Drugs are central to a large part of Ibiza’s economy. The island is wholly dependent on tourism and what sets it apart from other Mediterranean destinations are the clubs.
I know that the island is one of the most beautiful places on earth, but that’s a subjective view. Places such as Pacha, Space, Amnesia, El Divino and Privilege are what draw the holidaymakers. Not everybody comes to Ibiza to dance, but enough do to make the difference between wealth and poverty for the people who own the island.
Anything which drove the clubbers away from Ibiza would have a disastrous impact. As a result many people believe that there’s a conspiracy involving club owners and the police which leads to them turning a blind eye to drugs. I’m not so sure.
I have seen the heavy handed way the Guardia Civil - the national police set up originally by the dictator Franco – set up road blocks to search people and their cars. Outside DC10 or Space it’s not uncommon to see clubbers being searched in intimate ways that would have civil liberties groups up in arms in other countries. Both sexes are liable to find rough hands inside their underwear as they look for contraband. Those that are caught face hefty sentences. Jail in Ibiza is not paradise.
The problem is that drugs are so ingrained in the tourist culture that it would require a real police state to eradicate it. I tend to think the solution would be worse than the problem.
As far as I know there have been no deaths directly from ecstasy, cannabis or cocaine consumption on the island. Indirectly, of course, they may have been factors in the unacceptably high number of road accidents on the island. But alcohol was far more likely to have been to blame.
Equally, people who are high on drugs are much less likely to be violent than those who are drunk. Turf wars between dealers are a threat to Ibiza’s general tranquillity. There was one highly-publicised shoot-out between gangs in San Antonio earlier in the summer, but, despite hysterical warnings in the British press, this has been an isolated incident. If it turns out to be more than that I’ll revise my opinions.
I cannot see a way of removing drugs from Ibiza without doing a lot more harm than good. In theory I’d be in favour of legalisation to take the trade out of the hands of criminals. I’m just not totally sure about how well the state would manage it.
Friday, August 25, 2006
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Drugs in Ibiza – a personal view
To start with let me say I’m neither condemning nor condoning the taking of drugs. I’d just like to offer my take on it as somebody who lives and works in Ibiza.
First let’s look at what attracts holidaymakers to Ibiza. For many, perhaps most, it is a familiar Mediterranean destination. They stay in villas, hotels and apartments in holiday resorts such as Cala Llonga, Es Canar and Santa Eulalia which cater mostly for British and German families. There’s little sign of drugs in these quiet resorts.
But, what makes Ibiza different from anywhere else in the world is the music scene. Clubs such as Pacha, Space, DC10, Es Paradis, Eden and Amnesia attract less child-oriented crowd. Mostly they’re young, under 30, many are gay, others are straight, but the common thread is we don’t have the responsibility of children.
Being over 50, the age thing is important to me. If I was in Britain I wouldn’t be going to clubs. Here in Ibiza dance music is open to anybody. Nobody bats an eyelid about me being on the dance floor, but that certainly was not the case in the UK on the couple of occasions I went clubbing.
So, I can’t really comment on the British club scene. I can only imagine that ecstasy plays an important part. Most types of music have their related drug, whether it’s LSD with prog rock, marijuana with reggae or speed with punk. Okay, not every member of the audience partakes, but a fair number do.
Certainly clubbers here pop a lot of pills, but maybe proportionately no more than do in British clubs, it’s just that on any night in the summer perhaps 15,000 people are in Ibiza’s discos and music bars. What I’m saying is that if you drug-tested that number of people in British, German or Italian clubs I don’t know if you’d find more had taken cocaine, ecstasy or ketamine or not.
To start with let me say I’m neither condemning nor condoning the taking of drugs. I’d just like to offer my take on it as somebody who lives and works in Ibiza.
First let’s look at what attracts holidaymakers to Ibiza. For many, perhaps most, it is a familiar Mediterranean destination. They stay in villas, hotels and apartments in holiday resorts such as Cala Llonga, Es Canar and Santa Eulalia which cater mostly for British and German families. There’s little sign of drugs in these quiet resorts.
But, what makes Ibiza different from anywhere else in the world is the music scene. Clubs such as Pacha, Space, DC10, Es Paradis, Eden and Amnesia attract less child-oriented crowd. Mostly they’re young, under 30, many are gay, others are straight, but the common thread is we don’t have the responsibility of children.
Being over 50, the age thing is important to me. If I was in Britain I wouldn’t be going to clubs. Here in Ibiza dance music is open to anybody. Nobody bats an eyelid about me being on the dance floor, but that certainly was not the case in the UK on the couple of occasions I went clubbing.
So, I can’t really comment on the British club scene. I can only imagine that ecstasy plays an important part. Most types of music have their related drug, whether it’s LSD with prog rock, marijuana with reggae or speed with punk. Okay, not every member of the audience partakes, but a fair number do.
Certainly clubbers here pop a lot of pills, but maybe proportionately no more than do in British clubs, it’s just that on any night in the summer perhaps 15,000 people are in Ibiza’s discos and music bars. What I’m saying is that if you drug-tested that number of people in British, German or Italian clubs I don’t know if you’d find more had taken cocaine, ecstasy or ketamine or not.
Either way, it does mean there’s an enormous recreational drug market in Ibiza. Rumour always has it that dealing has either kept a number of businesses going or financed them in the first place. It’s very hard to prove, anyway, because so much of the tourist business runs on cash and, certainly, not every cent is declared to the Spanish tax authorities.
Drugs are definitely easy to buy on Ibiza. Ask around the pre-clubbing bars and you’ll soon find somebody to sort you out. Again, that could well be the same in UK towns and cities, but, as I said earlier, age is more of a factor there. A 51-year-old such as me just wouldn’t knowingly come into contact with dealers.
The other big difference compared with the UK is that Ibiza is a holiday destination. The tourists enjoying themselves in villas, apartments and hotels are transient. In their home towns they’d probably get to know dealers over months of going to the same pubs and clubs. There simply isn’t time to develop those relationships on this Spanish island.
In short: A lot of drugs are consumed here and their sale plays an important place in the island’s economy. Is that a problem? If so, what should be done about it?
I’ll look at that next.
First let’s look at what attracts holidaymakers to Ibiza. For many, perhaps most, it is a familiar Mediterranean destination. They stay in villas, hotels and apartments in holiday resorts such as Cala Llonga, Es Canar and Santa Eulalia which cater mostly for British and German families. There’s little sign of drugs in these quiet resorts.
But, what makes Ibiza different from anywhere else in the world is the music scene. Clubs such as Pacha, Space, DC10, Es Paradis, Eden and Amnesia attract less child-oriented crowd. Mostly they’re young, under 30, many are gay, others are straight, but the common thread is we don’t have the responsibility of children.
Being over 50, the age thing is important to me. If I was in Britain I wouldn’t be going to clubs. Here in Ibiza dance music is open to anybody. Nobody bats an eyelid about me being on the dance floor, but that certainly was not the case in the UK on the couple of occasions I went clubbing.
So, I can’t really comment on the British club scene. I can only imagine that ecstasy plays an important part. Most types of music have their related drug, whether it’s LSD with prog rock, marijuana with reggae or speed with punk. Okay, not every member of the audience partakes, but a fair number do.
Certainly clubbers here pop a lot of pills, but maybe proportionately no more than do in British clubs, it’s just that on any night in the summer perhaps 15,000 people are in Ibiza’s discos and music bars. What I’m saying is that if you drug-tested that number of people in British, German or Italian clubs I don’t know if you’d find more had taken cocaine, ecstasy or ketamine or not.
To start with let me say I’m neither condemning nor condoning the taking of drugs. I’d just like to offer my take on it as somebody who lives and works in Ibiza.
First let’s look at what attracts holidaymakers to Ibiza. For many, perhaps most, it is a familiar Mediterranean destination. They stay in villas, hotels and apartments in holiday resorts such as Cala Llonga, Es Canar and Santa Eulalia which cater mostly for British and German families. There’s little sign of drugs in these quiet resorts.
But, what makes Ibiza different from anywhere else in the world is the music scene. Clubs such as Pacha, Space, DC10, Es Paradis, Eden and Amnesia attract less child-oriented crowd. Mostly they’re young, under 30, many are gay, others are straight, but the common thread is we don’t have the responsibility of children.
Being over 50, the age thing is important to me. If I was in Britain I wouldn’t be going to clubs. Here in Ibiza dance music is open to anybody. Nobody bats an eyelid about me being on the dance floor, but that certainly was not the case in the UK on the couple of occasions I went clubbing.
So, I can’t really comment on the British club scene. I can only imagine that ecstasy plays an important part. Most types of music have their related drug, whether it’s LSD with prog rock, marijuana with reggae or speed with punk. Okay, not every member of the audience partakes, but a fair number do.
Certainly clubbers here pop a lot of pills, but maybe proportionately no more than do in British clubs, it’s just that on any night in the summer perhaps 15,000 people are in Ibiza’s discos and music bars. What I’m saying is that if you drug-tested that number of people in British, German or Italian clubs I don’t know if you’d find more had taken cocaine, ecstasy or ketamine or not.
Either way, it does mean there’s an enormous recreational drug market in Ibiza. Rumour always has it that dealing has either kept a number of businesses going or financed them in the first place. It’s very hard to prove, anyway, because so much of the tourist business runs on cash and, certainly, not every cent is declared to the Spanish tax authorities.
Drugs are definitely easy to buy on Ibiza. Ask around the pre-clubbing bars and you’ll soon find somebody to sort you out. Again, that could well be the same in UK towns and cities, but, as I said earlier, age is more of a factor there. A 51-year-old such as me just wouldn’t knowingly come into contact with dealers.
The other big difference compared with the UK is that Ibiza is a holiday destination. The tourists enjoying themselves in villas, apartments and hotels are transient. In their home towns they’d probably get to know dealers over months of going to the same pubs and clubs. There simply isn’t time to develop those relationships on this Spanish island.
In short: A lot of drugs are consumed here and their sale plays an important place in the island’s economy. Is that a problem? If so, what should be done about it?
I’ll look at that next.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Stealing for a living
Okay, I know I was going to talk about drugs today, but instead another negative Guardian article about living in Spain caught my eye: Crimewave may mean the party is over for Ibiza. This time the problem is house break-ins.
This has happened to a number of friends of mine who have isolated villas. In fact one of them says he has had enough and he’s going to sell up and buy a couple of apartments instead. I should say that robbery is not the only problem he’s had, but renting out his house is the way he makes his living. It’s a beautiful place so moving on is a big step for him.
Sometimes, although you don’t condone the break-ins, you can understand why they happen. Many big houses are unoccupied for all but a few weeks each year and they’re filled with easy-to-sell bits and pieces. Their owners seek seclusion which gives the thieves plenty of time to go about their business.
Burglaries seem to peak at the beginning and end of the season. The reason is: summer jobs are allocated on a first-come, first-served basis, but people who arrive in April or May can be without any real income until the middle of June. Then the season sort of peters out in September or October, but, workers are seldom given much notice of when their jobs are going to end. So, robbery is a way to make ends meet or to provide cash to get home.
The Guardian article quotes a hotel-keeper who blames drug dealers for causing the problem. My initial thoughts were unprintable, but thinking about it he may be right. Dealers rely on holidaymakers as much as anybody else for their income. So, they also have to make a living when there aren’t tourists around.
Maybe drugs are the root problem. I will put some of my thoughts on the subject into writing tomorrow. Really.
This has happened to a number of friends of mine who have isolated villas. In fact one of them says he has had enough and he’s going to sell up and buy a couple of apartments instead. I should say that robbery is not the only problem he’s had, but renting out his house is the way he makes his living. It’s a beautiful place so moving on is a big step for him.
Sometimes, although you don’t condone the break-ins, you can understand why they happen. Many big houses are unoccupied for all but a few weeks each year and they’re filled with easy-to-sell bits and pieces. Their owners seek seclusion which gives the thieves plenty of time to go about their business.
Burglaries seem to peak at the beginning and end of the season. The reason is: summer jobs are allocated on a first-come, first-served basis, but people who arrive in April or May can be without any real income until the middle of June. Then the season sort of peters out in September or October, but, workers are seldom given much notice of when their jobs are going to end. So, robbery is a way to make ends meet or to provide cash to get home.
The Guardian article quotes a hotel-keeper who blames drug dealers for causing the problem. My initial thoughts were unprintable, but thinking about it he may be right. Dealers rely on holidaymakers as much as anybody else for their income. So, they also have to make a living when there aren’t tourists around.
Maybe drugs are the root problem. I will put some of my thoughts on the subject into writing tomorrow. Really.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
UK media in guns and drugs frenzy
Ever since I posted that last article about the shoot out in San Antonio I’ve been thinking about the impact of drugs on Ibiza. I’ve also been looking at the media coverage given to the island this summer for an article to appear in Pacha magazine, although I wasn’t able to go into detail about the drugs issue.
(Focusing on the positive coverage such as this one from the New York Times wasn’t a matter of cowardice. Articles about the drugs scene can so easily be overtaken by events that I didn’t want to write something that would be out of date by the time the magazine appears.)
Anyway, this Sunday Mirror article is typical of the ones that have appeared since the shooting. It’s not factually inaccurate, but I don’t think it’s exactly true either.
Having worked for too many years in newspapers I’m pretty sure that what happened was that the original story about the shooting was sufficiently interesting for the news editor to send a reporter over to Ibiza for a few days. That meant he had to come back with something to justify the cost of sending a journalist over.
He couldn’t say, even if he thought it was true: “It seems to have been a one-off event and it’s been dealt with by the police.” If he tried that he certainly wouldn’t be top of the list next time an expenses paid trip to the sun came up. He might even lose his job completely.
Instead he comes up with:
Every story has had some variation on this unnamed source working with the police. There’s no hard evidence of any follow up and I’m inclined to think there won’t be. It is, however, in the interests of journalists and the police to suggest there is a real threat. Both want more resources and this is one way to get it.
In my next post I’ll give you my take on the Ibiza drug scene. Meanwhile even a supposedly serious newspaper has got carried away with itself...
(Focusing on the positive coverage such as this one from the New York Times wasn’t a matter of cowardice. Articles about the drugs scene can so easily be overtaken by events that I didn’t want to write something that would be out of date by the time the magazine appears.)
Anyway, this Sunday Mirror article is typical of the ones that have appeared since the shooting. It’s not factually inaccurate, but I don’t think it’s exactly true either.
Having worked for too many years in newspapers I’m pretty sure that what happened was that the original story about the shooting was sufficiently interesting for the news editor to send a reporter over to Ibiza for a few days. That meant he had to come back with something to justify the cost of sending a journalist over.
He couldn’t say, even if he thought it was true: “It seems to have been a one-off event and it’s been dealt with by the police.” If he tried that he certainly wouldn’t be top of the list next time an expenses paid trip to the sun came up. He might even lose his job completely.
Instead he comes up with:
An insider helping police with their investigation said: "There's a lot of bad blood over what's happened. There's talk of hired hands and relatives flying in to Ibiza hell-bent on revenge."
Every story has had some variation on this unnamed source working with the police. There’s no hard evidence of any follow up and I’m inclined to think there won’t be. It is, however, in the interests of journalists and the police to suggest there is a real threat. Both want more resources and this is one way to get it.
In my next post I’ll give you my take on the Ibiza drug scene. Meanwhile even a supposedly serious newspaper has got carried away with itself...
Gang violence erupts as rave craze returns
With the rebirth of dance culture, hard drugs are openly for sale on the streets of Ibiza. Tonight, 40,000 ecstasy tablets will be bought on the island. Now the brutality that underpins the trade is boiling over, and the party paradise is turning into a nightmare world of contract killings
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Shoot-out in Ibiza
Everybody knows “recreational” drugs form an important part of Ibiza’s economy. Without Ecstasy the whole dance music scene would never have happened. But then neither would the hippy and prog-rock scene have occurred without cannabis and LSD.
But despite the large amounts of money being made by dealers so far there has been little real violence. So it was a shock to hear about the shoot-out in San Antonio yesterday. What seems to have happened is that one group of English gangsters opened fire on another gang in a British-registered BMW.
Hopefully this was a one-off event, the same as the fatal shooting of a Madrid “used-car dealer” last summer. Apparently nobody involved had anything to do with the island.
Here’s how Google translates the story from the local paper El Diario de Ibiza:
Three hurt in Sant Antoni in a shooting between English bands by the control of the drug trafficking
Two people were stopped by a pair of the Local Police in the place of the facts, whereas the Civil Guard has arrested other six suspects in different points from the island. The delinquents carried out between 20 and 30 firings
Three wounded, two of them of gravity, and eight stopped is the provisional balance of a shooting that happened at dawn of yesterday in the avenue Doctor Fleming de Sant Antoni.
The most reasonable hypothesis whereupon works the Civil Guard is that the incident is an adjustment of accounts between two bands of British delinquents who try to control the drug trafficking in Eivissa during the high season. The arrests took place in several municipalities of the Pitiüses and, according to official sources, it does not discard that the number of prisoners increases in the next hours.
The facts happened on the one of the dawn of yesterday. According to the Local Police, to the height of number 5 of the avenue Doctor Fleming, a vehicle that circulated in direction towards the crossing with the avenue of Portmany (a Seat white Leon) was placed in parallel to another one (a BMW X5 of black color and British matriculation).
The first vehicle they left the first firings, to which they responded from the other car. A shooting began therefore in which, at least, they took place between 20 and 30 firings.
According to police sources, the attacked vehicle presented/displayed between eight and ten impacts of bullet. In the facade of the Soft Clinic and a store of souvenirs, as opposed to which it happened everything, two and five shots could be appreciated, respectively.
To the few minutes of the shooting personaba a pair of the Local Police of countryman who was serving by the West End and who was alerted by passers-by. According to the councilman of Interior, Joan Pantaleoni explained, “the agents arrived when already he was being taken care of the wounded.
Thanks to the description of several witnesses were come to the halting of two people who could be implied, although this end must be confirmed in the investigation”. Another one of the presumed gunmen fled at least with the Seat Leon, a vehicle that was later found in the municipality of Sant Josep, in the neighborhoods of Sant Jordi.
Agents of the Civil Guard reviewed yesterday the camera of security of the Local Police located in the avenue Doctor Fleming to verify if she caught the moment of the aggression or recorded both to some of vehicles. Also members of the Meritorious one were in charge yesterday to review all the dustbins of the zone, as well as the bottom of the zone of beach nearer the place of the event.
They looked for the arms with which the firings were made, something that had not obtained to average behind schedule of yesterday, according to explained the insular director of the State, Jose Manuel Bar.
Adjustment of accounts
The most reasonable hypothesis with the one than works the Civil Guard is that “it is a litigation related to the world of the drug between two bands of British delinquents”, explained Bar. “Reason why we know, they did not have a residence rooted in Eivissa and its stay is transitory. This is important because we are not speaking in question of Mafias established in the island, something that we are not arranged to tolerate and against which we will act with the greater forcefulness”.
“Rather we would be speaking of two bands of delinquents who have come here to take advantage of that in summer there is more business with the drug trafficking and have had east confrontation by the control from the market”, added.
Bar wanted to emphasize that “although it has taken place in Sant Antoni, could have happened in any other point of the island”.
“It gave the chance of which they were there, since it could have happened in any other site”, stressed.
That the ochos practiced haltings (two at he himself moment of the aggression and other six during the following hours) have happened in different municipalities from the island would reinforce this theory, explained Bar.
But despite the large amounts of money being made by dealers so far there has been little real violence. So it was a shock to hear about the shoot-out in San Antonio yesterday. What seems to have happened is that one group of English gangsters opened fire on another gang in a British-registered BMW.
Hopefully this was a one-off event, the same as the fatal shooting of a Madrid “used-car dealer” last summer. Apparently nobody involved had anything to do with the island.
Here’s how Google translates the story from the local paper El Diario de Ibiza:
Three hurt in Sant Antoni in a shooting between English bands by the control of the drug trafficking
Two people were stopped by a pair of the Local Police in the place of the facts, whereas the Civil Guard has arrested other six suspects in different points from the island. The delinquents carried out between 20 and 30 firings
Three wounded, two of them of gravity, and eight stopped is the provisional balance of a shooting that happened at dawn of yesterday in the avenue Doctor Fleming de Sant Antoni.
The most reasonable hypothesis whereupon works the Civil Guard is that the incident is an adjustment of accounts between two bands of British delinquents who try to control the drug trafficking in Eivissa during the high season. The arrests took place in several municipalities of the Pitiüses and, according to official sources, it does not discard that the number of prisoners increases in the next hours.
The facts happened on the one of the dawn of yesterday. According to the Local Police, to the height of number 5 of the avenue Doctor Fleming, a vehicle that circulated in direction towards the crossing with the avenue of Portmany (a Seat white Leon) was placed in parallel to another one (a BMW X5 of black color and British matriculation).
The first vehicle they left the first firings, to which they responded from the other car. A shooting began therefore in which, at least, they took place between 20 and 30 firings.
According to police sources, the attacked vehicle presented/displayed between eight and ten impacts of bullet. In the facade of the Soft Clinic and a store of souvenirs, as opposed to which it happened everything, two and five shots could be appreciated, respectively.
To the few minutes of the shooting personaba a pair of the Local Police of countryman who was serving by the West End and who was alerted by passers-by. According to the councilman of Interior, Joan Pantaleoni explained, “the agents arrived when already he was being taken care of the wounded.
Thanks to the description of several witnesses were come to the halting of two people who could be implied, although this end must be confirmed in the investigation”. Another one of the presumed gunmen fled at least with the Seat Leon, a vehicle that was later found in the municipality of Sant Josep, in the neighborhoods of Sant Jordi.
Agents of the Civil Guard reviewed yesterday the camera of security of the Local Police located in the avenue Doctor Fleming to verify if she caught the moment of the aggression or recorded both to some of vehicles. Also members of the Meritorious one were in charge yesterday to review all the dustbins of the zone, as well as the bottom of the zone of beach nearer the place of the event.
They looked for the arms with which the firings were made, something that had not obtained to average behind schedule of yesterday, according to explained the insular director of the State, Jose Manuel Bar.
Adjustment of accounts
The most reasonable hypothesis with the one than works the Civil Guard is that “it is a litigation related to the world of the drug between two bands of British delinquents”, explained Bar. “Reason why we know, they did not have a residence rooted in Eivissa and its stay is transitory. This is important because we are not speaking in question of Mafias established in the island, something that we are not arranged to tolerate and against which we will act with the greater forcefulness”.
“Rather we would be speaking of two bands of delinquents who have come here to take advantage of that in summer there is more business with the drug trafficking and have had east confrontation by the control from the market”, added.
Bar wanted to emphasize that “although it has taken place in Sant Antoni, could have happened in any other point of the island”.
“It gave the chance of which they were there, since it could have happened in any other site”, stressed.
That the ochos practiced haltings (two at he himself moment of the aggression and other six during the following hours) have happened in different municipalities from the island would reinforce this theory, explained Bar.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Health bar that was ill-prepared for Ibiza
My Guardian column for June.
Scientists often use fruit flies in experiments because of their simple structure and rapid life cycle. Small businesses in Ibiza could probably perform the same function for economists. Hundreds of new bars, shops and restaurants appear at the start of each summer, most hoping to make enough to survive from a tourist season that lasts perhaps three months. Few will survive their first winter.
Sometimes the reasons for failure are so obvious that it makes you want to scream: "Stop throwing your money away. Lie on the beach, get drunk, squander your cash, but please stop putting so much energy into wasting it."
Even people you'd think would know better make elementary mistakes. I watched one couple blow a substantial nest egg they'd accumulated from previous business ventures trying to run an up-market Indian restaurant. Unfortunately they'd located it in a strip of cheap bars, neon-lit fast-food joints and tacky souvenir shops.
Their problem was a common one. Almost every business here has to either stand out from a host of similar competitors within walking distance, or entice punters out to the sticks.
Earlier this summer I went to a bar that, despite being out of the way, seemed to have a winning proposition. Oxy, I read in a local magazine, had an oxygen bar, alcohol-free natural energy cocktails and music through until 4am.
The combination might sound a little healthy for Ibiza, but despite the island's hedonistic reputation, you can't move for yoga centres, spas and holistic health practitioners. The absence of alcohol also means there's no need for a designated driver.
Three of us arrived a little after midnight one Friday. In the late-night life of Ibiza this is generally peak-time for bars, between eating and going to a club. Of course, not every bar can be full at the same time and there's often a strange unwritten timetable that seems to ensure that crowds will appear at a particular spot at 3am for no obvious reason.
That might have been the case with Oxy, but it seemed unlikely. The only people there were us, the barman and the DJ behind the expensive-looking decks. There was no sign of recently departed customers, nor of the famous oxygen bar. Only a British sense of politeness stopped me dragging the others back to the car in search of somewhere with signs of life.
But I've seen worse places. The bar was decorated with a variety of pieces that were probably found on skips or bought second-hand - the sort of shabby chic that can work if done well or if the bar's busy. This failed on both counts.
I actually felt too embarrassed to start talking to the barman. Something had obviously gone horribly wrong with the business plan and I really didn't want to rub his nose in it. Instead, my wife, Barbara, started talking to him.
It turned out the barman was the owner. He was a French guy with definite hippy inclinations. In typical Ibiza style he'd had the idea for the oxygen bar before he'd checked the cost. Specialist units that deliver metered doses of flavoured gas cost around €7,000, he said. So he decided to test the market for the concept by using a medical oxygen cylinder. He pointed to the corner at what resembled a large bomb covered in Christmas decorations.
There were other problems. A burst of pure oxygen is very relaxing - which tends to make you a little sleepy. That doesn't go down too well in Ibiza where what people want is an energy boost.
Next, he had to contend with new legislation forcing small bars to designate themselves smoking or non-smoking. Oxy followed the vast majority in allowing people to light up. Safety laws, however, prevent smoking when pure oxygen is being used.
The bar's other advertised speciality, energy cocktails, use fresh ingredients. For these you need a rapid turnover and, therefore, plenty of customers. I don't need to explain what's missing from that equation. Finally, our owner decided you couldn't have a bar without alcohol.
So now he's left with a smoky bar in the middle of nowhere, not unlike dozens of others. I'll be interested to see if he's still there next summer.
Scientists often use fruit flies in experiments because of their simple structure and rapid life cycle. Small businesses in Ibiza could probably perform the same function for economists. Hundreds of new bars, shops and restaurants appear at the start of each summer, most hoping to make enough to survive from a tourist season that lasts perhaps three months. Few will survive their first winter.
Sometimes the reasons for failure are so obvious that it makes you want to scream: "Stop throwing your money away. Lie on the beach, get drunk, squander your cash, but please stop putting so much energy into wasting it."
Even people you'd think would know better make elementary mistakes. I watched one couple blow a substantial nest egg they'd accumulated from previous business ventures trying to run an up-market Indian restaurant. Unfortunately they'd located it in a strip of cheap bars, neon-lit fast-food joints and tacky souvenir shops.
Their problem was a common one. Almost every business here has to either stand out from a host of similar competitors within walking distance, or entice punters out to the sticks.
Earlier this summer I went to a bar that, despite being out of the way, seemed to have a winning proposition. Oxy, I read in a local magazine, had an oxygen bar, alcohol-free natural energy cocktails and music through until 4am.
The combination might sound a little healthy for Ibiza, but despite the island's hedonistic reputation, you can't move for yoga centres, spas and holistic health practitioners. The absence of alcohol also means there's no need for a designated driver.
Three of us arrived a little after midnight one Friday. In the late-night life of Ibiza this is generally peak-time for bars, between eating and going to a club. Of course, not every bar can be full at the same time and there's often a strange unwritten timetable that seems to ensure that crowds will appear at a particular spot at 3am for no obvious reason.
That might have been the case with Oxy, but it seemed unlikely. The only people there were us, the barman and the DJ behind the expensive-looking decks. There was no sign of recently departed customers, nor of the famous oxygen bar. Only a British sense of politeness stopped me dragging the others back to the car in search of somewhere with signs of life.
But I've seen worse places. The bar was decorated with a variety of pieces that were probably found on skips or bought second-hand - the sort of shabby chic that can work if done well or if the bar's busy. This failed on both counts.
I actually felt too embarrassed to start talking to the barman. Something had obviously gone horribly wrong with the business plan and I really didn't want to rub his nose in it. Instead, my wife, Barbara, started talking to him.
It turned out the barman was the owner. He was a French guy with definite hippy inclinations. In typical Ibiza style he'd had the idea for the oxygen bar before he'd checked the cost. Specialist units that deliver metered doses of flavoured gas cost around €7,000, he said. So he decided to test the market for the concept by using a medical oxygen cylinder. He pointed to the corner at what resembled a large bomb covered in Christmas decorations.
There were other problems. A burst of pure oxygen is very relaxing - which tends to make you a little sleepy. That doesn't go down too well in Ibiza where what people want is an energy boost.
Next, he had to contend with new legislation forcing small bars to designate themselves smoking or non-smoking. Oxy followed the vast majority in allowing people to light up. Safety laws, however, prevent smoking when pure oxygen is being used.
The bar's other advertised speciality, energy cocktails, use fresh ingredients. For these you need a rapid turnover and, therefore, plenty of customers. I don't need to explain what's missing from that equation. Finally, our owner decided you couldn't have a bar without alcohol.
So now he's left with a smoky bar in the middle of nowhere, not unlike dozens of others. I'll be interested to see if he's still there next summer.
Monday, June 05, 2006
Battling Telefonica
The post below which reproduces my Guardian column should have appeared on the day of its publication. Well it would have done had Telefonica not cut off my phone and internet.
Anybody planning a move to Spain should take this series of events as a warning. It started on Friday May 26 when my internet connection died at about 10.15am. Picking up the phone I found the dial tone had been replaced by a series of rapid beeps. So I called Telefonica using my mobile. (The number's 1004 and if you say "Ingles" at the appropriate moment when the recorded message goes quiet you'll get through to an English-speaking operator.)
I was told there was an outstanding bill. That was the first problem. I've made several attempts to change name and address on the bill from the previous owner. Telefonica would only tell me how much was owed if I could provide his full name and DNI number. I dug that out and was then able to find the exact figure outstanding.
In much of the world you'd be able to use one of the various bits of plastic in my wallet or the internet to pay. Not here. Instead you have to go to a specific bank and pay cash. You can't even do it from your own bank which has the standing order. The Telefonica operator told me I'd have to go to the BBVA bank.
So, off I went. Struggling with my abysmal Spanish, I worked out that the BBVA teller was explaining to me that I could only pay the bill between the 10th and 20th of the month. Remember I was doing this on the 26th.
There was a branch of my own bank nearby and so I thought I could at least deposit sufficient cash for me to make another attempt at paying online. By then it was nearly 2pm when the Spanish banks close.
On the Sunday I went to an internet café. I checked my bank account and Telefonica appeared to have been paid.
On Monday morning I called Telefonica to see how long it would be before I was reconnected. I was told it would be within 48 hours, but the money had not showed up yet. But that could just be the speed my bank operates.
Wednesday I was still without phone or internet. This time the operator told me that the money had not been paid. “Go and ask your bank.” I went back to the internet café and checked my account. At that point I realised my mistake. The money that had left my account was for the following month’s Telefonica bill. So, one payment was still outstanding.
A couple of the Telefonica operators had told me I could pay the bill as the Banesto bank on Tuesday or Thursday. I phoned to confirm the days and time, but the operator told me she could not give me the information without the DNI and full name of the person on the account. I called again with the previous owner’s details and now I knew that if I turned up at the Banesto bank with the correct cash and all the details between 8.30 and 10am it would be sorted.
At 8.35am I was in the bank. At noon the phone rang and a recorded message welcomed me to Telefonica.
There must be an easier way…
Anybody planning a move to Spain should take this series of events as a warning. It started on Friday May 26 when my internet connection died at about 10.15am. Picking up the phone I found the dial tone had been replaced by a series of rapid beeps. So I called Telefonica using my mobile. (The number's 1004 and if you say "Ingles" at the appropriate moment when the recorded message goes quiet you'll get through to an English-speaking operator.)
I was told there was an outstanding bill. That was the first problem. I've made several attempts to change name and address on the bill from the previous owner. Telefonica would only tell me how much was owed if I could provide his full name and DNI number. I dug that out and was then able to find the exact figure outstanding.
In much of the world you'd be able to use one of the various bits of plastic in my wallet or the internet to pay. Not here. Instead you have to go to a specific bank and pay cash. You can't even do it from your own bank which has the standing order. The Telefonica operator told me I'd have to go to the BBVA bank.
So, off I went. Struggling with my abysmal Spanish, I worked out that the BBVA teller was explaining to me that I could only pay the bill between the 10th and 20th of the month. Remember I was doing this on the 26th.
There was a branch of my own bank nearby and so I thought I could at least deposit sufficient cash for me to make another attempt at paying online. By then it was nearly 2pm when the Spanish banks close.
On the Sunday I went to an internet café. I checked my bank account and Telefonica appeared to have been paid.
On Monday morning I called Telefonica to see how long it would be before I was reconnected. I was told it would be within 48 hours, but the money had not showed up yet. But that could just be the speed my bank operates.
Wednesday I was still without phone or internet. This time the operator told me that the money had not been paid. “Go and ask your bank.” I went back to the internet café and checked my account. At that point I realised my mistake. The money that had left my account was for the following month’s Telefonica bill. So, one payment was still outstanding.
A couple of the Telefonica operators had told me I could pay the bill as the Banesto bank on Tuesday or Thursday. I phoned to confirm the days and time, but the operator told me she could not give me the information without the DNI and full name of the person on the account. I called again with the previous owner’s details and now I knew that if I turned up at the Banesto bank with the correct cash and all the details between 8.30 and 10am it would be sorted.
At 8.35am I was in the bank. At noon the phone rang and a recorded message welcomed me to Telefonica.
There must be an easier way…
Help! My friends want to use my office as a guest house
This is my monthly column as it appeared in The Guardian on Friday May 26, 2006. (You can read it in its original form here.)
To avoid legal action many films and novels carry a disclaimer saying that any resemblance between the fictional characters and real people is purely coincidental. This column needs a similar cop-out. Everything in it is apocryphal and is not intended to upset my friends and relatives. Honest.
You see this is the time when phone calls and emails to your little piece of paradise signal the start of summer. Suddenly, forgotten aunties and vague acquaintances offer to visit. You may have noticed that I said "offer"; that's because their messages are phrased in such a way that it does sound as if it's them that's doing the favour.
They're concerned that you might feel lonely and isolated when you're all those miles away. Sometimes they're not wrong. But equally, phone calls are at least a partial substitute for their physical presence. But it's amazing how hard it is for people to break the psychological cost barrier on overseas calls. They're not expensive any more. Really. You can phone just about anywhere in the world for a few pence a minute, usually for less than the cost of a UK mobile call. In fact, thanks to internet telephony, it can cost nothing.
Equally, for better or worse, there are few products from home that you can't buy here in Ibiza. If I wanted Marmite, Heinz Salad Cream, tasteless sliced bread, Tetley's tea or just about any of the bizarre flavours that Brits seem to miss, I could buy most of them from the local supermarket. They don't need to be produced from visitors' suitcases as if they were some sort of illicit contraband.
There are, of course, certain things you can't get hold of so easily. Some of the veggies on the island, for instance, will almost forget their vows of non-violence in their desire to get hold of Quorn products. And one friend of mine tried and failed to bring a takeaway curry as hand luggage on her easyJet flight. As for me, one or preferably more packets of Stockan's thick oatcakes from Orkney is the way to my heart, but it's not a realistic alternative to paying for a hotel room.
You see in theory I've got enough space in my house to put several people up. In practice, it's not so easy. I work in the same way as probably most freelances with a spare bedroom turned into an office. Of course it is possible to return the room to its original purpose and it's probably a good discipline for me to empty, clean and tidy it once in a while. But I still have to find somewhere to rest my keyboard.
I did try working on my laptop for almost two weeks, moving round my then apartment in an attempt to find periods of tranquillity. It didn't stop me meeting my every deadline, but there were occasions when I'd have happily throttled my guests. That's partly, I'll admit, because I do work strange and erratic hours.
This may not be the most organised and rational way of getting things done, but habits die hard. Equally, I find it hard to be rude and I'm easily distracted. Actually, the latter's probably more true, but either way I find it hard to ignore guests - even ones, heaven forbid, that I don't like.
I love sharing my knowledge of Ibiza and showing people everything from my favourite unspoilt beaches to the best club nights and, sometimes, getting them in for free. Unfortunately, I can't take the whole summer off to do it.
Socially, it's great living in a place where the weekend starts at the end of June and carries on until September. But, because my work is mostly UK-based, my weekend's still Saturday and Sunday or, on rare occasions, Friday night to Monday morning. My visitors' weekend starts the moment they step off the plane.
In the end the only real solution is to offer the reply to friends and relatives perfected by my mate Paul. "Yes, we'd love to see you. There's a really nice hotel just down the road."
To avoid legal action many films and novels carry a disclaimer saying that any resemblance between the fictional characters and real people is purely coincidental. This column needs a similar cop-out. Everything in it is apocryphal and is not intended to upset my friends and relatives. Honest.
You see this is the time when phone calls and emails to your little piece of paradise signal the start of summer. Suddenly, forgotten aunties and vague acquaintances offer to visit. You may have noticed that I said "offer"; that's because their messages are phrased in such a way that it does sound as if it's them that's doing the favour.
They're concerned that you might feel lonely and isolated when you're all those miles away. Sometimes they're not wrong. But equally, phone calls are at least a partial substitute for their physical presence. But it's amazing how hard it is for people to break the psychological cost barrier on overseas calls. They're not expensive any more. Really. You can phone just about anywhere in the world for a few pence a minute, usually for less than the cost of a UK mobile call. In fact, thanks to internet telephony, it can cost nothing.
Equally, for better or worse, there are few products from home that you can't buy here in Ibiza. If I wanted Marmite, Heinz Salad Cream, tasteless sliced bread, Tetley's tea or just about any of the bizarre flavours that Brits seem to miss, I could buy most of them from the local supermarket. They don't need to be produced from visitors' suitcases as if they were some sort of illicit contraband.
There are, of course, certain things you can't get hold of so easily. Some of the veggies on the island, for instance, will almost forget their vows of non-violence in their desire to get hold of Quorn products. And one friend of mine tried and failed to bring a takeaway curry as hand luggage on her easyJet flight. As for me, one or preferably more packets of Stockan's thick oatcakes from Orkney is the way to my heart, but it's not a realistic alternative to paying for a hotel room.
You see in theory I've got enough space in my house to put several people up. In practice, it's not so easy. I work in the same way as probably most freelances with a spare bedroom turned into an office. Of course it is possible to return the room to its original purpose and it's probably a good discipline for me to empty, clean and tidy it once in a while. But I still have to find somewhere to rest my keyboard.
I did try working on my laptop for almost two weeks, moving round my then apartment in an attempt to find periods of tranquillity. It didn't stop me meeting my every deadline, but there were occasions when I'd have happily throttled my guests. That's partly, I'll admit, because I do work strange and erratic hours.
This may not be the most organised and rational way of getting things done, but habits die hard. Equally, I find it hard to be rude and I'm easily distracted. Actually, the latter's probably more true, but either way I find it hard to ignore guests - even ones, heaven forbid, that I don't like.
I love sharing my knowledge of Ibiza and showing people everything from my favourite unspoilt beaches to the best club nights and, sometimes, getting them in for free. Unfortunately, I can't take the whole summer off to do it.
Socially, it's great living in a place where the weekend starts at the end of June and carries on until September. But, because my work is mostly UK-based, my weekend's still Saturday and Sunday or, on rare occasions, Friday night to Monday morning. My visitors' weekend starts the moment they step off the plane.
In the end the only real solution is to offer the reply to friends and relatives perfected by my mate Paul. "Yes, we'd love to see you. There's a really nice hotel just down the road."
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Not quite the idyllic notion I had in mind...
This column first appeared in The Guardian on Friday April 28, 2006. You can read it in its original form here
Anybody British with a reasonable education always has a financial fallback when they travel abroad. When the money runs out, they can teach English. The demand for native speakers seems to remain insatiable. It was certainly a possibility that my wife, Barbara, had considered before we headed off for a life in Ibiza.
She was far better qualified than most ex-pats, having been a primary school teacher in Scotland before ill health forced her to quit. It was a job she loved and she'd long felt her skills and experience were being wasted.
Before we arrived on the island two years ago we had an idyllic notion of using those talents to help our Spanish-speaking neighbours with their English. We thought there would either be schoolchildren requiring additional tutoring or adults who wanted to add to their qualifications. In fact, she has found a call for her skills, but not from the sort of people we expected.
The demand has come from friends who are native English speakers and want some extra help for their primary school-age children. Barbara offers a partial solution to a dilemma that faces many adults who move abroad. It's alright for them to decide to change countries as often as they want, but is it fair for them to impose their nomadic lifestyle on their kids?
One way round their problem is to send their children to an international school where they will be taught in English. However, not only is this expensive, but it carries a built-in assumption that the family will return to the UK. That's fine for parents who have been posted overseas by an organisation, which will probably also pay the fees. It's not much use if you want to become part of the local community in a foreign country.
There are, after all, few better places to get to know your neighbours than at the school gates. Sending your kids elsewhere suggests you don't really want to be a full part of the community.
Houses and businesses can be sold. And, if the worst comes to the worst, family and friends in Britain are just a budget flight away. It may be difficult financially for adults to return to their roots, but it's surely much harder for their children to slot into an education system that uses what to them is basically a foreign language.
Their difficulty probably won't be speech. I've heard young children at play switching effortlessly between Spanish, German and English. But that doesn't mean they can write it down. Even when they study English at school the emphasis is conversational.
An added challenge in Ibiza is that a few years ago the local government decided Catalan would be the main teaching language across the curriculum. Catalan was banned under the Franco regime, so it's fairly easy for me to understand and even support this piece of cultural protectionism. But, I don't have kids.
If I did, I'd probably want them to at least have the option of British further education. It may not be superior to the Spanish system, but at least I have some understanding of how it works.
For those who do want their kids to keep up with the twists and turns of the curriculum in England or Scotland, every government document is posted on the web. Ploughing through them and making sense of the jargon is, however, another matter.
More useful are the lesson plans and teaching materials that are also available online, often for free. In fact, as so often with web-based information, the problem that Barbara has found is that there's just too much available. She's spent far more time online than actually with our friends' kids.
So for ex-pat parents with a web-literate former primary schoolteacher on tap, there is a way of avoiding the complete imposition of their lifestyle choices on their children. The rest, I suppose, will have to wait until Esperanto is universally adopted.
Anybody British with a reasonable education always has a financial fallback when they travel abroad. When the money runs out, they can teach English. The demand for native speakers seems to remain insatiable. It was certainly a possibility that my wife, Barbara, had considered before we headed off for a life in Ibiza.
She was far better qualified than most ex-pats, having been a primary school teacher in Scotland before ill health forced her to quit. It was a job she loved and she'd long felt her skills and experience were being wasted.
Before we arrived on the island two years ago we had an idyllic notion of using those talents to help our Spanish-speaking neighbours with their English. We thought there would either be schoolchildren requiring additional tutoring or adults who wanted to add to their qualifications. In fact, she has found a call for her skills, but not from the sort of people we expected.
The demand has come from friends who are native English speakers and want some extra help for their primary school-age children. Barbara offers a partial solution to a dilemma that faces many adults who move abroad. It's alright for them to decide to change countries as often as they want, but is it fair for them to impose their nomadic lifestyle on their kids?
One way round their problem is to send their children to an international school where they will be taught in English. However, not only is this expensive, but it carries a built-in assumption that the family will return to the UK. That's fine for parents who have been posted overseas by an organisation, which will probably also pay the fees. It's not much use if you want to become part of the local community in a foreign country.
There are, after all, few better places to get to know your neighbours than at the school gates. Sending your kids elsewhere suggests you don't really want to be a full part of the community.
Houses and businesses can be sold. And, if the worst comes to the worst, family and friends in Britain are just a budget flight away. It may be difficult financially for adults to return to their roots, but it's surely much harder for their children to slot into an education system that uses what to them is basically a foreign language.
Their difficulty probably won't be speech. I've heard young children at play switching effortlessly between Spanish, German and English. But that doesn't mean they can write it down. Even when they study English at school the emphasis is conversational.
An added challenge in Ibiza is that a few years ago the local government decided Catalan would be the main teaching language across the curriculum. Catalan was banned under the Franco regime, so it's fairly easy for me to understand and even support this piece of cultural protectionism. But, I don't have kids.
If I did, I'd probably want them to at least have the option of British further education. It may not be superior to the Spanish system, but at least I have some understanding of how it works.
For those who do want their kids to keep up with the twists and turns of the curriculum in England or Scotland, every government document is posted on the web. Ploughing through them and making sense of the jargon is, however, another matter.
More useful are the lesson plans and teaching materials that are also available online, often for free. In fact, as so often with web-based information, the problem that Barbara has found is that there's just too much available. She's spent far more time online than actually with our friends' kids.
So for ex-pat parents with a web-literate former primary schoolteacher on tap, there is a way of avoiding the complete imposition of their lifestyle choices on their children. The rest, I suppose, will have to wait until Esperanto is universally adopted.
Friday, March 31, 2006
My new website
Please check out my new website A Desk In The Sun. It's an attempt to develop an online resource for people who live in one country while working via the internet in another, in the same way as I do.
At the moment there's no book, magazine or website aimed specifically at people like us. That's despite it becoming an increasingly popular choice for anybody who can telecommute.
It would be great to turn the website into a real resource, but I cannot afford the time at the moment. I have to earn a living. If, hower, anybody reading this is interested in providing financial support I'd love to hear from them. A financial services company could, for example, find an audience with a group that has considerable spending power and use for money transfers, savings products and more.
At the moment there's no book, magazine or website aimed specifically at people like us. That's despite it becoming an increasingly popular choice for anybody who can telecommute.
It would be great to turn the website into a real resource, but I cannot afford the time at the moment. I have to earn a living. If, hower, anybody reading this is interested in providing financial support I'd love to hear from them. A financial services company could, for example, find an audience with a group that has considerable spending power and use for money transfers, savings products and more.
Staying here, but still out there
This is my latest column for The Guardian newspaper. You can read it on the newspaper's site here.
When I moved from Edinburgh to Ibiza two years ago I really thought it would be a case of "out of sight, out of mind". In fact, far from being forgotten, I've not only kept in touch with many of my old friends, clients and contacts, I've managed to broaden the UK circle. And, they've continued to offer me work.
I wish I could pretend this was part of some carefully planned scheme, but I'd be lying. What's happened is, almost by accident, I've found myself following a variation on the highly publicised strategy that's supposed to be shaking the music industry to its foundations.
Earlier this year the Arctic Monkeys caused a fuss by selling truckloads of their debut album, mostly through an online community called MySpace, bypassing the usual marketing channels and selling straight to their fans.
Actually, what they did wasn't all that new. Six years ago the distinctly unfashionable Marillion emailed their fans asking them to pay upfront for luxury copies of their next CD and raised enough to avoid the need for a record-company advance.
Before the internet, most of a band's contact with fans came from touring. In business, networking performs a similar function. When I first arrived in Ibiza, almost everybody who was paying for my services was somebody I'd swapped business cards with back in Scotland. Not any longer. A growing number of my clients I've never seen in my life.
Instead of conference centres and bars, I now meet most of my contacts online through various discussion forums. Some of these are sophisticated membership organisations based around a website. Others use simple mailing lists. The mechanics of how they function doesn't really matter. It's who belongs and participates that counts.
And if you can find the right networks they're a great way of finding work and, from my point of view, they have the unbeatable advantage that geography is no barrier.
I can be sitting at my desk in Spain keeping in touch with all the gossip and professional developments while subtly touting for work just as easily as in Scotland. Of course I can't press the flesh as often, but anybody returning from abroad has a little bit of celebrity, which is useful when you do make it to a meeting.
Whether networking online or face-to-face, the more you put in, the more you are likely to get out. If your only contribution is the mercenary pursuit of work you may not get much response. If, however, you join in the discussions it's far more likely to be fruitful.
As with any group, though, debate tends to be dominated by a small number of participants. So when you first join you can feel ignored. But it is worth persevering, remembering that the vast majority of forum members don't join in most of the time, but just lurk and read the postings. They are often the ones that will offer you work.
It is definitely worthwhile setting up your own website or blog. It doesn't have to be complex. But do make sure that it's mentioned in your email signature so when you post to a forum it's easy for people to find out more about your skills and can get in contact easily. The alternative is to display your email address, which may attract the unwelcome attention of spammers.
Finding the most useful forums is a real challenge. There are the large generalist networks such as Ecademy and myriad others, generally focused on a specific industry or geographical area. Ask around, as even the most active groups don't necessarily show up on Google and it does help if there are a few members you know already.
In the spirit of online networking I'd be interested to share advice and experiences with readers who are attempting to follow the same lifestyle as me, self-employed telecommuters working in one country while living in another. These responses may form the basis for future columns and articles.
Nick Clayton is a freelance writer and web content consultant. Email: deskinthesun@nickclayton.com
When I moved from Edinburgh to Ibiza two years ago I really thought it would be a case of "out of sight, out of mind". In fact, far from being forgotten, I've not only kept in touch with many of my old friends, clients and contacts, I've managed to broaden the UK circle. And, they've continued to offer me work.
I wish I could pretend this was part of some carefully planned scheme, but I'd be lying. What's happened is, almost by accident, I've found myself following a variation on the highly publicised strategy that's supposed to be shaking the music industry to its foundations.
Earlier this year the Arctic Monkeys caused a fuss by selling truckloads of their debut album, mostly through an online community called MySpace, bypassing the usual marketing channels and selling straight to their fans.
Actually, what they did wasn't all that new. Six years ago the distinctly unfashionable Marillion emailed their fans asking them to pay upfront for luxury copies of their next CD and raised enough to avoid the need for a record-company advance.
Before the internet, most of a band's contact with fans came from touring. In business, networking performs a similar function. When I first arrived in Ibiza, almost everybody who was paying for my services was somebody I'd swapped business cards with back in Scotland. Not any longer. A growing number of my clients I've never seen in my life.
Instead of conference centres and bars, I now meet most of my contacts online through various discussion forums. Some of these are sophisticated membership organisations based around a website. Others use simple mailing lists. The mechanics of how they function doesn't really matter. It's who belongs and participates that counts.
And if you can find the right networks they're a great way of finding work and, from my point of view, they have the unbeatable advantage that geography is no barrier.
I can be sitting at my desk in Spain keeping in touch with all the gossip and professional developments while subtly touting for work just as easily as in Scotland. Of course I can't press the flesh as often, but anybody returning from abroad has a little bit of celebrity, which is useful when you do make it to a meeting.
Whether networking online or face-to-face, the more you put in, the more you are likely to get out. If your only contribution is the mercenary pursuit of work you may not get much response. If, however, you join in the discussions it's far more likely to be fruitful.
As with any group, though, debate tends to be dominated by a small number of participants. So when you first join you can feel ignored. But it is worth persevering, remembering that the vast majority of forum members don't join in most of the time, but just lurk and read the postings. They are often the ones that will offer you work.
It is definitely worthwhile setting up your own website or blog. It doesn't have to be complex. But do make sure that it's mentioned in your email signature so when you post to a forum it's easy for people to find out more about your skills and can get in contact easily. The alternative is to display your email address, which may attract the unwelcome attention of spammers.
Finding the most useful forums is a real challenge. There are the large generalist networks such as Ecademy and myriad others, generally focused on a specific industry or geographical area. Ask around, as even the most active groups don't necessarily show up on Google and it does help if there are a few members you know already.
In the spirit of online networking I'd be interested to share advice and experiences with readers who are attempting to follow the same lifestyle as me, self-employed telecommuters working in one country while living in another. These responses may form the basis for future columns and articles.
Nick Clayton is a freelance writer and web content consultant. Email: deskinthesun@nickclayton.com
Monday, February 27, 2006
When living abroad fails to deliver...
This column appeared in The Guardian on 24 February 2006
There's nothing more annoying than expat Brits who spend their time whinging about the way things aren't the same as at home. My response is: "If you don't like living in a foreign country, why don't you go back home?"
On the other hand, there are some Spanish bureaucracies that drive even locals to despair. Try walking into a bar miserably muttering, "Telefonica". Every drinker will join in with a horror story about the former telephone monopoly.
It often feels as if Telefonica is run by the bastard offspring of a Spanish dictator and a Russian author, a sort of "Franco Kafka". For instance, soon after I arrived in Ibiza I ordered ADSL and was told a modem would be delivered in a few days. Two weeks later I phoned to see what had happened. Apparently the courier couldn't find my address. This wasn't surprising because, according to Telefonica's computer system, I lived in the local unmanned telephone exchange.
At this point I should admit my conversations with Telefonica have not been in Spanish. One of the good things about the company is you can get straight through to an English-speaking operator. Well almost straight through. You have to know it's necessary to listen to two menus in Spanish before carefully over-pronouncing "ingles".
Mind you, that's easier than Telefonica's mobile service Movistar. After a few attempts you feel proud to have got through Catalan and Basque to get a menu option in English. Then it jumps back into Spanish for what I now know is an instruction to press the cuadradillo (hash key) to confirm.
Anyway, after several weeks, despite many calls to Telefonica, I still didn't have my equipment. Then, on one of my frequent visits to a local internet cafe, I discovered all Telefonica ADSL customers use the same log-in. All I needed to do was plug in my UK modem. I blush when I remember how excited this discovery made me.
So now I didn't care as months passed without a modem delivery. At least I didn't care until my broadband service suddenly stopped. I phoned Telefonica. The operator said I couldn't have been cut off because I'd never had ADSL. I could, however, order it. Back to square one.
Weeks passed. Eventually another operator told me I could cancel my order and go to a Telefonica shop instead. So that's what I did. After annoying the lengthy shop queue with my appalling Spanish I eventually understood it would take up to two weeks for the cancellation to get through the system.
In due course I returned to the shop, filled in the forms and waited to be handed my modem. But no, it had to be delivered to my apartment that was still, according to Telefonica's records, in the telephone exchange. In the end it was a lost courier who saved the day. He asked a local hotel for directions and the receptionist knew me. It had only taken eight months.
I was living on the outskirts of Ibiza's largest town. It can be worse if you live in the country, as a friend discovered. When his line developed a fault he was informed he must provide a number for the engineer to call. As he works from home in a place without mobile reception, this was a little problematic.
He also had broadband, at least until his service was "upgraded". Telefonica told him he was too far away from the exchange to have ever had ADSL. More in anger than expectation he requested a rebate to cover his monthly payments for a service he apparently couldn't receive. It was ignored.
Shortly after this, however, Telefonica allocated his phone number to somebody else. Calls went to whichever house got to the phone first. The situation was only resolved when the new subscriber rescinded their right to the number in writing.
Sometimes I wonder if all this is in some way related to the fact that Telefonica owns Endemol, the TV company behind Big Brother. Are we all housemates in some bizarre experiment to be televised later?
There's nothing more annoying than expat Brits who spend their time whinging about the way things aren't the same as at home. My response is: "If you don't like living in a foreign country, why don't you go back home?"
On the other hand, there are some Spanish bureaucracies that drive even locals to despair. Try walking into a bar miserably muttering, "Telefonica". Every drinker will join in with a horror story about the former telephone monopoly.
It often feels as if Telefonica is run by the bastard offspring of a Spanish dictator and a Russian author, a sort of "Franco Kafka". For instance, soon after I arrived in Ibiza I ordered ADSL and was told a modem would be delivered in a few days. Two weeks later I phoned to see what had happened. Apparently the courier couldn't find my address. This wasn't surprising because, according to Telefonica's computer system, I lived in the local unmanned telephone exchange.
At this point I should admit my conversations with Telefonica have not been in Spanish. One of the good things about the company is you can get straight through to an English-speaking operator. Well almost straight through. You have to know it's necessary to listen to two menus in Spanish before carefully over-pronouncing "ingles".
Mind you, that's easier than Telefonica's mobile service Movistar. After a few attempts you feel proud to have got through Catalan and Basque to get a menu option in English. Then it jumps back into Spanish for what I now know is an instruction to press the cuadradillo (hash key) to confirm.
Anyway, after several weeks, despite many calls to Telefonica, I still didn't have my equipment. Then, on one of my frequent visits to a local internet cafe, I discovered all Telefonica ADSL customers use the same log-in. All I needed to do was plug in my UK modem. I blush when I remember how excited this discovery made me.
So now I didn't care as months passed without a modem delivery. At least I didn't care until my broadband service suddenly stopped. I phoned Telefonica. The operator said I couldn't have been cut off because I'd never had ADSL. I could, however, order it. Back to square one.
Weeks passed. Eventually another operator told me I could cancel my order and go to a Telefonica shop instead. So that's what I did. After annoying the lengthy shop queue with my appalling Spanish I eventually understood it would take up to two weeks for the cancellation to get through the system.
In due course I returned to the shop, filled in the forms and waited to be handed my modem. But no, it had to be delivered to my apartment that was still, according to Telefonica's records, in the telephone exchange. In the end it was a lost courier who saved the day. He asked a local hotel for directions and the receptionist knew me. It had only taken eight months.
I was living on the outskirts of Ibiza's largest town. It can be worse if you live in the country, as a friend discovered. When his line developed a fault he was informed he must provide a number for the engineer to call. As he works from home in a place without mobile reception, this was a little problematic.
He also had broadband, at least until his service was "upgraded". Telefonica told him he was too far away from the exchange to have ever had ADSL. More in anger than expectation he requested a rebate to cover his monthly payments for a service he apparently couldn't receive. It was ignored.
Shortly after this, however, Telefonica allocated his phone number to somebody else. Calls went to whichever house got to the phone first. The situation was only resolved when the new subscriber rescinded their right to the number in writing.
Sometimes I wonder if all this is in some way related to the fact that Telefonica owns Endemol, the TV company behind Big Brother. Are we all housemates in some bizarre experiment to be televised later?
Monday, January 30, 2006
Lax tax and creative accountancy
This is my most recent column for The Guardian. If you're wondering why nothing appeared in December, welcome to the world of newspapers. The size of a newspaper is determined almost entirely by the quantity of advertising. They're biggest in the run-up to the December festival of consumerism and smallest when everybody's recovering from that or in the summer when a large proportion of readers are roasting in the sun. So the Business Sense supplement which carries my column was dropped for lack of advertising and, let's face it, because nobody wants to read about the world of commerce between Christmas and New Year.
Those of us of a certain age remember the Rolling Stones heading off into tax exile on the Riviera. As a teenager I thought they had achieved the perfect combination of sun, debauchery and economy.
Now I find I've become an accidental tax exile myself, although it's unlikely my exotic-sounding status will actually save me any money. When I headed off to Ibiza early last year I assumed that I'd continue to pay tax in the same way as before. I was self-employed in the UK and my clients were all still there. All that changed was my computer was now connected to Telefonica broadband rather than Demon.
But on a trip back to Scotland I spoke to Ross Mackenzie, tax partner with international accountants Mazars. "Most countries have a 183-day rule, which defines where you are resident for tax purposes," he explained. You don't pay the tax where it's earned, but where you live or your "centre of economic interest" as the tax authorities call it.
It sounds simple. You pay your tax where you live for most of the year. Well, it might be straightforward if Pitt the Younger hadn't introduced income tax to Britain a couple of centuries ago using a variation on the medieval fiscal calendar. So, while most other countries measure liabilities ending on December 31, Britain's year runs to April 5. "Some people try to use that difference to their advantage," Mackenzie told me.
Theoretically it's possible to receive two sets of tax allowances, but it's not easy. The UK Inland Revenue requires a a lot of evidence that one of its tax payers really has departed its shores. The department does, however, provide detailed information in booklet form and from its website.
In an ideal world, a move to the sun would also be accompanied by a reduction in tax. Unfortunately for me, the UK has just about the lowest rates of income tax in Europe - at least on paper.
Anyway, it is not that simple to work out which country will deduct the smallest proportion of your income. The Stones' old stomping ground, France, for instance, seems to squeeze high earners hard. Tax there, however, is assessed by dividing the income by the number of people in the household. And France recently lowered its punitive top rate.
Although tax is subject to political vagaries, an accountant will be able to make a reasonable assessment of liabilities according to the laws of your intended country of domicile. But accountancy is an art, not a science, and legislation does not always reflect varying national attitudes to tax. Often the declaration of income is regarded effectively as "voluntary".
The common Mediterranean attitude is: "Which do you love more - the state or your family? So why should you give more than is necessary to the state?"
In many places - and for obvious reasons I'm not going to be too specific - avoidance is effectively built into the system. It is, for instance, still quite common in rural areas for property and other major purchases to involve a substantial amount of "black money". Perhaps a third of the actual price of a property may be handed over in cash and never declared to the authorities.
As a result, it was suggested the mini economic boom in the run-up to the introduction of the euro was caused by people rushing to spend their undeclared pesetas, lira and escudos before they became worthless. It also explains something that had baffled me. I couldn't understand why the hardware store near where I live has the largest selection of safes I have ever seen. Obviously some are for tourist hotels and apartments, but many look big and secure enough to store the cash and crown jewels of a small sovereign nation rather than a holidaymaker's papers and trinkets.
As for me, I'm still very British about declaring all my income, even if I'm not going to be rendering unto Gordon what is Gordon's any more. But if I had fulfilled my rock star ambitions, I'd probably now be resident in Dubai, which has a hard-to-beat zero rate of income tax.
· Nick Clayton is a freelance writer and web content consultant.
Those of us of a certain age remember the Rolling Stones heading off into tax exile on the Riviera. As a teenager I thought they had achieved the perfect combination of sun, debauchery and economy.
Now I find I've become an accidental tax exile myself, although it's unlikely my exotic-sounding status will actually save me any money. When I headed off to Ibiza early last year I assumed that I'd continue to pay tax in the same way as before. I was self-employed in the UK and my clients were all still there. All that changed was my computer was now connected to Telefonica broadband rather than Demon.
But on a trip back to Scotland I spoke to Ross Mackenzie, tax partner with international accountants Mazars. "Most countries have a 183-day rule, which defines where you are resident for tax purposes," he explained. You don't pay the tax where it's earned, but where you live or your "centre of economic interest" as the tax authorities call it.
It sounds simple. You pay your tax where you live for most of the year. Well, it might be straightforward if Pitt the Younger hadn't introduced income tax to Britain a couple of centuries ago using a variation on the medieval fiscal calendar. So, while most other countries measure liabilities ending on December 31, Britain's year runs to April 5. "Some people try to use that difference to their advantage," Mackenzie told me.
Theoretically it's possible to receive two sets of tax allowances, but it's not easy. The UK Inland Revenue requires a a lot of evidence that one of its tax payers really has departed its shores. The department does, however, provide detailed information in booklet form and from its website.
In an ideal world, a move to the sun would also be accompanied by a reduction in tax. Unfortunately for me, the UK has just about the lowest rates of income tax in Europe - at least on paper.
Anyway, it is not that simple to work out which country will deduct the smallest proportion of your income. The Stones' old stomping ground, France, for instance, seems to squeeze high earners hard. Tax there, however, is assessed by dividing the income by the number of people in the household. And France recently lowered its punitive top rate.
Although tax is subject to political vagaries, an accountant will be able to make a reasonable assessment of liabilities according to the laws of your intended country of domicile. But accountancy is an art, not a science, and legislation does not always reflect varying national attitudes to tax. Often the declaration of income is regarded effectively as "voluntary".
The common Mediterranean attitude is: "Which do you love more - the state or your family? So why should you give more than is necessary to the state?"
In many places - and for obvious reasons I'm not going to be too specific - avoidance is effectively built into the system. It is, for instance, still quite common in rural areas for property and other major purchases to involve a substantial amount of "black money". Perhaps a third of the actual price of a property may be handed over in cash and never declared to the authorities.
As a result, it was suggested the mini economic boom in the run-up to the introduction of the euro was caused by people rushing to spend their undeclared pesetas, lira and escudos before they became worthless. It also explains something that had baffled me. I couldn't understand why the hardware store near where I live has the largest selection of safes I have ever seen. Obviously some are for tourist hotels and apartments, but many look big and secure enough to store the cash and crown jewels of a small sovereign nation rather than a holidaymaker's papers and trinkets.
As for me, I'm still very British about declaring all my income, even if I'm not going to be rendering unto Gordon what is Gordon's any more. But if I had fulfilled my rock star ambitions, I'd probably now be resident in Dubai, which has a hard-to-beat zero rate of income tax.
· Nick Clayton is a freelance writer and web content consultant.
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