I'd been hearing for days that DC10 was something else entirely. That nothing compared to it. And yes, they were right — but I needed to see it myself to really get it. Circoloco at DC10 Ibiza is not the same as the Circoloco they throw in Mexico, and I say that with full respect for whoever organizes it over there, but the gap is massive. This party has 26 years of uninterrupted history at this same spot next to the airport, and you feel it everywhere — it's not a copy of anything. It's the original. The lineup was a solid 10, even though my body couldn't hold out until Adam Ten — and honestly, no regrets, because what I caught was worth every bit of exhaustion I'd been carrying all week.

The layout of the place reminds me a lot of what I experienced at 528: you start outside, in the open-air section, with the sun still hitting or already fading, and as the night progresses you naturally drift inside. There's something very organic about that flow. Nobody forces you — it just happens. What did catch me off guard was the audio. And I've been to some solid sound systems on this trip, but DC10 has one of the most powerful rigs I've ever heard in my life. It's not just volume — it's pressure, it's bass you feel in your chest, it's clarity in spite of everything. Technically impressive.

Now, the crowd. I know I've said this before and I'm not going to repeat the same speech, but yes — same issue as always. I'm not blaming the venue or the lineup — that was flawless. It's just the reality of large-scale events: some people come for the music, some come for something else entirely. You learn to filter and find your own space within the chaos.

And then came the most Ibiza moment of the entire trip so far: I met a Cuban woman who, as the event was wrapping up, invited me to an after party at a private villa. I obviously didn't go — partly because I didn't even make it to the end of the event in the first place. On the way back, the taxi driver explained that those afters are organized by regular people who rent a villa and hire a DJ to play privately. You only get in with an invitation. I had the invitation. I didn't have the energy. So I missed a private villa party in Ibiza. Honestly, I don't think I missed much — and if I'm wrong, I'd rather not know.

Tomorrow is official recovery day. The body is demanding it and I'm not arguing. But my head is already on the last party of Ibiza: UNVRS with Black Coffee. If anything has to close out this chapter of the island properly, it's that.

Me on the DC10 terrace

Me at Circoloco