Battle of the European party islands: Ibiza v Mykonos

By AMY COOPER

Picture the scene. It's 1987, and Freddie Mercury is turning 41. He wants a three-day bacchanal with a minimum 700 guests including Elton John, Grace Jones, Boy George and Tony Curtis, massed flamenco dancers, a three-metre cake replica of a Gaudi cathedral, 350 bottles of Moet (for the first hour), fireworks sufficiently stupendous to be visible 180 kilometres away, and enough black and gold balloons for a small army to inflate over several days.

Step aside Mykonos. This is a job for Ibiza. The Freddie-fest went down at Ibiza's legendary Pikes Hotel - a celeb playground that made Studio 54 look like a book club - and was so mammoth it still has an annual commemorative event. Only Ibiza could throw parties to celebrate parties.

And only Ibiza could scale the extreme altitudes of hedonism preferred by adopted islanders like Mick Jagger, Jimi Hendrix, Eric Clapton and George Michael - among the titans who have elected this rockin' rock off the Spanish east coast the world's party pinnacle.

Sure, posh Mykonos can serve up a shiny shindig, but Ibiza took decadence, stripped it naked, painted it gold, adorned it with feathers, threw it into a fountain filled with absinthe and tigers, declared it a god and invited 20,000 people to wear sequined loincloths, set fire to their hair and cavort around it. All before breakfast. And with killer tunes.

The tunes are key. Ibiza's creative soul runs deeper than a Daft Punk bassline. Joni Mitchell, Bob Marley, Debbie Harry and Pink Floyd washed ashore long before the DJs. Wham!'s Club Tropicana video was shot in Ibiza - and if you don't know how important that is, you shouldn't be allowed anywhere near a party. Music isn't just Ibiza's soundtrack for Ibiza's good times. It's the reason.

Ibiza's mega-clubs are dance music's living monuments. Pacha has been pulsating since 1973; Amnesia, born in 1976, still packs thousands into its La Espuma foam parties. Privilege is the world's largest nightclub, holding 10,000 clubbers in its 6500-square-meter sweaty embrace. DC10, a former airport hangar at the end of the runway, still stages its Circoloco extravaganzas with descending aircraft almost brushing the fingertips of hands-in-the-air hordes.

Ushuaia, a louche-luxe adults-only hotel and club right on the beach at Playa d'en Bossa, unleashes revelry 24/7 around the gigantic DJ stage and adjacent pool and in the glass bathtubs of suites with names like Anything Can Happen. Nowhere else will you watch David Guetta, Armin Van Buuren or Calvin Harris commanding the decks close-up from the comfort of your own balcony's hydromassage spa.

The hotel intends its guests to "know how the gods feel". I already know how they feel: glad to be having a ball in the Balearics while the mortals back on Mykonos drink ouzo with their FOMO.

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By MAL CHENU

Nothing exemplifies Mykonos more than its incomparable party scene. OK, well maybe the iconic windmills at sunset. Or the stunning bougainvillea, dazzling sand and picture-postcard whitewashed buildings lining the enchanting cobblestoned streets. Or Petros the Pelican, who has been the island's mascot since 1958. But apart from all that, Mykonos is definitely best-known for its beach clubs and their sumptuous day beds, amazing food and luxe beaching, where bikini- and boardies-clad bronzed bodies sun themselves by day and then dance into the wee hours, all backlit by fifty shades of Aegean blue.

The only thing missing from the Mykonos beach party are the hordes of legless Eurotrash (with apologies to Monty Python's Travel Agent sketch) singing "Torremolinos, Torremolinos!" and complaining about the food - "It's so greasy, isn't it?" - and drinking bleeding Watney's Red Barrel. They've all caught the £35 Ryanair flights to Ibiza.

The trendiest - and priciest - beach club is probably Nammos at Psarou Beach, where fresh seafood, caviar, dry-aged beef cuts and Dom Perignon are de rigueur, even if you don't arrive in your 200-foot private yacht or by helicopter. Serious dance-heads should head to Cavo Paradiso, which sits on a clifftop and has a swimming pool in the shape of the island. International DJs (whatever that means) pump out techno, deep-house and electro-trance music (whatever they are) before the rising sun reveals the island of Delos, the birthplace of Apollo.

The capital and main port of Mykonos Town - aka Chora, Hora or simply "Town" - is where you'll find all the stuff you've seen in the travel brochures. This is also where the bars and restaurants of Little Venice serve up calamares, cocktails and peerless sunsets.

Even if you're at the age when hip is more about replacement than cool, you can still be like Petros. Spread your wings and party on Mykonos.