In the early hours of Saturday morning I was at a Covid party. Yes, in the middle of the pandemic. In a small house on the Ma-5013, in Son Oms , SARS-CoV-2 was flowing at the same rate as the drugs. You couldn’t see the former, but you could feel it. The latter was in each and every corner of the property, a plot of land that was cleared by police at 5am. I was disgusted to see what I saw. And had a lot of regret. But let’s start at the beginning.
I had been told about illegal parties in the middle of the state of alarm. I could hardly believe it. “A friend of a friend went to one yesterday and told me that there was hardly room to move“, they claimed. “But if they won’t even let us leave the house, how can so many people gather without the neighbours calling or the police doing something?”, I asked. “Don’t believe me, but I’m telling you what I’ve been told,” the conversation ended.
Knowing the background, living in Mallorca and fully into the month of August, you can get an idea of the scene on the island. Only this past Saturday there were a few options to choose from. Artà was discarded because it was too far away, “although the villa’s pool helps you forget the hour’s drive”. Felanitx was the second option considered, in “a villa so hidden away that there’s no way the police can ruin your party”. I don’t know why, but this idea was also binned.
In the early hours of Sunday morning, around 2am, I parked the car next to a wall on a little road in Son Oms, behind a long row of vehicles and found the location that had been sent to me an hour before on WhatsApp: “Next to the airport there are two or three places that rock. If we don’t like one, we move to another”. Because of that one sentence and the time it was already, there was good reason to consider the option closest to Palma, undoubtedly the best of all.
One hundred metres separated my car from the new Covid epicentre I was about to discover. I was surprised that the music was so loud, even the lights illuminating the party were alarmingly conspicuous at that time of night. The only rule was to cross the Ma-5013 as fast as possible and not to hang around on the verges, I guess not to make more of a fuss than they were already making.
Under a porch about fifty metres from the property’s entrance gate two men manned the ticket office. Fifteen euros, wristband access and free entry “Can you pay by card?”, I heard a couple just in front of me ask. The look the two ‘bouncers’ gave the person made even me wince. “And is a drink included?”, I heard. I didn’t want to hear or see the response.
For the full article, please visit Diario de Ibiza website here.