In the musical Grey Gardens, Little Edie has a melancholy ballad about life in the Hamptons after all the tourists leave. “Because its winter,” she mournfully sings, “in a summer town.” Even more than the Hamptons, Ibiza, on the island of the same name just off Spain’s northeast coast, is a summer town. In July and August, tens of thousands of tourists, most of them young and very wealthy, descend on this island. It becomes a club scene bacchanal, with all night dances fueled by Veuve Clicquot and cocaine. That was not the Ibiza we saw today. It may not be winter in this summer town, but it definitely was not summer. The Ibiza that John and I visited was almost as dull as Kennebunkport.
But first, it may help to get a picture of what the island and the town look like. This whole part of Spain eerily resembles Southern California. Looking at the photo below, if I had not told you that it was here in Ibiza, you probably would have thought this this hillside of homes was somewhere in Orange County.
And this house could easily have been in Malibu.
The only thing that would have made you certain that you were not looking at some place in California was the enormous medieval fortress and cathedral overlooking the old town.
John and I had our heart set on visiting that castle. But the cab driver who picked us up at the cruise terminal crushed that idea. “No se permite entrar con auto. Hay una rampa…pero muy epinada” – “very steep.” He looked John’s wheelchair and he looked at me. “Aunque tuvieras veinte años,” he observed. “Even if you were twenty you couldn’t do it.” Ouch.
He suggested we spend our time in the old port district instead. It was good advice. The section of the Ibiza at the base of the tower is a largely nineteenth century neighborhood. The houses are painted either white or lovely pastel colors. The ground floors house cafes and shops. All the shops sell expensive clothes, housewares, and gifts. Almost all the merchandise seems aimed as an affluent female shopper. John and I barely lasted 30 seconds in any of them.
There was some kind of festival going on this weekend. It included a half marathon. I think that will take place tomorrow, and they were getting ready for it today. I did not have the courage to snap the photograph of the race official standing around smoking a cigarette. But that’s Spain for you! As part of the festivities, they had a rock band playing in one of the open squares. It appeared to be a quite well-known group, A large crowd gathered, and they knew all the words to all the songs and often sang along. There was almost a mosh pit scene going on before the stage so John could not get a good picture of the group close up.
I think the names on the backs of these shirts were actually the names of band members, but I did not ask. Speaking of backs, John snaps this shot of these rocks star derrières.
While they played, John and I nabbed a front row table at a nearby café where we had a very traditional tapas board and a couple of mineral waters.
When the concert was over, we were just about finished with our food. We wandered a bit more around the old port area, and then we crossed the street into the new town. Most of Ibiza looks like it was built in the sixties and seventies. There appears to be some kind of height limit of six or seven stories, and almost every building is exactly this tall. For a city with a reputation for style and glamor, the central section is depressingly drab and institutional. There were many shops and offices on the ground floors of the buildings, but on a Saturday afternoon only a couple ferry services were open.
We went back to the ship. John napped, while I started work on my photos. We pulled out just after nine. But right before we did, we were treated too this sunset from our stateroom balcony.
Tomorrow we are in Barcelona.
Traveling Johns 