Ibiza (Part 4)

I have now abandoned the south of the island and am cycling gradually north, away from the over-commercialised hedonism and superficial nonsense that the foreigners have made of Ibiza. Still in search of whatever may remain of a distinct Ibicenco culture. This will prolly be a disappointing experience, but I’ll keep looking. Now in Santa Eularia del Riu. Had to stop at a bar and recharge my computer, and that is a three pint job. Can I get on the bicycle again without falling off the other side?


The in-yer-face opulence is one of the things I have noticed more than anything else. While sleeping rough at the end of D’en Bossa beach, I counted at least a dozen private jets taking off and landing at Ibiza airport, and the yachts in the harbour are just ridiculous. The above example must belong to some Klingon war chieftain from Star Trek.


The place for luxury boats in the 1960s was here, alongside the harbour wall leading to the lighthouse. The super rich used to have yachts that were about the size of a bus. Now the mega rich have yachts big enough to take several buses on the lower deck.

Santa Eularia del Rio

The top of the town, with its typical Ibicenco church, is the only part that remains recognisable. It was here that I fell out of a hammock during a romantic episode at the age of fourteen. The hammock was strung between two pomegranate trees. Neither of us realised the symbolism at that time. We were both only slightly injured. I won’t mention her name because the internet is so very good at connecting people. Nor shall I go in search of the pomegranate trees. Nostalgia has its limits. And so do hammocks: don’t try that at home, folks.

Right: computer charged. Let’s get out of this bar and head further north. I just hope it’s flatter. I really cannot remember. All i know is this, that the last thing you want to be on in Ibiza these days is a bicycle. Everyone is out to kill you. They are driving hired cars, hired scooters, hired quad bikes, and the only thing they didn’t hire was a book of road sense. It’s a nightmare on Ibiza roads these days. 😦


But nobody gets to the rock pools except me on my bike.


About Gareth Thomas

After a mixed career as an aircraft technician, London fringe theatre playwright, Franciscan friar, and secondary school teacher, I find myself looking after the needs of four donkeys in a remote location in the mountains in the Costa Blanca. I like to listen to BBC Radio 4 and the wind in the pine trees. I am writing a comedy about a school in Benidorm. My favourite film of all time is "Jean de Florette". If I had my time again I would not have spent the early 1970s working for Special Branch.
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3 Responses to Ibiza (Part 4)

  1. JabbaPapa says:

    Bit small that boat, and don’t think I’ve ever seen it at this end of the lake.

    Could be a fairly new one I suppose (they all turn up here eventually)

  2. Frere Rabit says:

    You don’t get the Russian Mafia at your end of the lake. They don’t fancy their chances with the Gendarmerie and the special units of the French army.

  3. JabbaPapa says:

    You don’t get the Russian Mafia at your end of the lake

    Au contraire, cher Lapin, they’re here in their droves, and have been since about 5-10 years after the Iron Curtain came down… (we had an initial glut of massively impoverished tourists from the Soviet Empire) … though they DO tend to keep their business affairs out of this particular backyard, patrolled as it is by the Police Forces of three different countries.

    Still, at least all these Russians means it’s now become possible to get a decent jar of gherkins in this madman’s town …

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