Ibiza is an island of pines, rocky cliffs, secluded bays and blue waters, in the Balearic Sea off the eastern coast of Spain. We travelled there in early December, with no preconceived notions, just a house rental that seemed to suit our style (low key, high quality) and the desire for warmth, beauty and further explorations of Southern Europe.
There was much to like about Ibiza. It was the offseason and we transversed the island in a car in less than half an hour upon arrival. The house was just outside the town of Sant Miquel, on the north side of the island, built into a wooded hillside with a large terraced garden of citrus, cactus and rosemary. There were a few markets on the island to provision our gracious kitchen, and for a little while we were able to make a temporary home.
Ibiza is perhaps best known for its beach scene and late night raves and jet set meets hippy meets discotheque culture of drugs, electronic music, nudism and pseudo mysticism. But we were there in the winter and things were quiet. Many of the bars, restaurants, clubs and shops were shuttered. We heard more Catalan and Spanish spoken than English. And we were told that the island is in the midst of a transition toward becoming more family friendly and a destination for healing and health.
Because of its crucial location in the Mediterranean, the island has had a history of development and domination all the way back to the Phoenicians and Romans and Moors. Yet from fresh eyes, its people, the Ibicencos, seem somehow fiercely independent. Their flat roofed buildings are made of stone and white washed with limestone paint made from island minerals. The fields and hillsides and gardens are terraced with dry stacked stone walls, often capped with a swath of cement or lime wash, sometimes with a channel that allows irrigation water to flow. Olive trees are ubiquitous, often ancient and gnarled with hollow trunks and elephant like bark and the orange and lemon trees are full of fruit and in every garden and farm and backyard. From a botanical perspective, the island seems as if the gods may have grabbed a chunk off of southern Provence and plunked it down in these sapphire and turquoise waters.
Hiking the dramatic hillsides of Ibiza, with sea and sky, is a blast.
A basic search for things to do on the island led us to a local group called Walking Ibiza that organizes thrice weekly walking tours. We showed up at the church in Sant Joan on a crisp Friday morning along with 20 other people. The hike had been advertised as a four hour loop to and from the town of Sant Vincent. Our guide, Simon, an Englishman who spent many childhood years on Ibiza, couldn’t have been nicer or a more natural born tour guide. He led us up and down gravel roads and mountain trails, sharing insights about history and architecture and geography without missing beat. The hike was medium paced over rigorous terrain and allowed for lots of social interaction. There were people of all ages and a few dogs and the December day warmed up to nearly t-shirt weather. The only restaurant in the town of Sant Vincent was closed for the holiday so we sat by the white walls of the humbly elegant church and ate our bagged lunches. That first walk lasted five and a half hours and covered 16 kilometers.
We subsequently went on two more Walking Ibiza events, happily contributing our 10 euro suggested donations each time. There was much to look forward to as the walks provided such a nice window in to the world, with good people from many different countries and at an easy natural speed, developing a familiarity with the island, not from a car or a guidebook but from locals, moving between small towns, beaches, and vista points on roads and trails whose histories go back many centuries.
There is a rugged Big Sur feeling to Ibiza, a fresh coastal air, sunshine and lots of inclines perfect for walking or cycling. The Walking Ibiza tours are as much about exercise and socializing as providing insights on how the islands have managed water, irrigated terraced fields, constructed wells and waterwheels, used masonry beehives for pollination and honey, built dwellings, dealt with drought and fire and invasions of pirates, and cope with all the pressures of present day life.
Inside fire pit on a winter day with great art at Bar Costa.
We discovered many reasons to return. The town of Sant Carles de Peralta, with its charming restaurants and classic Bar Anita, where war dodging hippies collected their mail and used one of the north island’s only phone booths. The Bar La Costa in Sant Gertrudis de Fruitera with its amazing collection of portrait paintings and bohemian atmosphere. Though the food is modest panini fare it’s worth every minute you stay there gawking at the artwork. Sant Gertrudis also has a wine shop brilliantly named Som with an impressive selection of bottles form small Spanish producers and helpful owners and nightly tasting activities. I am determined to learn about Spanish wines but I have to admit, it seems extremely complex, even for someone like me who’s quiet mantra is “eat like a bird, drink like a fish.” Unfortunately there’s been a little too much eating like Big Bird in addition to fishlike intaking of late.
