Most interesting in this book was the description of how Ibiza started out as an isolated refuge for scruffy artistic types, who never made it back to mainland Europe and stayed around, soon dragging some equally scruffy children behind them. Then the imitators came, staying for a short while and pretending they were artistic types. Some of those started trendy bars and discotheques, which attracted main stream tourism.
Our protagonist finds himself in a weird male fantasy. Not only does he have two girl friends living with him, he even beds plenty of other women on the side and openly discusses that with the loves of his life. Who never get angry or jealous, throughout the book. That's part of the reason why this novel hasn't got any tension. Stuff just happens, it's never really spectacular, and there is no conflict of interests. Maybe that's island life for you, I wouldn't know.
You might try reading this book as an erotic novel, but for that purpose it just hasn't got enough sex in it. Although our portagonist's situation is pretty blessed, his "adventures on Ibiza" are way too much like real life. There is a lot of talking and drinking coffee and meeting people and chatting and going to discotheques and dancing and making new dates. But only occasionally does sex result from it. As in reality, you work hard for it and put a lot of time and effort into socializing, but you only get to take a girl home once every so many weeks.
Returning to the book, it falls a bit short on all fronts. I enjoyed reading it as a curiousity, but really, hardly anything happens in it that could make the story interesting.