I’m typing this in the midst of a packing mess. When I left for this trip Louis Vuitton would have given me a nod of approval at my neat packing skills but returning home with an organized suitcase it much harder than I thought.

In line with the Amayzine tradition I finish off my diary report with a few things I have learned during my stay abroad.

I saw familiar faces every bay I went to. From my next door neighbors to celebrities or old friends that have moved here for good. It was great fun but if you want some piece and quiet it’s best to move on to one of the other Balearics.

I love the tradition of a slow lunch but it’s very time consuming. You sit down at 13.30 and finally finish at 18.00 pm. So don’t plan an afternoon of sightseeing you just won’t get around to it. I don’t know how they manage it but they sit down again three hours later to have dinner. So I basically kept my lunch intake to a minimum.

There’s one right in front of me so I admit to being a little bipolar on this one. The waiters offer them to you as thanks for the marathon lunch, but it’s never just one and the next day you’ll be sorry.

“What’s that mosque doing here?”, my husband asked the driver. “That’s not a mosque it’s a club”, the driver answered. So when in doubt assume it’s for dancing.

A bikini or a sundress for the girls is fine but the kaftans they sell on the beach are immensely expensive. Insiders told me the prices are five times as high on the island and that you can get them much cheaper back home. The same brand. They even sew their local labels on pareo’s while they most likely come from China. Al the while you think you’re buying a local product. You’re not they’re pulling the bag over your nose.

My friend always says: “Isn’t it great that God put Ibiza so close to The Netherlands?” So true. It takes me just two hours to get to paradise.