Take a deep breath, and repeat after me, using your best breathy voice and a sultry Spanish accent: Kilometro Cinco. It’s got a beautiful, mysterious ring to it, don’t you think? (Though I’m sure my taxi driver didn’t think so when I coughed and spluttered my way through the pronunciation on my way to the opening party!)
Whatever you choose to call it, KM5 is now synonymous with decadent parties, indulgent food and beautiful people. And the 2010 opening event was no exception…Is it just me, or has anyone else noticed that almost all of Ibiza’s restaurant owners have been out and about at every opening lately? Night after night, party after party and meal after meal… checking out the competition perhaps? Regardless of the reason, that’s a whole lotta lot of air kissing going on – imagine the amount of lip gloss that would be used if lips actually connected with cheeks on such occasions.
But I digress. As I was saying, the people of Ibiza, they’re out and about, every night of late. And it’s not just the restaurateurs. It’s the singers. The DJs. The dancers. The shop owners. The designers. The hoteliers. And I NEVER see any of them wear the same thing twice – except for one petite little blondie, and you know who you are!
So we gathered in the beautiful garden lounge once again, where the champagne was free flowing – and when I say free, I do mean complimentary, thankyouverymuch KM5! What a delightful touch. The flamboyant Foc I Fum troupe did their thing, you know, they foc’d and they fum’d their way through the thickening crowd, towering above on those lofty stilts smiling and waving and generally being OTT in more ways than one. It seems a bit unfair really – they have better coordination on stilts than I do in heels!
As the night went on, I couldn’t help but start to think of the entire party as some form of ritualistic conga – without the groping onto someone else’s butt of course (though I’m not speaking for everyone when I say this). You kind of get a little shuffle going on, as you do a ‘lap’ of the room to say hello, find friends, go to the bar or the dance floor. But inevitably, no matter how many times you jump on or off the conga, nothing really changes. People are still squashed into little corners, the doorway is always a tight squeeze, and you can always spot Mike and Claire Manumission at the side of the restaurant bar… But still we keep on going round, and round and round…
THE GOOD: In the not-yet-immortal words of Lady Gaga, ‘Walk, walk, fashion baby.’ It looks like 2010 is going to be the season Ibiza’s ladies really do push the glamour dial up to number 11, as I saw plenty of posing and posturing for photos, showing off dazzling jewellery, oversized flowers in the hair, sassy animal print (not tacky at all, I mean seriously sexy), shimmering sequins and heels, heels, heels. Miss W can feel a shopping spree coming on!
THE BAD: Speaking of fashion, why was the DJ playing a horrendous cover version of David Bowie’s ‘Fashion’ very early on in the evening, when the original still sounds so good? I guess music is just like style in that sense really, there’s no accounting for taste… or perhaps taste is in the EARS of the beholder?
THE GOSSIP: Who was that man carrying an enormous bunch of beautiful flowers into the restaurant just after most people had finished their main course – and err, why did he fail to find me?