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Hamid is waiting for me at a bus stop right next to Alexandras Avenue in Athens, Greece. This evening, he's chosen to wear a reflective white jacket, torn jeans, and a shiny pair of red sneakers—not a very wise choice for someone trying to sell small amounts of sisa, the dirt-cheap alternative to crystal meth that's become popular in Greece's capital over the past couple of years. But at least his clients can spot him easily in this outfit. A quick nod is enough to tell them that it's safe to approach him and hand over their money. Hamid was born in Tehran. He started working some part-time jobs at the age of 14, and when he turned 20, he joined an anti-regime group to fight against Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, whom he calls 'the world's most vicious man. Pedion tou Areos Park—one of the largest public parks in Athens—is only supposed to be open to the public until 11, but we manage to sneak in after midnight. Figures start to gather in the shadows around us, and a raspy voice moans: 'Does anyone have some dope or sisa? We walk down a small road and, after a while, reach a building covered in graffiti. I ask him why he was in jail in the first place. That's what everyone in that jail was there for,' he answers as a shaky light bulb reveals his missing front tooth. He continues: 'I was incarcerated for 18 months, along with 11 other people. That was when I started learning Greek. The worst thing back then was the fact that only one toilet was functional. But on the other hand, I finally succeeded in getting clean from dope. Eventually I got out, penniless, and a friend suggested I come stay here for a bit. I look at the wrecked squat and wonder what exactly the point was of renovating the Pedion tou Areos Park. All I can see is a building in really bad shape, surrounded by scrap-metal parts and covered in anti-fascist graffiti. They usually appear out of the blue, accompanied by their dogs, and beat anyone they find. There are 25 to 30 people from Iran and Afghanistan living in this building—all drug users, of course,' whispers Hamid, as a group of Afghan men begin to stare at us. We can come back some other day. We walk by bumper cars and a carousel, which look eerie in the quiet park—like the set of an unreleased Baz Luhrmann horror film. We're heading towards the 'little theater,' where the drug dealers hang out after the sun goes down. There's a kind of hierarchy inside the park. Along with the 'oldies,' who make the pipes and basically run the place, there are the addicts and the casual drug users. Some are regulars and stick around, but others just pass through quickly—grabbing what they came for and leaving straightaway. Violent disagreements aren't rare around the little theater. Algerians and Africans are the usual suspects, Hamid says, but the the Russians who sell weed in the north are considered equally tough. For whatever reason, Hamid looks unwilling to continue talking about this. We're all good friends,' he says. Drug users hang out on the park's benches all through the night, often until the sun comes up. They light fires and sit around, talking endlessly about all kinds of stuff. A few yards away, some addicts who claim to be detoxing are trying to exchange syringes and pills for heroin or sisa. We sit down so Hamid can get high. He drops a small crystal inside a glass pipe and heats it with a blowtorch. He exhales the thick smoke almost immediately and starts talking about Shakira. As it turns out, it's not the Shakira I had in mind, but a female friend of his who occasionally hangs out in the park, wearing a weird beret. Nobody can tell how old she is—she could be anywhere between 45 and Hamid believes that, thanks to her drug abuse, she never sleeps, just like most people there. After a little while, Shakira turns up. She's rude and swears with every other word, her loud voice drowning out everything around us. I took something that got me high, then leaned on a bench, and some asshole came and pushed me. Guess what, buddy? Another familiar face in the park is year-old Christina, who lives in one of the shipping containers left in the park after its refurbishment. A few days ago, her husband was put in jail, and sometimes she'll sit quietly in the dark and try to write him a letter. She usually just ends up sketching a little heart in the corner of the paper, next to a scrawled 'I love you. Christina is a prostitute and HIV-positive. Some people laughed, some swore at her, and others told her to go home. According to Hamid, Arab men tend to feel uncomfortable when they meet female drug users in the park, because, in their opinion, 'This is not the right place for a woman. Just next to us, Ali—a year-old man from Afghanistan—won't let me take his picture. Ali started using heroin and sisa when he lost his home. The only thing left for me now is to die. Every day, to drug users buy their supply in Pedion tou Areos, with some using it to feed their wallet as well as their habit. As he shows me out of the park, I ask Hamid how long it's been since he last saw his mother and brothers. I really want to see my family again. He says goodbye and disappears into the bushes. A few cars are now running down Alexandras Avenue, heading towards Patision Street. By signing up to the VICE newsletter you agree to receive electronic communications from VICE that may sometimes include advertisements or sponsored content. Sign In Create Account. This story is over 5 years old. February 26, , am.

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Search Search. Menu Sections. Bodies were strewn across the departure gate for the Ibiza-Dublin flight as out-cold ravers recovered from a few days of hard partying on the White Island. I wasn't in great shape myself. Three nights is enough for an aul' one - plus, much to my chagrin, the Wi-Fi didn't work, and I couldn't transfer money between my accounts, so I had to forego a straightener, water and food. I was dying for a dirty burger, a bottle of cold water and a shot of some kind of strong Canadian whiskey to get the head together. Unfortunately, I had none of those things. I stared as the two lads across from me opened a can of Coke, which made that all-too-familiar 'zish' sound, and considered 'Mundraub' translated, mouth robbery - the German for the act of stealing small amouts of food or drink and being allowed to get away with it. The mind boggles. The lads said they were 'mad out of it' every night, regardless. I think it's because I didn't drink enough water, that's probably what happened,' he said. Needless to say, Phil wouldn't let a near-death experience get in the way of the crack, so he continued on partying until the airport beckoned him. His mate, Dean, was a little quieter because 'he done a load of K'. To the untrained, ketamine - also known as regretamine amongs users - is an anaesthetic used mostly on animals. It's popular at the end of a session rather than the beginning, due to the fact that it can send you into a 'K-hole', which renders you unfit for public consumption. From staycation secrets to the return of overseas holidays, our free newsletter brings you the latest in travel every Wednesday. Enter email address This field is required Sign Up. A K-hole offers an out-of-body experience, disorientation, hallucinations and generally being completely and utterly off your rocker. Some people swear by it. Just like most of the people I met in Ibiza, the boys were part of a larger 'army' of young men. Are you here for the birds or the session? I would ask. The answer was generally same: 'Probably getting off the tits first, then the birds. There are some seriously hot birds here,' they would volunteer. I quite enjoy such eye candy, but if you get offended easily by what could be deemed objectification of either sex, I suggest Ibiza with all its hedonism and parading of skimpy outerwear is not for you. Irish people have historically not been committed members of the beautiful community in Ibiza. That particular handsome badge is bestowed upon groomed Italians, Spanish or South Americans who don't drink the head off themselves all night, then sleep all day. When we left Dublin, the main demographic on board was as anticipated: messer. I'd been informed by a friend who flew to Ibiza a few weeks beforehand that a sniffer dog wandered up and down the queue before everyone boarded. I would assume that he was looking for something in particular, rather than being a fixture on every flight to the party island. It wouldn't make sense to bring drugs to Ibiza, when you can get them there - like bringing coal to Newcastle or beer to Munich, some might say - but some punters, it appeared, would rather be safe than sorry. Our hotel is a bit out of the way, so we won't have access to them straight away, and we'd want to get off the head as soon as we land,' she added. Plus even if we were caught with five yokes, I doubt we'd get in too much trouble. We would probably just miss our flight, but it's a risk you have to take,' Caroline insisted. I paid him with my debit card, which is a first. We met him outside a bar on Salinas Beach in the south of the island. When I said I had no cash on me, he said to come with him and that he takes cards. It wasn't even too bad. There's always a fear of getting scammed here unless you have reliable sources,' she added. When she saw her friend wandering into the yonder, Alison was concerned Caroline might 'be kidnapped' and taken to the Far East to have her organs harvested or something. My favourite prisoner, Michaella McCollum, 24, from Dungannon, was allegedly introduced to the drug cartel through a low-level drug dealer there. Soon after, she was famously caught trying to smuggle Michaella was spotted in Ibiza recently, so I thought I'd stick my head in the door of Bar Amsterdam to see if perhaps she was there to see out her season in Ibiza, which ended so abruptly the last time. I didn't find her, and luckily wasn't picked up by any cartels - or anyone, in fact. It was all pretty humdrum dive-bar stuff. There was a bang of robbery off some of the people there, though. I was surprised the next day that everything made it home safely - especially my camera. My entire luggage was robbed in Madrid one year, and another time someone tried to rob my camera with a coat hanger through a car window in Barcelona while I was sleeping. Plus, earlier that evening, a few street vendors from Mali had tried to rob us. It was our fault though, to be fair. We were being total gimps. We'd had one or two at that stage. I guess that's what happens when you have a well-earned, albeit brief, break from single parenthood. So there were mojitos and mimosas for breakfast, followed by rum, Long Island iced teas, beers, wine, countless shots, whiskeys, champers, etc. The walk along the promenade in San Antonio was a bit of a blur, but I do recall two guys trying to get us to buy some nitrous oxide, also known as laughing gas. I had fond memories of it from Burning Man in the Nevada desert 10 years previously, and from giving birth - two entirely unrelated milestone events. It's a colourless, odourless gas, which is also used as an anesthetic, and needless to say, it also has euphoric effects when you inhale it. It's perfectly legal, and you can buy it in cartridges and stick them into cream dispensers - like the ones you get in restaurant kitchens that make whipped cream. Rather than fill the canister with whipped cream, you just inhale the contents of the cartridges via a balloon. We said no on this occasion, because it was still bright and not a time for being overly euphoric in public, but a bunch of lads from Thurles said the vendors were selling duds, and they didn't get the desired high. The lads - there were 19 of them - were staying in San Antonio for a week. They disagreed, as young men of something often do and thought I 'was like, 28 or something'. Amnesia is a 5,person-capacity superclub in San Rafael between the two coasts of the 25km-wide island. Famous for its laser shows and retractable roof, Amnesia plays host to numerous nights with half-naked pole dancers, fire dancers, lots of trapeze artists and more. Personally, I'd rather have set fire to myself than have gone, but that's just me. I'm 42 now, and the first time I was here was in , so the lads were still in nappies. The fact that I'm the oldest swinger in town didn't put me off - it's more the minimal techno and the punters wearing shades indoors while pouting that doesn't float my boat. I'm more of an old-skool kinda chick. I want to see chainsaw movements and fists in the air. I like to think that the late s and early s, when dance Ibiza really got going, would have been more my era. Now it's just like Groundhog Day. Space, which used to be open for 22 hours at a time, has since closed. The same thing happened in DC 10 - the clubbers club, greatest club on the planet, etc etc - at an infamous weekly gig called Circo Loco. My friend was there, having been at Amnesia all night before that, and again I walked in, saw a girl opposite me pull her hot pants to one side and take a piss on to the courtyard ground, and I left again. I've since heard many times I should give it a try, based on how amazing it is, but unfortunately my frontal lobe isn't available for new club experiences. That said, on the last night, my arm was twisted. Yet again, however, it wasn't to be. We had to wait in a queue for ages, which always makes me lose my club mojo, and by the time we got in, he had stopped playing. Then we lost the guy who was meant to bring us upstairs, then I had to hand in my camera, which meant no photos of clubbers, which is what I wanted and then Ah, well. I'll make a mental note for next time - again. I'll go to Ushuaia Beach Club on Bora Bora Beach, which I found very pleasant; and hire a car, and not get plastered on the first night to render myself useless for a few days. And, next time, I won't miss the sunset at Cafe del Mar. The list goes on. I always say 'next time' when I talk about Ibiza. It has a magnetic force, which draws you back over and over again. They say it's because of the mythical Es Vedra limestone rock, which stands at almost metres high, 2km off the west coast of Ibiza, and is the third most magnetic spot on the planet. Home of sirens and sea nymphs who tried to lure Ulysses from his ship in Homer's Odyssey, parts of it were allegedly used to build the pyramids in Egypt and its said to be the tip of the sunken civilisation of Atlantis. Its energy means that not only do compasses, homing pigeons and navigational instruments go haywire in its vicinity, so do the people it lures back. Each time you come back, you have a different experience. I met a lovely lady in her 70s who lived in Ibiza in the s when it was the countercultural, favoured holiday destination of famous, wealthy hippies who partied like Weimar Berlin without the icy north winds and the cold Soviet facades. Just bliss. She said she made the great error of going back in the s after DJ Paul Oakenfold and Ecstasy took hold of the island, and it was hell, she said. Back then, the beautiful people didn't stay up for five days taking yokes. I met two girls from Kildare, who said the last time they were here they were up for seven days with no sleep. I went to the closing parties and then the after-parties. I ended up at an after-party with the DJs who play here, up in the mountains, in the villas. On the last night, I went to my hotel and didn't make it to the room. I fell asleep on floor in the hallway of the hotel. I'd been up all week at that stage, with no sleep at all. At one point we went to the beach in Formentera, the island beside Ibiza, and I slept for a few hours. I kept myself hydrated and ate healthy food and snacks in between, but yeah, no sleep otherwise. Mark said that one night he got some ketamine from some lads on the beach and a few pills that were so strong, he had never been as high. All those nights I'd been in clubs, and then I finally get a proper whack and I'm at the side of a road. It was great crack, though,' he added. Needless to say, staying up for seven days, five days or even two days is insane, and something only seasoned drug takers would be capable of doing, due to building up a tolerance over many years - even then, it can kill you and it's incredibly, insanely bad for you, so don't do it. Also, for anyone who hasn't experienced a proper downer, when you wake up after a week-long bender in Ibiza, you will descend into a crazy, downward, fear-addled comedown of epic proportions. You can see it at the airport, where people are tetchy and hyper-sensitive and rude before they fly home. It's not good for you, and loads of drug takers don't know that. Definitely keep away from sleeping pills, too. Xanax is less bad for you,' he added. Though rather than take advice from Mark, I suggest getting your information from medical professionals. For for all the concerned mums out there, don't get too freaked - not everyone who comes to Ibiza takes drugs, even among the younger kids. It attracts over two million people per year, many of whom will never see the inside of a club or score a bag of coke. I would happily bring my two-year-old here, simply because it's such a beautiful place with incredible scenery, amazing food and some of the best restaurants in Europe. It's a great spot for families, couples, wealthy playboys, supermodels, grannies and lots more. I previously spent five weeks here, writing business articles and going to bed early, most of the time. While I was there, Lionel Messi, Cesc Fabregas and a host of Barcelona stars and their families enjoyed a few days jet-skiing and throwing themselves off yachts. Kate Moss is a regular; a few generations of the Jagger family have homes on the island; and a bunch of Irish social media 'stars' regularly share photos of themselves on the party island while detoxing or something. I've been here in each decade in the past three decades, and it's still one of the best islands in the world. If you find somewhere more open, relaxed, chilled-out and generally filled with happy vibes, lemme know. As she returns to the White Island for her fourth visit, Barbara McCarthy meets the Irish ravers who stay up for days on end, partying, and ingesting everything from ecstasy to ketamine to nitrous oxide. And, as always, she knows that, despite it all, she'll be back again. Close The famous Foam Party at the Amnesia club. Facebook Twitter Email Whatsapp. July 10 AM. Facebook Twitter Email. Off your rocker Travel Insider From staycation secrets to the return of overseas holidays, our free newsletter brings you the latest in travel every Wednesday. Latest Europe Sailing the Camino - now pilgrims can do the world's most famous walk by boat 'It's as if I've come in low season' - how Rome is getting back on her feet No kisses on cheeks, but a city 'reborn' - what's it like to visit Paris right now? Brady and Smyth fire Longford to victory over Carlow as they book quarter-final date with Meath Wexford set for Dublin test after avenging defeat against Wicklow Tony Kelly on top form as Clare hold off Waterford fightback to set up Munster semi-final with Tipperary Police shut down mass unauthorised rave with 1, people in Sussex countryside.

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