandrina, the aforementioned Wizard, instead of re-touching the make up, continuously waived her wand erasing more and more. Protection Factor 12 aside, I was getting tanned by the minute and the original Melba Blush had been replaced by a natural Peach Twist Shimmer Blushing. Who knew ‘Head Rush’ could be part of a make up line.

Marianella Schulz, the photographer, might not have been impressed with my height but she loved my patience. My dedication only stretched as far as her last click. I would have collapsed if I had not minded grass staining a work of art. My body felt I had overdone the Pilates stretching program. Luckily for all the involved, she was very happy with the pictures and we all smiled at the prospect of a whole afternoon by the pool until the golden hour. We spent it rightfully doing nothing but fighting over the play lists and listening to a tipsy Juanito offering us his very own version of Mediterranean tapas.

As we were leaving for the second shoot, the delivery guy appeared, of course, he was Juanito’s cousin’s friend’s brother, the whole island is full of those. Little J. had spent the afternoon surrounded by a neverending supply of iced chilled mini Mahou’s, and was not going to make much of a dinner. Luisillo and I devised a safer bet: all the fresh seafood we could eat, all the sangria we could drink, only a 10 minute walk down the road to San Antonio, 25 Euros per head. His cousin (of course) could sort it all out for us, no problema.

This cousin of his had, I can only refer to it as, a terrace, just off the main road. We drove by on our way to Cafe del Mar. It really was a dusty terraced floor, literally just off the kerb, so impossibly random… but at least it overlooked the sea. It had a little veranda, no safety if you were taller than 3 feet, and almost invisible behind some shrubbery, four grills on the ground. No tables, no chairs, no nothing. We looked at each other and shrugged, we didn’t particularly care.

The second shoot was a lot steadier than the morning rocking. These rocks were tricky but the vibe from the place is just pure Chill Out, you may have taken my word and even be listening to it right now.

“Café del Mar” is a legendary establishment. It was there the first time I visited when I was 16, and it still offers one of the best sunset views from the island. Add a bar, live, noninvasive shows and a huge crowd simply relaxing and catching their breath and you cannot go wrong.

Round 2 of summer dreaming didn’t need much prep because the lens was looking directly into the sun. It didn’t need any make up either due to I was four shades darker than upon landing and I was being shot in profile, my dark silhouette contrasting against another glorious dress. This time by Georges Hobeika, it was so light I felt nude, not naked, but comfortably nude. The outer layer was so barely there, the minimum breeze was a treat for Marianella. Her chosen picture had me bending over backwards, with my now curly hair (all day pool and heat, what do you want from me?) floating after the top layer of the dress. Sore muscles aside, it was a joy just to be part of it.

Can I play you another one?

We had a pleasant surprise on our way back, the ‘terrace’ was not a sad space anymore! White cloth covered some sort of low table and big, colourful patterned cushions had been thrown around everywhere. All the grills were beginning to smoke and dozens of scattered tealights were ready to be lit. The “cousin” & Co. waived at us and carried on. It was borderline midnight by the time we got changed into flipflops, cork platforms, the shortest minis, denim and day-glo underwear (please note: not moi), hats, sunnies and half a dozen necklaces (each). If there is somewhere you can get away with such attire, is in Ibiza.

By 2 am we had literally eaten all the seafood and shellfish that is humanly possible. Simply grilled with lime juices and seasoned with rock salt, it tasted incredible. Squid, lobster, clams, scallops, cockles, langoustines and more spilled out of the platters. Someone’s grandma had even prepared 10 different sauces, apparently she was originally from my side of the Basque Country and although she couldn’t come over and meet us, she had insisted in making some traditional Basque dipping sauces. That’s Spain for you. I gave her grandson my “Lauburu” pendant as a thank you, but I could never thank her enough.

We didn’t only gorge, we also came up with three sangria & champagne cocktails each. The party carried on into San Antonio town, there is where Ibiza hits you. Until that moment, I could have been anywhere else, tranquil, appeased, too quiet even. I only sobered up when we hit a random foam party in a bar. It has to be done, all I am going to say is:

• Water-proof mascara.
• Watch out for hidden steps.
• Cover your drink, and your mouth… frothing from it has never been en vogue.
• Foam parties rock

We were invited to a Manumission Night so off we went, it is a capital sin to miss them, you need to experience one at least. Amnesia is an awesome club and another legend from the island that doesn’t sleep during summer solstice. You just need to choose what side are you on, oh yeah, and don’t forget to bring your open mind.

I woke up half way up the hill back to the villa to find myself wearing a helmet. My knight in shinning armor was Luisillo’s friend (me no idea either) and he was driving a Vespa. I probably insisted on it in my sleep. Half of the crew was in a taxi in front of us (Juanito didn’t find funny that the boys threw him in front of the foam pump and he drove off without us after that), the rest had carried on to Pacha for a last drink, or brunch I guess.

We got in as the mannequin du jour was getting dropped, hers was the ‘Nightime Play” set. How did she not get back in the taxi and sped off down the hill I would never know. We must have been a sight. My plane was leaving in three hours, as they all went to sleep I sat with Marissa, originally from Mozambique she was a gorgeous green eyed girl. Her shoot was not due until that night so she suggested going for a dive off the West coast cliffs, the undersea caves are not to be missed. My brain didn’t feel like dealing with underwater pressure but any other time I would have raced her there.

We all had early lunch together (Juanito as jolly as the previous morning, all forgotten and forgiven). I had to go back to my University homework so with a little tear in my heart I said my goodbyes.

The crew was awesome, the place is awesome, the vibe will always be awesome. I am eleven words away from the closest I have ever been to cursing:

“Ibiza es la hostia”*.

My last treat, for you! (worth watching)

RN

Rhéa Nielsen (c) 2008

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(*) Pronunced: “E-be-tha es la os-te-a” >> Just learn the whole thing and a local will explain it to you (and love you forever).

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