Say Ibiza and say discos . Say Ibiza and in the collective you draw immediately the picture of a situation made up of people in tank top , shaved up to the limit of depilabile , queuing to get to dance and is found the next morning on the beach with gait and zombie first caipiroska glass in hand already at ten am.
But no. No sir, Ibiza is a world meant to discos and light, some slight exaggeration, and many, many Milanese, but is also and above all an island full of corners to discover, of light that illuminates small golden statues of Buddha in meditation collected , hippy markets that sell useless things and therefore must-buy, a corner of paradise where wait the sunset on the beach and applaud the sun seems to descend vertically into the sea calm, to exchange the day with the night, the hour of breakfast snack, dine when we would look good for an early breakfast, to eat bread with aioli after the last dive in the cove full of tourists who take off the costume as it were the most natural thing in the world.
Ibiza is the island of white dresses and stivalacci of skin, hair bend to tie in your hair and a thousand bracelets braided leather to tie around the wrist.
Ok go a small my selection…
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