First time at Pacha Ibiza. And probably not the last on this trip — I'm coming back twice more. The place has been around since 1973, founded by Ricardo Urgell on an island that back then was a refuge for hippies, artists, and people escaping Francoist Spain. Joni Mitchell, Bob Marley, that whole generation passed through here. Pacha survived decades, changed ownership a few years back, and what's left is a perfectly oiled machine capable of moving thousands of people a night. Flawless in operation. Questionable where it actually counts.

The organization, credit where it's due, is impeccable for the monster of a club it is. Perfect sound. Perfect lighting. Perfect visuals. Perfect drinks. But the crowd... that's a different story. The place was oversold. I'm not exaggerating: at no point during the night could I get a clear view of the DJ. Everyone packed in like sardines, impossible to walk, impossible to actually dance. I came specifically to see Marco Carola and barely managed to. Had I known, I would have mentally prepared myself for the sardine situation.

Carola delivered. I'd rank the set an 8.5 out of 10. He worked through several house classics with intention, without falling into the obvious. At some point he dropped "In the Music" by Deepswing — a classic that doesn't get nearly enough recognition, at least back home — and that earned him serious points. That kind of selection is the difference between a DJ who programs tracks and one who actually tells a story. Too bad the physical environment made it so hard to enjoy.

To survive the sardine situation I turned to Don Julio. Ten tequilas. Not joking. And yes, grateful that at least the tequila was decent — that's not a small thing in Europe. There are places here that charge you 20 euros for something that tastes like turpentine with food coloring. Pacha doesn't disappoint on that front.

Then there was the Brit. Some guy looking for trouble who told me it made him uncomfortable that I was a stranger. I didn't fully understand the comment — and honestly didn't want to. I laughed and walked away. I'm not getting into it with anyone while I'm alone in a foreign country, especially with two more events still to go on this island. Some fights aren't worth the drama, and this was one of them.

The leg pain keeps building day by day. Every night of dancing collects its toll the morning after. But here we are, still going.

Next up: Music On with Claptone and Nora En Pure at Chinois. Let's see what that brings.

Me outside Pacha

Me on the Pacha dancefloor