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I caught my flight from Madrid, got off the plane, and walked into a deserted airport on the party island. Only one luggage belt was working and most of Ibiza airport was in darkness, deserted by clubbers until the spring.

The bus took empty streets past faded billboards for Amnesia, Erick Morillo, and Pete Tong as old women walked along with their shopping. Ibiza Town seemed deserted, as if there just weren't enough people to begin to fill it in the winter. Even the geriatric and crippled tourists had left. I sat and had a coffee in Mar y Sol, which is always so full of posers that I avoid it; now I was the only person in it, then I caught the ferry over to Formentera.

Having woken up in the centre of Madrid, it was a bit of a shock to now be arriving in the most tranquilo place in Spain. There is something magical about Formentera though, and as the ferry navigated the passage between Ibiza and Espalmador, I could feel the pressure and travel weariness fall off. We came into Formentera's harbour, and I could see Zamindar on the other side, looking just as we'd left her.

After three months of travelling around, sometimes sleeping on floors and in airports, it felt good to be home. I put on some music, sat in the cockpit until very late looking at the water, and finally went to my own bed.


I miss home too, and especially the presence of my lovers heart. I love you. and there is no word that will make justice for the love that we share.
- Carita -

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