While Ibiza's clubbing tourists have been worrying about the impact of the enforced daytime closure of discos and music bars, many of the island's villa and apartment owners have been getting worked up about a more serious threat to their well-being. The authorities have promised a major clampdown on unlicensed property rentals.
On the face of it property owners really don't have anything to complain about. There are plenty of people who make a nice untaxed income from renting out their villas and apartments in Ibiza for the summer season. They may live in the UK or Germany and have a holiday home in Ibiza or they may be full-time island residents who go away for July and August, using the rent to pay for a holiday or just to cover the mortgage for the rest of the year.
It's not simply that owners don't pay tax on the properties, there are also no safety checks. Without being overly protective there are all sorts of risks from things such as faulty heaters. We don't want a repeat of the tragedy where two kids were killed by fumes in Corfu.
There is some evidence of the size of the unlicensed property market in Ibiza. Each year the number of passengers arriving on the island by air and sea increases. At the same time occupancy in Ibiza's hotels keeps falling. I know that there is a belief that the consumption of drugs allows some of these tourists to spend all their time in clubs and bars without the need for a bed. But, I honestly don't believe there are that many.
The response by the authorities to the disparity is to employ more inspectors to trawl through websites and other places where villas and apartments are advertised for rent looking for people who aren't licensed. Anybody who is caught faces potentially massive fines based on the amount of rent they might have received over several years. So could be talking about penalties amounting to tens of thousands of euros. No wonder owners are nervous.
So are owners lining up to legalise their position? Not really. Getting a licence for anything in Spain is complicated, even if you speak the language fluently. There's a tradition of waiting until you get caught before you try and get the paperwork. For instance, few people seem to get their car taxed until they have to sell it when proof of payment is needed to legalise the transfer. Building work goes ahead without permission in the hope that either nobody notices you've built a swimming pool or the fine won't be too big.
Of course, if you do go along and try and get your rental property licensed and fail, what you're doing is advertising its illegality to the authorities. You definitely can't plead ignorance afterwards. But actually I believe most people would rather be legal even if it reduces their income a little. It's better than the risk of being dragged through the courts.
Conspiracy theorists believe that the government doesn't really want villa and apartment landlords to get licences. They say this is because hotel owners want to eliminate the competition. It's easy to understand why hoteliers are fed up at the moment as they watch what they see as unfair competition from people who don't pay taxes or licence fees.
Where the logic goes awry is in the assumption that holidaymakers who can't rent a villa in Ibiza will stay in one of the island's hotels instead. Many will simply find a villa somewhere else. That's the sort of holiday they're after, not one spent in a hotel.
The potential for bad publicity for the island is enormous. If the clampdown is effective, imagine what visitors are going to say if they arrive at their villa or apartment to find it has been closed by the authorities. They are not going to say: "Next time we come to Ibiza we'll stay at hotel." They'll say: "We're not going to that bloody island again."
Hopefully, the authorities are just making belligerent noises to please the hotel owners. The clampdown won't be as heavy as is suggested and it's just the start of a rational licensing system for rented properties. We'll see.
Technorati Tags nick,hotels,ibiza,clayton,villas,apartments,flights
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Monday, May 12, 2008
Ibiza stag party for Rooney
Here's the news we've not been waiting for, football's Mr Potato Head and his pals are coming to the island at the beginning of June. We've spent ten years trying to persuade people that the Sky television series Ibiza Uncovered only revealed the worst excesses of drunken young Brits in a couple of streets in a single resort. Can Wayne undo all that?
The signs aren't promising according to the Sunday Mirror's story. Apparently' "Roo's" do is being organised by "party-loving practical joker" Rio Ferdinand who is also "pretty well connected on the Ibiza party scene". Joining them will be Man United players Wes Brown and John O'Shea, along with Liverpool's Steven Gerrard, Peter Crouch and Jamie Carragher. Some of them aren't exactly unfamiliar with Ibiza.
I hope there aren't crowds of paparazzi now booking their easyJet flights in the hope of getting well-paid snaps of footballers behaving badly. There aren't any paps based here, thank god. An amazing number of celebs pop over to the island in the summer without being noticed, unless they want to be. I only know they've been here thanks to friends who are drivers, chefs and cleaners.
There is hope that Rooney's stag do won't attract too much unwanted attention. The guests are staying at the house that Jonathan Woodgate bought when he was playing for Real Madrid. It's not that easy to find. Roo also says he wants a quiet time and he hates dancing.
It's just as well as most of Ibizas' nightclubs aren't going to be in full swing when he arrives. He'll miss the Space opening party, so it will really have to be Pacha if somehow Ibiza's spirit of dance gets to Wayne.
With a bit of luck we'll never know as none of the tabloids will tell us. What happens in Ibiza stays in Ibiza.
Technorati Tags space,ibiza,rooney,jonathan,woodgate,rio,ferdinand,pacha
The signs aren't promising according to the Sunday Mirror's story. Apparently' "Roo's" do is being organised by "party-loving practical joker" Rio Ferdinand who is also "pretty well connected on the Ibiza party scene". Joining them will be Man United players Wes Brown and John O'Shea, along with Liverpool's Steven Gerrard, Peter Crouch and Jamie Carragher. Some of them aren't exactly unfamiliar with Ibiza.
I hope there aren't crowds of paparazzi now booking their easyJet flights in the hope of getting well-paid snaps of footballers behaving badly. There aren't any paps based here, thank god. An amazing number of celebs pop over to the island in the summer without being noticed, unless they want to be. I only know they've been here thanks to friends who are drivers, chefs and cleaners.
There is hope that Rooney's stag do won't attract too much unwanted attention. The guests are staying at the house that Jonathan Woodgate bought when he was playing for Real Madrid. It's not that easy to find. Roo also says he wants a quiet time and he hates dancing.
It's just as well as most of Ibizas' nightclubs aren't going to be in full swing when he arrives. He'll miss the Space opening party, so it will really have to be Pacha if somehow Ibiza's spirit of dance gets to Wayne.
With a bit of luck we'll never know as none of the tabloids will tell us. What happens in Ibiza stays in Ibiza.
Technorati Tags space,ibiza,rooney,jonathan,woodgate,rio,ferdinand,pacha
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Banning Ibiza after parties
It's the big topic of conversation amongst the people headed for Ibiza's clubs this summer. I'm not convinced that it's such a big deal.
The plan by the authorities is to stop clubs and 'music bars' opening before 4.30pm. It's actually not quite that straightforward as San An's mayor in particular has noticed that a blanket ban would prevent bars from showing some of the Euro 2008 games. So the impact of the ban differs according to which town council's in charge.
What all the councils agree is that they want to stop the 24-hour clubbing phenomenon. So there should be a break from 6am until 4.30pm. Or so they say. DC10 seems to be ignoring the ban and planning to open at 8am as ever. Space has a dispensation, it seems, to open at noon for its opening party. Apart from those you shouldn't find any public daytime parties this summer. We'll see.
The argument the politicians put forward is that nobody can keep going for 24 hours without drugs. They have a point. Maybe there are a few people who can go straight from Space to DC10 sustained by nothing stronger than Red Bull and electronica, but I haven't met many.
Recreational drugs are, of course, no more legal in Ibiza than they are in the rest of Spain, or most of the world for that matter. So the authorities have a duty to try and prevent their sale, possession and consumption. They argue that the lengthy enforced break will cut drug use.
"Nonsense" - or words to that effect - respond many of the clubbers and promoters I've spoken to. In the absense of an organised after-party people will just head for villas, apartments, hotel rooms or beaches to carry on. The effect will be to annoy everybody who doesn't want to share their peace and quiet with groups of caned clubbers. It's also considerably more dangerous to overdo it in private than in a well-supervised club.
There's some truth in the argument that the new law will just scatter the caners. But there's another side to the argument. Part of the point of heading to an after-party is to score more gear. There are always dealers in and around after-hours venues. Close them and people will have nowhere to go and replenish their stocks. Without anywhere to go some people who would have carried on partying will head off for a sleep.
Of course, as long as there are bars, cafes and shops open, there'll be places to score and people to sell. News travels pretty fast on the Ibiza grapevine. That doesn't mean the information will get through to every would-be drug user on the island. Many will be scared to ask around about buying drugs. And they're not stupid. Getting busted is not the ideal way to extend your holiday.
My feeling is that the authorities may be right and the new closing hours will cut drug consumption. But I don't think it'll have a huge impact. The price that will be paid for that slight reduction will be an increase in nuisance for holidaymakers and residents. Instead of being in clubs and bars the noisy caners will be on your beach, in the hotel room next to you or throwing up over the balcony of the apartment above you. (I should say I'm certainly not having a go at everybody who likes to party, but there's enough of a minority to piss off a lot of people.)
I also think the big changes in club hours have already happened without much fuss. As soon as the authorities started to enforce 6am closing at the big clubs they created a two-hour break before Space, DC10 etc opened. And most of the people who've complained most loudly to me about the ban on opening before 4.30pm never hit the terraces before then anyway.
Don't worry it'll still be a great summer. Ibiza's culture flourishes in the face of a little adversity.
Technorati Tags space,nick,drugs,ibiza,clayton,dc10,parties
The plan by the authorities is to stop clubs and 'music bars' opening before 4.30pm. It's actually not quite that straightforward as San An's mayor in particular has noticed that a blanket ban would prevent bars from showing some of the Euro 2008 games. So the impact of the ban differs according to which town council's in charge.
What all the councils agree is that they want to stop the 24-hour clubbing phenomenon. So there should be a break from 6am until 4.30pm. Or so they say. DC10 seems to be ignoring the ban and planning to open at 8am as ever. Space has a dispensation, it seems, to open at noon for its opening party. Apart from those you shouldn't find any public daytime parties this summer. We'll see.
The argument the politicians put forward is that nobody can keep going for 24 hours without drugs. They have a point. Maybe there are a few people who can go straight from Space to DC10 sustained by nothing stronger than Red Bull and electronica, but I haven't met many.
Recreational drugs are, of course, no more legal in Ibiza than they are in the rest of Spain, or most of the world for that matter. So the authorities have a duty to try and prevent their sale, possession and consumption. They argue that the lengthy enforced break will cut drug use.
"Nonsense" - or words to that effect - respond many of the clubbers and promoters I've spoken to. In the absense of an organised after-party people will just head for villas, apartments, hotel rooms or beaches to carry on. The effect will be to annoy everybody who doesn't want to share their peace and quiet with groups of caned clubbers. It's also considerably more dangerous to overdo it in private than in a well-supervised club.
There's some truth in the argument that the new law will just scatter the caners. But there's another side to the argument. Part of the point of heading to an after-party is to score more gear. There are always dealers in and around after-hours venues. Close them and people will have nowhere to go and replenish their stocks. Without anywhere to go some people who would have carried on partying will head off for a sleep.
Of course, as long as there are bars, cafes and shops open, there'll be places to score and people to sell. News travels pretty fast on the Ibiza grapevine. That doesn't mean the information will get through to every would-be drug user on the island. Many will be scared to ask around about buying drugs. And they're not stupid. Getting busted is not the ideal way to extend your holiday.
My feeling is that the authorities may be right and the new closing hours will cut drug consumption. But I don't think it'll have a huge impact. The price that will be paid for that slight reduction will be an increase in nuisance for holidaymakers and residents. Instead of being in clubs and bars the noisy caners will be on your beach, in the hotel room next to you or throwing up over the balcony of the apartment above you. (I should say I'm certainly not having a go at everybody who likes to party, but there's enough of a minority to piss off a lot of people.)
I also think the big changes in club hours have already happened without much fuss. As soon as the authorities started to enforce 6am closing at the big clubs they created a two-hour break before Space, DC10 etc opened. And most of the people who've complained most loudly to me about the ban on opening before 4.30pm never hit the terraces before then anyway.
Don't worry it'll still be a great summer. Ibiza's culture flourishes in the face of a little adversity.
Technorati Tags space,nick,drugs,ibiza,clayton,dc10,parties
Sunday, May 04, 2008
Ibiza nightmare
My bad dreams usually follow a pattern. Either I'm falling or I'm lost and desperately find something in some vaguely familiar place. It's not very profound, but always me feeling slightly disturbed when I wake up. They're certainly not what I'd call nightmares.
Yesterday I felt I was living through a combination of bad dreams. In fact. if I didn't have the cuts and bruises to show for it I'd think Saturday May 3 was a figment of my sleeping imagination.
It started normally. As ever I was a little late getting on with my plans, exciting stuff such as heading to the post office to pick up my mail, buying a new paint roller and food for the weekend. That meant heading into the town of Jesus and back via Sta Eulalia. I could have gone another way, but for various totally uninteresting reasons I didn't. I wish I had.
At this point I should say I came off my scooter a couple of weeks ago. It was stupid. I wasn't concentrating. It was a sort of wake-up call given that I'd had the little 125 for almost two years without the slightest bump. The accident had shaken me a little and the bike was no longer pristine. It left me shaken enough not to ride for a few days.
So I was slightly nervous when I started riding along the windy main road from Jesus to Sta Eulalia. It's filled with sharp curves, deep drops and a slightly unsettling camber in places. Actually it can be a pleasure to ride for those very reasons. But yesterday I felt stiff, not leaning into the curves properly. I braked badly on at one bend, then, well there's a blank spot in my memory.
I remember seeing a white van too close behind me in the mirror. Blank. Suddenly I was off the edge into a sheer drop. Another blank. Then I stood up, surprised that nothing hurt too seriously. I waved a thumbs up to the van driver who then headed off. Fortunately another couple of drivers stopped. I might only have had bumps, scratches and bruises, but hauling even a small motorbike up a slope is not easy. Three of us struggled on the steep, crumbling slope.
One of the guys was wearing a "Britsat" tee-shirt. I guessed - correctly - he was Chris. I'd spoken to him at Christmas when my Sky system packed up. In the end I was able to fix it myself. After yesterday let me heartily recommend his service. Next time...
Fortunately the damage to the scooter was only superficial, although I can't say I'm looking forward to gluing the cracked and split fairing together. So I rode home. Very slowly. Then I sat down and every muscle in my arms and lower back seemed to seize up and complain painfully. I'm still bloody sore.
That wasn't the end of the waking bad dream. In the evening, having as you'll remember missed out on the food shopping, Barbara and I decided to go for a cheap Chinese meal in Figueretas. I drove. Two minutes after leaving the house we see several cars scattered randomly around what we know is a dangerous junction. A guy is lying lifeless under his scooter next to a large rubbish bin. He looks in a bad way. It's almost a relief to hear him moaning. People are talking into mobile phones including the guy who seems to have hit the scooter. He's speaking French. The wing of his black Suzuki jeep is badly damaged.
Deciding there's little we can achieve by gawking we drive on. Slowly. At the "McDonalds roundabout" close to Figueretas we pull over to let an ambulance past. A minute or two later we've arrived at the scene of another accident. All I can see is the end of a woman's legs. The rest of her body is obscured by a police car. She's wearing blue flip-flops. I really don't want to see any more.
Now the evening descends more into farce than nightmare. I drop Barbara off near the restaurant and go to look for a parking space. It's never easy in Figueretas. I spot something on the other side of the road. It's tight, but every space is. I totally screw up the manoeuvre. It doesn't help that this is taking place outside a cafe and a stern-faced woman keeps looking at me and shaking her head as I struggle. I can't even use the bumpers as nature intended as there's a shinynew scooter parked in front. After two minutes of lock-to-lock my back wheel is a couple of inches up on the low curb and I can't straighten up.
In this situation my motto is: "If at first you don't succeed, give up." Trouble is I'm stuck. More struggling and I get out without hitting anything. Eventually I find a spot in the car park at the end of the road. I know Barbara will be getting fed up waiting. But I don't want to suffer the stare of the po-faced woman at the cafe. So I decide to walk back along the seafront away from the road.
I head down a ramp. It peters out into a dead end. But it's easy to step over the low wall of a hotel and what seems to be the beginning of the promenade. Unfortunately, there's no way out except through the hotel. So I decide to go that way. The problem is the hotel is built on the side of a cliff so the entrance is not on the ground floor. And I can't find a sign or even a person to ask the way to reception. I'm walking ever faster through faceless corridors and up blank staircases. Nothing. Sensors set off lights to brighten the gloom and add to my feeling that at some point I'm going to be arrested or something. My phone rings and it's Barbara wondering where I am.
Eventually I give up and retrace my steps. Hobbling as fast as I can along the road I note somebody's neatly claimed the space where I'd failed to park. Sore and sweating I make it to the restaurant.
The meal was okay and we pop into Uno y Dos for a non-alcoholic drink and to chat with Mitch. The drive back was happily uneventful. I can't say I slept well thanks to my various aches and pains. But my sleep was without dreams.
Technorati Tags nick,ibiza,clayton
Yesterday I felt I was living through a combination of bad dreams. In fact. if I didn't have the cuts and bruises to show for it I'd think Saturday May 3 was a figment of my sleeping imagination.
It started normally. As ever I was a little late getting on with my plans, exciting stuff such as heading to the post office to pick up my mail, buying a new paint roller and food for the weekend. That meant heading into the town of Jesus and back via Sta Eulalia. I could have gone another way, but for various totally uninteresting reasons I didn't. I wish I had.
At this point I should say I came off my scooter a couple of weeks ago. It was stupid. I wasn't concentrating. It was a sort of wake-up call given that I'd had the little 125 for almost two years without the slightest bump. The accident had shaken me a little and the bike was no longer pristine. It left me shaken enough not to ride for a few days.
So I was slightly nervous when I started riding along the windy main road from Jesus to Sta Eulalia. It's filled with sharp curves, deep drops and a slightly unsettling camber in places. Actually it can be a pleasure to ride for those very reasons. But yesterday I felt stiff, not leaning into the curves properly. I braked badly on at one bend, then, well there's a blank spot in my memory.
I remember seeing a white van too close behind me in the mirror. Blank. Suddenly I was off the edge into a sheer drop. Another blank. Then I stood up, surprised that nothing hurt too seriously. I waved a thumbs up to the van driver who then headed off. Fortunately another couple of drivers stopped. I might only have had bumps, scratches and bruises, but hauling even a small motorbike up a slope is not easy. Three of us struggled on the steep, crumbling slope.
One of the guys was wearing a "Britsat" tee-shirt. I guessed - correctly - he was Chris. I'd spoken to him at Christmas when my Sky system packed up. In the end I was able to fix it myself. After yesterday let me heartily recommend his service. Next time...
Fortunately the damage to the scooter was only superficial, although I can't say I'm looking forward to gluing the cracked and split fairing together. So I rode home. Very slowly. Then I sat down and every muscle in my arms and lower back seemed to seize up and complain painfully. I'm still bloody sore.
That wasn't the end of the waking bad dream. In the evening, having as you'll remember missed out on the food shopping, Barbara and I decided to go for a cheap Chinese meal in Figueretas. I drove. Two minutes after leaving the house we see several cars scattered randomly around what we know is a dangerous junction. A guy is lying lifeless under his scooter next to a large rubbish bin. He looks in a bad way. It's almost a relief to hear him moaning. People are talking into mobile phones including the guy who seems to have hit the scooter. He's speaking French. The wing of his black Suzuki jeep is badly damaged.
Deciding there's little we can achieve by gawking we drive on. Slowly. At the "McDonalds roundabout" close to Figueretas we pull over to let an ambulance past. A minute or two later we've arrived at the scene of another accident. All I can see is the end of a woman's legs. The rest of her body is obscured by a police car. She's wearing blue flip-flops. I really don't want to see any more.
Now the evening descends more into farce than nightmare. I drop Barbara off near the restaurant and go to look for a parking space. It's never easy in Figueretas. I spot something on the other side of the road. It's tight, but every space is. I totally screw up the manoeuvre. It doesn't help that this is taking place outside a cafe and a stern-faced woman keeps looking at me and shaking her head as I struggle. I can't even use the bumpers as nature intended as there's a shinynew scooter parked in front. After two minutes of lock-to-lock my back wheel is a couple of inches up on the low curb and I can't straighten up.
In this situation my motto is: "If at first you don't succeed, give up." Trouble is I'm stuck. More struggling and I get out without hitting anything. Eventually I find a spot in the car park at the end of the road. I know Barbara will be getting fed up waiting. But I don't want to suffer the stare of the po-faced woman at the cafe. So I decide to walk back along the seafront away from the road.
I head down a ramp. It peters out into a dead end. But it's easy to step over the low wall of a hotel and what seems to be the beginning of the promenade. Unfortunately, there's no way out except through the hotel. So I decide to go that way. The problem is the hotel is built on the side of a cliff so the entrance is not on the ground floor. And I can't find a sign or even a person to ask the way to reception. I'm walking ever faster through faceless corridors and up blank staircases. Nothing. Sensors set off lights to brighten the gloom and add to my feeling that at some point I'm going to be arrested or something. My phone rings and it's Barbara wondering where I am.
Eventually I give up and retrace my steps. Hobbling as fast as I can along the road I note somebody's neatly claimed the space where I'd failed to park. Sore and sweating I make it to the restaurant.
The meal was okay and we pop into Uno y Dos for a non-alcoholic drink and to chat with Mitch. The drive back was happily uneventful. I can't say I slept well thanks to my various aches and pains. But my sleep was without dreams.
Technorati Tags nick,ibiza,clayton
Friday, May 02, 2008
Ibiza's ***** blunders
Ten years ago the Sky TV series Ibiza Uncovered created the impression that the whole island was filled with obnoxious, drunken, mooning, British teenagers. Ever since there have been attempts to change Ibiza's image. It's been an uphill struggle.
"It'll be like Ibiza," is standard shorthand for British town councillors opposing licence extensions. Everybody knows what they mean. I'm no longer shocked by the ignorance. I thought my friends and relatives weren't naive enough to believe everything they see on television or read in the papers. But when they've come to visit me they've been genuinely surprised to find how beautiful, peaceful and unspoilt most of Ibiza is.
So what's needed is a slogan which captures the idea that the general perception of Ibiza is wrong. And that's what Sta Eulalia's soon-to-open five star hotel and spa Aguas de Ibiza has tried to do. So visitors to its website are greeted with the immortal words: "Think Ibiza, Think Again."
Inside the site it gets even worse. "You can check in any time you want, but you can never leave," makes it sound as if hotel guests are going to be held captive. (It doesn't help if you know that Hotel California is actually about cocaine addiction.)
On one level this is just another "ah well, that's Ibiza" type story. But five-star hotels only survive on immaculate service and attention to detail. If they can't even be bothered to get a native English-speaker to look over their marketing materials it doesn't bode well. I'm now expecting Fawlty Towers, but I hope I'm surprised. (Although if they want to employ me as a copywriter I'll change my mind I'm sure!)
"It'll be like Ibiza," is standard shorthand for British town councillors opposing licence extensions. Everybody knows what they mean. I'm no longer shocked by the ignorance. I thought my friends and relatives weren't naive enough to believe everything they see on television or read in the papers. But when they've come to visit me they've been genuinely surprised to find how beautiful, peaceful and unspoilt most of Ibiza is.
So what's needed is a slogan which captures the idea that the general perception of Ibiza is wrong. And that's what Sta Eulalia's soon-to-open five star hotel and spa Aguas de Ibiza has tried to do. So visitors to its website are greeted with the immortal words: "Think Ibiza, Think Again."
Inside the site it gets even worse. "You can check in any time you want, but you can never leave," makes it sound as if hotel guests are going to be held captive. (It doesn't help if you know that Hotel California is actually about cocaine addiction.)
On one level this is just another "ah well, that's Ibiza" type story. But five-star hotels only survive on immaculate service and attention to detail. If they can't even be bothered to get a native English-speaker to look over their marketing materials it doesn't bode well. I'm now expecting Fawlty Towers, but I hope I'm surprised. (Although if they want to employ me as a copywriter I'll change my mind I'm sure!)
Thursday, May 01, 2008
Is Ibiza the new San Tropez?
Is Ibiza the new San Tropez or the new Notting Hill?
It's funny but so far this year I haven't read any newspaper stories about a holiday resort which promises to be the 'new Ibiza'. Maybe their absence is a good sign. The articles were just lazy shorthand concococted by PR people and journalists.
These 'new' stories have always followed the same basic pattern. Just pick any place with sun, sea, cheap booze, Club 18-30 holidays and a disco where Judge Jules or Pete Tong have appeared. That's all a writer needs to uncover a new Ibiza. As journalism goes it's cheap and, usually, nasty. But, hey, I call myself a journalist too. And I live in Ibiza.
So I thought I'd flip the idea on its head and look at where I think Ibiza might be going, based on what's happened to other places with a few important similarities. I'm not saying they're identical. No two places have the same history or geography. But there are parallels I think. See if you agree.
San Tropez was a beautiful fishing village on the French Riviera. Actually it still is a beautiful spot with narrow winding lanes leading down to the Mediterranean. You won't find many fishermen though. Instead there are designer shops and classy restaurants lining the perfectly restored streets.
In a few years that could be Ibiza Town or even San An, although perhaps a little too much concrete needs to be removed in order to really move the latter resort upmarket. The area round the port and Dalt Vila in Ibiza though is ripe for 'improvement'. Work has already begun to turn the castle into a Parador, part of the state-run chain of upmarket hotels in historic buildings. The council has also started forcing people under the city walls in Sa Penya to upgrade their properties.
It would be hard to argue against this regeneration. Many of the old buildings are in a sorry state and will fall down if they aren't restored. The castle has been allowed to crumble into a state of disrepair for decades. There is no doubt that something needs to be done to protect the Dalt Vila and Sa Penya.
The changes will make the area more desirable. Prices will rise. Many of the existing occupants will be forced out. That won't be unpopular because this is an area with a reputation for drug addiction and crime. The gypsies who live here now aren't much loved by the authorities either.
Global economic problems might slow the regeneration of Ibiza Town, but it's only a matter of time. It'll bring money, protect the fabric of this historic area and make it a much pleasanter place to live or visit. Can that be a bad thing?
I'm not sure. Going back to San Tropez: from the 1920s through to the 1960s it was filled with artists, drunks, writers, displaced Russian aristocrats, Spanish republican exiles, whores, playboys and the idle rich. (Okay, I know this is an exaggeration. Most of the population was getting on with normal life in the same way as they always do in any place.) The point is s for a time the town had a fascinating mix of the bored rich and the poor but interesting.
San Tropez now is almost certainly safer, cleaner and in many ways a nicer place for most people to live or visit. but it isn't anywhere I'd be desperate to go. It's pretty and safe. Unfortunately those two virtues aren't the best friends of creativity.
Most painters, musicians, writers and other artists are badly paid. They need somewhere cheap to live. So why not create an artists' community with economical housing? It sounds easy until you try to define 'artist'. There really is no way to distinguish them from chancers, layabouts, junkies, alcoholics or whatever. Indeed, many artists are all of those things. Squallor and art frequently go together. And vice versa. For instance, why has Switzerland as the most consistently wealthy country in Europe with the most spectacular scenery created so little in the way of art?
The point I'm trying to make is that the regeneration of Ibizawill make the island a less exciting place. But it's very hard to argue in favour of poverty.
I intend this to be my first collection of thoughts on changing Ibiza. I'll be blogging as often as other work and pleasure allows.
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