Kumharas Bar

Me and Big Dave decided ‘doing a sunset’ was a must. It just seems to be the thing to do here watch day turn to night and celebrate it. But we didn’t want to hit an over-​trodden cliché like Café Del Mar, where sophisticated clubbers dressed in white linen applaud with hippy pretence as the sun hoists over the horizon. Leave it out. Not my cup of tea. I can’t imagine clapping a sunset as it sinks below the dog track sign in Walthamstow, and I’m not about to start doing it here now.
So, we drove across to the West End of the island the side which geography dictates that sunsets like. To keep away from San Antonio’s endless happy hours and sports bars, we found ourselves hobbling across rocks to reach an outside shack in the distance, just as the sun started showing signs of deflating for the night.
Kumharas Bar is what I imagine when I hear one of those Ibiza Chill Out albums. Day beds, embarrassingly good looking waiting staff and a bamboo hut style bar waiting to throw Corona down our necks. We duly settled down to a DJ caressing tunes as the ensuing end of day carved him into an angelic silhouette glow in front of the horizon’s bruising. We sat in relative silence as that orangey blob hazed its way behind him through lazy cloud wisps, until the rocks out at sea blocked all the fairy light twinkles on the ocean’s ruffles, and foretold a warm dusk.
As we walked away, two Coronas to the wind, one of the waitresses gave me a tube of lip balm. I don’t know why.