I find nightclubs to be so loud. That’s because I’m 47, yes, but also because I’ve always sought for quiet places. I prefer pubs, preferably with long counters made from solid wood. Low lighting. Music for conversation. And that’s the bar I was in at Enashipai Resort and Spa recently; Oltepesi bar, built under the oldest acacia tree in the resort. It was a wet drizzly night. A father and son were shooting pool nearby.
The three of us were having a variety of whiskies and cocktails. When it got to about 10pm, we decided that it was too early to turn in so we grabbed umbrellas at the door and walked to Wave Nightclub.
The walk there was a whole other astonishing experience in itself, walking under the looming acacia trees, their shadows hurling themselves at us. We strolled through that soundtrack of the night; the crickets and the bush-babies.
“Nobody walks in the rain anymore,” I reminisced. “Romance is dead.”
We got to the club which had these massive doors. The sound hits you like a tsunami the moment you walk in. It knocks you off your feet.
Thankfully, it’s heavily soundproofed inside so not a whisper escapes. Wave is a proper club, with a massive dance floor and the biggest screen you have ever seen.
There were revellers dancing, drinking, drunken or getting there. Seduced by the glowing bar, we made a beeline for it. “It’s too loud,” I said. “You are too old,” My Lady said, ordering drinks.
The thing with loud music is that eventually your (old-ish) body gets used to it. Your body can take a lot. Your body can take an evil boss and a mother-in-law from hell. Your body can take bad taxes. And so, before long the music wasn’t loud at all. And it was really great music.
At 1:30am, when we stepped out, a very pleasant security lady called us a buggy. We stood in the cold, our bodies vibrating from all the drinks and energy from the music. My Lady’s friend lit a cigarette and for no reason at all I said, “I will share that.”
