The Shadows of the White Isle

Eivissa, Semana Santa 2023. 

 

I suppose it could be argued that a visit to Ibiza was a bit of a “tick in a box” exercise for us. We had it surrounded, after all. Between us, we had enjoyed the east coast of Spain from Barcelona in the North, through Costa Brava resorts, our beloved Valencia of course, and South to the Costa Blanca.

 

To the north and east, beyond Ibiza, we have cherished memories of honey-hued Mallorca, and fantastic family holidays in the pretty sandy coves of Menorca¹.

 

So, I guess there was some need to put that pin in the map, but let’s not reduce Ibiza to that. On this trip, we stayed in Ibiza town only (more properly known as Eivissa I suppose) and there was much to take in… ancient and modern, sweet and sour, delight and distaste. A genuinely thought-provoking and enriching experience.

 

All human life is here.

 

Following an uneventful flight, our taxi moved us easily through the newer part of Ibiza town, to our “no frills” accommodation².

 

Rightly or wrongly, I had divided Eivissa into half a dozen parts in my head before, during and after after our visit. Apologies if this doesn’t sit well with those who know the place better than I, but here they are:

 

The newer part of town:
I quote this first, as it’s where our taxi first landed us. Lots of roadworks getting ready for a busy season. Both commercial and residential. The area of the town that sits broadly to the north and west of the older areas.

 

The Port:
On the southern side of the port, quite smart shops, bars and restaurants line the quayside along Carrer Andanes. A few expensive yachts have arrived, and sit gently in the corner of the port overlooked by the Pacha shop and Mango. The western side is an unedifying strip of the usual suspects in the art of fast food regurgitation, and ticket offices for the countless ferries that move endlessly back and forth to Formentera. On the north side there is a casino and smart apartments and hotels that back onto Playa Talamanca. There are superyachts and Louis Vuitton. The open-air club Lio was being rigged for the season.

 

The Old Town at sea level:

A mostly attractive³ network of streets among old apartment buildings, sitting at the foot of the enormous bastion walls of Dalt Vila. Many shops, bars and restaurants good and bad. Clean, pretty streets good for idle wandering, that link nicely to the Carrer Andanes area mentioned above.

 

Dalt Vila (the lower bit):
Accessible by a number of steep routes, we first climbed up via the steps at the end of Carrer del Comte de Rosselló, emerging out of the dark of the fortification into bright sunlight, around the corner into Carrer de la Santa Creu, past the attractive but turistic restaurants and upwards to Plaça del Sol for a first view of the town from above.

 

Dalt Vila (the higher bit):

Another climb up ancient streets, and home to the cathedral and the delightful, ancient streets around it. Home to magnificent views of the town and beyond, in almost all directions.

 

Playa Figuretes:

At the time of our visit (less so when the season gets into full swing, I suspect) a relatively peaceful beach and seafront area. Attractive hotels, apartments and cafés surround the bay, and we had breakfast and walked back to town via Passeig ses Pitiüses and Carrer de Ramon Muntaner along the cliff top, emerging eventually via a tunnel onto the road above Plaça de la Reina Sofia.

 

Our first evening was spent in a nice Italian restaurant in Plaça del Parc. It was here that a particular cultural feature of Eivissa began to emerge. For any town or city to have almost endless Italian restaurants is not unusual, of course. But here, where the owner greeted many diners as old friends in Italian, it was clear there there were many native Italian speakers. We found that this cultural influence spread across the town. Many generic menus featured Italian choices where this might not be the case in other parts of Spain. There was mortadella on your pinchos. There were piadina choices alongside tacos. Italian was widely spoken, and there were many Italian visitors who made the vital distinction between macchiato and cortado.

Without making a conscious choice, we regularly found ourselves in a friendly daytime tasca in Plaça de la Constitució. I was reminded of Plaça de l’Espart in Valencia, and the unchallenged people-watching hub of the known universe that is Café Sant Jaume.

Here, it was the same. A few stalls in the slightly odd market sold fresh produce, jewellery and the ubiquitous Ibiza salt. High trees gave dappled shade. A middle aged guy regularly cycled in, dressed in mini skirt, fishnets and high boots. A broad hat that might have been chosen from a 1970s boutique by Farrah Fawcett-Majors⁴ protected his delicate complexion. A small dog called Banana that belonged to the tattoo place in the corner bimbled around the square with the small dog that belonged to the dress shop owner next door, “seeing off” larger dogs that passed, in the way small dogs do. The dress shop owner steamed her stock garments ceaselessly, and we speculated on how creased they might have got since she last hung them up, 8 minutes ago. Deliveries and tourists and scooters, barking and laughing, the chink of cups and cutlery. “Hola, buenas!” on repeat.

 But it was here (although by no means confined to here) that it became obvious that Eivissa has a problem with homelessness, extreme poverty and begging. I’ll concede that the relatively small population of the town at this pre-season time of year might make the problem appear more acute, but that doesn’t make it less of a concern. Sadly, you soon get to recognise the people you will encounter repeatedly, as most will ask you directly for money.

 

There is a group of men in early middle age who simply move from person to person asking for money. Among the apparently genuine cases, one guy always appears cleanly and neatly dressed, often in sports gear or denim. He asks for money while carrying a can of coke, and often smoking a cigarette or even a cigar. This apparent contradiction is not lost on the café owners and servers around the area, who almost universally reject him from their terraces.

 

One guy (again cleanly and neatly dressed) who stations himself outside Pull & Bear on the main shopping street, approaches passers-by and asks for money "to get a coffee", muttering barely coherent abuse when this is not forthcoming. 

 

There are several fairly young women who were apparently homeless and penniless. They often appear frustrated with their situation, and I suppose this could be interpreted by some as being aggressive. What they really are is extremely vulnerable.

 

One such woman, dressed every day in a filthy woolen sweater and tracksuit trousers, obsessively and repeatedly pressed the button on the water fountain outside the vintage shop in Plaça de la Constitució one day. As she alternately filled a small water bottle and washed her hands, her trousers were suddenly around her ankles. There was a tragic moment when it was clear that her personal dignity had long since departed, and her life was no more than a feral process of survival. She didn’t care about her trousers or her exposure. Survival didn’t depend on that, right at that moment.

 

If I gave 1€ to every one of these people, every time I was asked, I would perhaps be 70€ light at the end of a week’s visit. I could do it, and it wouldn’t trigger a personal financial crisis for me. But it wouldn’t solve the problem either.

 

It’s clear that I don’t know the back-story of any of these people, and I’m ashamed to say that I don’t know enough about the Spanish welfare system to offer any further thoughts about the situation, other than what I have observed.

 

"Seeking out the poorer quarters, where the ragged people go

Looking for the places only they would know".

 Paul Simon, The Boxer.

 

I suppose it’s relevant to describe some of our wanderings in Dalt Vila, for reasons that will become clear. From our first modest climb up to Dalt Vila (the lower bit) we had identified what looked like some attractive bars and restaurants high up on the other side of the great stone ramp that leads up to the Portal de ses Taules.

 

Our exploration led us through unkempt streets to the area above these bars and restaurants, at the end of Carrer de sa Pedrera. We walked down another ramp towards the sea, past a more modern structure with clear signs of rough sleeping and uphill again to reach the cliff top, and to look down on a small rocky beach strewn with fly-tipped debris.

 

Turning back towards town, I think down Carrer Alt, there were half-hearted signs of attempted renovation, but generally the area was in a poor state. No doubt the difficulties in transporting building materials up here is an issue, and this may render the area unattractive to anyone with money to invest. What was clear by the state of the filthy streets and the crumbling properties, was that neglect had set in around these parts. Paul Simon's words came to mind.

 

Small dogs roamed, but there were few signs of life otherwise. It was easy to imagine that this might be where the homeless population might find shelter after another desperate day. As we had lunch on another day at the end of Carrer de Manuel Sorià⁵, we had some confirmation of this. From a snicket close to the fire-damaged Peixeteria, they would emerge one by one from the long-forsaken area above.

Reflectively, we descended through ever-cleaner, more inhabited streets, and eventually found ourselves back in the Plaça del Sol. Having returned to the north side of Dalt Vila, this is when we first saw that there was a large fire that appeared to be very close to the town west of the port.

 

2 helicopters buzzed around, dropping water collected from a nearby reservoir. The smoke billowed, subsided, billowed again, looking very close to an industrial area… until eventally it subsided and the panic appeared to be over.

 

It later emerged that this was a fire in a cane field perilously close to the E-10 main road and an industrial area. Now, forgive me for what I’m about to point out, as it won’t be helpful or clever, but... are cane fields next to industrial and residential areas, and main roads, in a hot dry climate a town planning triumph? Just asking.

 

For a little seaside time, we took the easy walk down to Playa Figuretes one bright morning⁶. Down the steps in the sunshine to the beach-front walkway, and a nice café table for breakfast. 2 servers scurried around without achieving very much, on a terrace that was by no means full. Service was beach-side slow, but we were in no hurry.

Then El Jefe appeared, and all became clear. This was the kind of proprietario who clearly believed very strongly that it was all about him, which would explain why he hadn’t taken the time to train his staff. But this was all OK, because he was here now.

 

Having burst through the café doors onto the terrace with a flourish, he clapped loudly and observed cleverly (by looking at the tables) that “you have your coffee, good. You have your croissant, you have your tea, everything is fine now”. ALL AT VOLUME 11. Missing the point entirely, of course, that if he’d trained his staff, he could have stayed in bed. Then we wouldn’t have needed to put up with the attention-seeking twat.

 

We paid the man and moved on, along the attractive Passeig ses Pitiüses, past nice-looking restaurants and hotels, and up the steps to Carrer de Ramon Muntaner. From here, we took a cliff top path with stunning views looking south, carried on to a path through trees, and eventually found our way back to Plaça de la Reina Sofia, dwarfed by the ramparts once again.

 

We considered (and dismissed) the idea of a short ferry trip to Formentera (maybe next time) and instead explored how the other half live in Marina Ibiza. The glitz was getting a polish in the pre-season sunshine, the designer shops and costly boats awaiting their fragrant clientelle for another party season. We had coffee and gazed across the water at Dalt Vila, and the catherdral perched on top.

 

We enjoyed the excellent food that Eivissa has to offer (with perhaps a little nod to the Italians) and we shopped a little, explored a little more. We heard and glimpsed the Semana Santa parades in the steets nearby. We let them pass, having immersed ourselves so deeply in these celebrations in Malaga a year earlier.

There was one climb still to make. On our last full day, we took the short climb to the Plaça del Sol from the access close to the Plaça de la Reina Sofia, and pressed on from there past the iconic S’Escalinata bar on the steps.

 

The cathedral at the top of the world was our goal. The steep streets leading up to the cathedral are quaint and quiet. Lived-in and traditional, but neat and clean. Steps and slopes lead up past a convent, a small bar, beautiful old townhouses and cottages, lush gardens behind walls, a glimpse through a gate here and there. By other routes, there is road access that can get a vehicle fairly close the the top, serving the needs of the church and the residents.

The last street took us up the last gradient to Plaça de la Catedral. It’s a shady, ancient street, along which you can picture the trudge of pilgrims and imagine the sound of hooves echoing from the honey-coloured walls. An elderly couple left a house and came down the street towards us. Both in traditional dress (although the lady had amusingly succumbed to the ubiquitous cowboy boots as her footwear of choice) they made their way down the street in a small medieval re-enactment of their own.

The cathedral appears hewn out of solid rock, and built by honest labour rather than an artisan hand. But the views from up there… these were views to rival those from Castell de Bellver in Palma. The whole town spread before us, the wooded hills beyond, sparkling white villas dotting the slopes. Your eyes can follow the ferries out of the port and over to Formentera. As ever, iPhone photos can never do it justice.

Climbing to the highest point, past the walls of the cathedral, you can take a view to the east and south, and turn a little to the west, beyond the airport, towards Valencia.

 

It’s so worth the climb. On the way down, we realized that the elderly couple we had seen were the owners of the singular shop on that shady medieval street. Photos of them from years gone by were endearingly displayed outside, and the shop had mercifully retained an authentic feel, despite its apparent monopoly on this lofty perch.

We sauntered back down and enjoyed the warm streets once again. There was washing hung to dry, small dogs milling around (obvs) and families going about their day. Normal living in the ancient town… no museum this.

Enjoying a final lunch the next day in Plaça de la Constitució, we mused over the enjoyable and enlightening experience that we’d had. Eivissa has more dimensions than I had expected. It’s impressively diverse in its people, cultures, food and in all that it has to offer. We’d readily go back for more.

 

And so to the Valencia apartment. We’ve had tenants in since January 2023, meaning that (and I never want to type this again) we missed Fallas. AGAIN. I keep hearing how amazing it was, with record crowds and great weather. This isn’t helping.

 

Fallas 2024 will be the best ever. Before that, we’ll reconnect with the place after the tenants leave in mid-June, enjoy a long summer holiday there, perhaps give it a lick of paint when the weather cools, and see what’s around the corner.

 

Our taxi to the airport took us past a blackened cane field, and delivered us into the care of our budget airline. Back home to North Yorkshire for a while.

 

Thanks Ibiza, for now.

 

 

¹In typing this couple of short paragraphs, I realise how lucky we are.

 

²A large apartment nicely converted into a “guest house” with zero frills, but clean and comfortable, within walking distance of everything. Accommodation (and many other things) are not cheap in Ibiza, but this did the trick.

 

³If there’s a disappointing part of the Old Town at sea level, it might be the Vara de Rey, and the adjoining Plaça del Parc. I’ll give the Vara de Rey the benefit of the doubt and say it wasn’t yet ready for the season. There are smart apartment buildings and restaurants along this wide avenue, but little life in early April.

 

Plaça del Parc, however, needs some TLC. There are a few nice restaurants on one side, along with the ubiquitous Natura. There is a strip of bars facing those, bringing to mind a similar strip in Plaza de la Merced, Malaga. Some OK, some not OK. But at each end, ugly derelict buildings will not be renovated in time for the season. Or possibly the season after.

 

⁴If you don’t remember Farrah Fawcett-Majors, please Google. You’ll get what I mean.

 

⁵The tiny Argentinian waitress at this bar would put down your cañas and sing the word “Salud!” to you at the same time. Best one-word song ever.

 

⁶In actual fact, all the mornings were bright. The temperature went up a degree or two every day. Summer around the corner. It's a delightful time of year.