Eivissa

We almost ordered the paella again, out of some misplaced scientific duty, before remembering how dry it had arrived the first time. The return visit was meant to be a fairness exercise; La Rambla terraces deserve a second look, I told myself. This one did not improve on acquaintance. The pizza came with the unmistakable chill of something defrosted in a hurry, plates reached the table looking as though they had already served someone else, and the table itself wanted wiping. Then the arithmetic began. There is no drinks list, which becomes explicable when the bill lands: mojitos at twenty euros, beers at thirteen, a pair of colas priced like a modest lunch elsewhere. The cheerful menus advertised on the street bear no resemblance to what you sign for. Twice was one time too many; there will not be a third.