Happy September!

If you live in Ibiza, are a member of any local Facebook groups (yes, you know the ones I mean!), or follow any Ibiza accounts on social media, you’ll know that September has arrived. Of course, the rest of the world knows this too, given that they get their information via the age-old system of simply looking at a calendar, it’s just that here in Ibiza, the change of month is shouted from the rooftops the very second the clock strikes 12am on the first day of September. It’s virtually impossible not to notice.

If you don’t live in Ibiza, you may be wondering, why all the fuss about September? Let me explain: while in some places around the world, September is just another calendar month, here in Ibiza it represents the home stretch. The stress and struggle of August is over – yes, I know, it all looks like sunshine and smiles on Instagram, but for those who work in restaurants, in kitchens, in retail, on boats, or anywhere really that puts them in that sweaty oppressive heat with no chance of a swim each day, the struggle is real – and the end of the season is on the horizon.

For the next four to six weeks, you can feel a collective shift in the consciousness of islanders – especially those in the service industry – to a more relaxed, happy and generally comfortable state. The drop in temperature feels like a blessing compared to the high 30s of August – those perma-beads of eyebrow and hairline sweat associated with high summer are a thing of the past. Dressing for work becomes bearable – you don’t have to think about breathable or sweat-proof options anymore – if not enjoyable (hurrah! We get to think about layers at night again!) and the daily commute (wherever you might be going) feels less akin to torture.

Life is suddenly good again, and it really does seem to change overnight like that. If Hallmark made ‘Happy September’ greeting cards, they’d be onto a winner in the Ibiza market. It’s been an all-round positive experience to scroll through my Ibiza-related social media feeds these past few days – gone are the complaints, the bitchy comments, the narkiness, the accusatory tones, the snide remarks and in their place are countless ‘Happy September!’ posts and pretty island pictures, special residents’ offers with island businesses and brands. Even my landlord started an email to me with ‘Feliz Septiembre’ this week – admittedly, he was asking for the money for all my summer bills, so he obviously had a reason to be happy, but being greeted in such a nice way even made me happy (well… you know, less gutted) to part with my hard-earned August cash.

It’s important to take stock in September – are there things you’ve been putting off all summer until you were less busy/less hot/less stressed? Are there places you want to go that will shut up shop at the end of the summer season? Are there people you’d like to see before they head off on their winter travels? Parties you’re yet to dance at? Are there summer clothes on sale in the shops you need to snap up at a sale price so you can wear them on your winter travels (and vice versa – are there new winter things in the shops you want to buy now so you can be the first in the new trends come November)?

Do you want to keep your tan topped up – or perhaps get a tan in the first place – with those last rays of summer sun? For some people, September brings even bigger questions and conundrums. Do they need to find a new place to live, a new job, make some more money, will they stay in Ibiza for the winter or go back to their home country? If you ask me, the answer is always Ibiza – as many regular readers will know, I am Ibiza winter’s biggest fan – but I also understand it’s not for everyone. Some people chase the endless summer, other people have responsibilities back at home, some people decide that they’re done with the island (gasp!) and make plans to find a home elsewhere. For those people, September is a month of contemplation, reflection and organisation.

If you’re not from Ibiza or not in Ibiza, don’t be worried that all this September relief means the island is winding down – far from it! In fact, it’s often September parties that have the best line-ups, the best people and the best music of the summer. The sun sets a little earlier of course, but the days are still quite long until the clocks go back in late October – speaking of which, the Ibiza summer continues well into next month these days, stretching almost all the way to my favourite ever holiday, Halloween. There’s plenty of good summer holiday time left in Ibiza yet! HAPPY SEPTEMBER!

Who’s set for love?

At times, Ibiza can feel like a bubble compared to the rest of the world. While clown-like fake-tanned politicians around the world are making headlines, while gun violence is on the increase, while forests are burning and while refugees flee horrific wars, here on the white isle, life – and the party – goes on, seemingly oblivious. Perhaps that’s part of Ibiza’s global appeal. It’s the proverbial ‘place where there isn’t any trouble’, where you can live and let live, believing love will save the world. But at the end of the day, actions have always spoken louder than words (or love for that matter) and in spite of the mass commercialisation of Ibiza, there are still some amazing people here who contribute to positive change.

George Evelyn, aka Nightmares on Wax, is one of these people and today, he’s inviting us all to join him in making a difference. Set for Love is a very special one-off party with over 30 special guest artists taking place tonight at Las Dalias – from 7pm until 4am – to celebrate the closing party of Wax Da Jam’s 10^th anniversary season. But it’s so much more than that. 100% of proceeds from ticket sales will be donated to the Last Night A DJ Saved My Life foundation, to help build water wells and deliver clean drinking water to those in need in India and Africa. Tickets are just 10€ per person, which – compared to club ticket prices around the rest of the island – is a total steal, and to think that every single cent from that investment is going to such a good cause actually shows you how easy it can be to make a difference.

Let me give you a little background information, in case you’re not already aware of the LNADJ charity. Founded in 2010, by long-term Ibiza dweller Jonny Lee, the idea was to draw on the global dance music industry and community to make a positive impact on the lives of children in crisis around the world. Check out the website for full details of the many campaigns that have been run, and are still running, and you’ll see that this is a charity with a true heart of gold. Many of the world’s biggest DJs have been involved with raising funds for LNADJ over the years, and George is known as the organisation’s number one supporter, constantly thinking of ways to contribute year after year and always tying in a conscious, charity element to his Wax Da Jam events.

Here’s a little bit more background – for those who don’t know it. While Nightmares on Wax is indeed a global phenomenon, Wax Da Jam is a party that was born in Ibiza and very much created for the local people of the island. When George Evelyn relocated to Ibiza more than a decade ago, he’d been feeling burnt out, lost and almost ready to throw in the towel on touring. Connecting with Ibiza, and the people here, gave him new motivation and he was inspired to create an event that went back to what making and performing music had originally been about for him – bringing people together.

The party’s first home was at the now defunct Aura and the party was the stuff of legend. People from all corners of the island would congregate in the north, and it felt more like a house party than a club. George described is as people turning up as individuals and leaving as one. It was a really special time in Ibiza’s party history, and when the venue eventually closed down, Wax Da Jam needed a new home. Las Dalias – home of the hippie market, but also to Ibiza’s oldest nightclub (celebrating its 65^th anniversary this year) – was the next step, and the party evolved to include more live music elements.

What was once a free party now had a door charge – which is understandable to cover production costs – but George was conscious that if you’re paying to party, some of that money should go to a good cause. This is when he became affiliated with the organisation – the dawn of a whole lot of good donations (clocking up to over £100k so far). In addition to raising money through his events, in September 2018, George and a crew climbed Kilimanjaro to raise money for LNADJ and perform the world’s highest DJ set. Afterwards, George could see the ripple effect his fundraising deeds had on people around the world. While he cites the physical challenge as the hardest thing he’s ever achieved, he also became aware that it is easy to make a difference if you have an avenue through which you can raise awareness. Music, of course, is the perfect platform. In 2019, Wax Da Jam moved to Pikes – the location of the ultimate house party – and while the party was free, guests were asked to make a donation. But George still wanted to do more.

The ten-year Wax Da Jam milestone needed to be celebrated and George had the idea to throw one final party at his old stomping ground of Las Dalias. Another event that could bring together locals – those who felt the party scene was changing, or those who felt priced out of the party scene due to the VIP culture – and friends under one roof, feeling one love. His idea was to invite all the resident DJs, musicians and performers of Ibiza under one roof to celebrate – and to ask them to perform for free in aid of the charity. To do it for the love. “There’s a lot of taking going on in this world,” said George in a recent Instagram video. “I think we need a lot more giving.

Let’s set an example. Actions speak louder than words. Let’s bring artists together, have a great time and we can STILL raise money and supply people with clean water. “ Which brings us back to tonight. In an amazing feat, George has gathered together a group of 30 artists who will be performing in four different locations throughout Las Dalias over a nine-hour period. There’s the open-air garden, the chill-out space, the club area and an all-new basement space which will be showcasing Ibiza’s most up and coming talent. In addition to seeing Nightmares on Wax (of course), you’ll also be treated to live performances from Ben Westbeech, Lovely Laura, blondewearingblack and long-time NOW collaborator, Wolfgang Heffner.

The DJ line-up reads like the who’s who of Ibiza: Acid Mondays, Andy Baxter, Andy Carroll, Andy Wilson, Banana Boogaloo, Buckley, Clara Da Costa, Dave Lubin, Davina Moss, Doorly, Eli Rojas, Geogre Solar, Graham Sahara, Lisa Chadderton, Mr Doris, Milou, Mo Love, Noisy Neighbours, Phat Phil Cooper, Pippi and Tatler (Real Gang Ibiza). You can pretty much guarantee this is going to be the highlight of the summer party season in Ibiza – and you certainly don’t need to be a local to be welcomed to the event. In fact, you don’t even need to be in Ibiza to make a difference – if you can’t be at the event, but would still like to donate to the cause, you can purchase a ticket via Resident Advisor and be assure every last cent is going to LNADJ. Or of course, you can also donate directly via the LNADJ website.

I hope Nightmares on Wax, and the Set for Love concept serve as inspiration to all clubs, all promoters, and all artists in the future. This truly is a chance for the people of Ibiza to get together and show the world that that just because we live in a bubble, doesn’t mean we can’t make a difference to those in need – see you on the dance floor tonight! Photography by Elliot Walsh

The August blues

‘You know those days when you get the mean reds?’ Oh dear Audrey, how right you were when you explained the difference between the blues and the mean reds in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Well technically, it was Truman Capote who defined the concept, and his version in the book goes into a little more visceral detail than the très chic Miss Golightly’s. ‘The blues are because you’re getting fat and maybe it’s been raining too long. You’re just sad, that’s all. The mean reds are horrible. You’re afraid and you sweat like hell and you don’t know what you’re afraid of. Except something bad is going to happen, only you don’t know what it is.’ If you’re wondering what this has to do with Ibiza in August, read on…

I’ve heard people on the island talk of the ‘August blues’ before. It always sounded a lot like the mean reads to me – when you’re in the eye of the high summer storm and you can’t see any way out of it; when you think you’re going to collapse from running around in the intense heat and it shows no sign of cooling down; when other people’s tempers run high because they’re experiencing all of the above and it makes them impossible to communicate with; when you can’t get a parking spot anywhere near your own house, a table in a restaurant (unless you have a great concierge!) or when you run out of water and every shop in a two kilometre radius is shut or has run dry. I’ve been here long enough to have seen and experienced all of that, but I’ve never let it get me down. But this week, well, I have to say I felt the August blues creeping in for the first time…

Aside from the heavy heat, I’ve always quite enjoyed August in Ibiza – the line-ups for every party are always amazing (hello Luciano playing a disco set at Laylah and back to back with Ricardo Villalobos at Cova Santa!), most people are too busy to have meetings, and it’s far too hot for photo shoots so I don’t spend too much time out and about in the hustle of it all, I love the heavy influx of singsong Italian accents (and fashion) all around the island, and you can get heavily discounted clothes in the last rounds of the summer sales. What’s not to love? Plus, there’s that hint of September on the horizon – that most blissful month of the year in Ibiza – that gets you through any tough times.

But this particular August was a different beast – however, it wasn’t Ibiza that got me down (it never does). You see, this month I’ve been travelling, and being away from my beloved island is what’s given me a case of the mean reds, or what could be akin to the August blues. I’ve never left the island in August before – and at this point, I should point out, the reasons I went away were for very special, wonderful, amazing occasions, which did NOT contribute to my August blues at all – but now that I’ve done it on multiple occasions now, I can assure you I am never ever leaving this island again in high season (disclaimer: unless someone gets married, has a baby, invites me to George and Amal’s house in Lake Como, or gives me backstage passes to Kylie Minogue or a Bon Jovi concert). Obviously, I know I should feel #blessed to have the opportunity to travel. And yes, of course I am #grateful. I am aware my August blues are well and truly #firstworldproblems.

I’m just not very laidback when it comes to travel. I always love the destination, I just don’t enjoy the experience of travelling, or any of the processes that come along with it. The packing, the planning (ergh – can someone else please search Skyscanner for me? Or lend me their private jet?), the paperwork, getting to the airport on time, the meaningless hours spent in queues or on planes or trains while not being connected to internet, sleeping in different beds, missing my cats, the constant fluctuations in temperature… it’s that last one that’s the killer in my opinion.

As I sit here typing, I have the sniffles, a sinus headache and absolutely no voice as a result of a journey that incorporated hot and sweaty Ibiza, a freezing plane, a non-air conditioned train, lovely fresh mountain air, that same steamy train, a cold plane and yep, back to hot and humid Ibiza again. The morning after I returned home from my most recent trip, I found myself sleepily digging through a pretty bare cupboard trying to find some food for my cats. I was reminded of Audrey Hepburn holding the beautiful ginger ‘Cat’ in her kitchen as she rummaged through the fridge trying to find him some milk, that iconic aqua eye mask pushed up on her head, all the while musing about the mean reds. (Side note: while I was wearing a very similar eye mask, there was absolutely no element of glamour in my version of the situation) I had that EXACT feeling she was talking about – I felt like something bad was going to happen but I didn’t know what it was (I would discover a few hours later, it was to be the onset of the flu!).

What would Holly Golightly do in this situation? I thought to myself, trying to snap out of the August blues/mean reds mindset – and so I cast my mind back to that same kitchen scene. ‘When I get it, the only thing that does any good is to jump into a cab and go to Tiffany’s,’ she said with a completely straight face. ‘Calms me down right away. The quietness and the proud look of it. Nothing very bad could happen to you there. If I could find a real-life place that made me feel like Tiffany’s… then I’d buy some furniture and give the cat a name.’ In the book, she also tried drinking, aspirin and smoking marijuana, but none of them did the job.

It was ‘men in their nice suits, and that lovely smell of silver and alligator wallets,’ that got her every time. I hugged my own two cats and went upstairs onto my roof terrace to contemplate what my own version of Tiffany’s could be. Where could I go to make myself feel better? And as I looked down on the beautiful, ancient cobblestone square of Dalt Vila, up at the cathedral behind me, out across the Mediterranean Sea and up at the glorious clear blue sky, I was struck by the calmness and the proud look of it all. I realised instantly… I’m already living in my Tiffany’s. I don’t need to go anywhere at all to feel better. Nothing very bad can happen to me here (and maybe that explains why I own my own furniture and my cats already have names). It turns out I don’t have the August blues at all – it’s just a pesky case of summer flu. The only August blues I see are the beautiful sky and that crystal clear sea!

The great topless debate

Just a few weeks ago, my friend Miss P and I were sitting on the beach at Cala Conta. OK, she was basking in the sun and I was cowering in the shade of the umbrella – regardless, the topic of tan lines came up in conversation. Miss P was visiting from Australia, where it’s fairly standard to sunbathe topless (although most girls are a little modest if a male friend joins the group and will only push their straps down or lie on their stomachs) and she pointed out that the amount of girls in full bikinis in Ibiza was higher than it had ever been before. When did Ibiza’s beaches become so… PG rated? And why? Regular readers of my blog will know I’m not a big fan of the sun, so having to keep my top on certainly doesn’t bother me. I’ve never been all that fussed about tan lines from my swimsuit because, well, I just don’t tan. I’m also a big fan of fashion, so if I’ve paid for a designer bikini, I tend to want to show off both pieces. It just seems sad to toss the top into your basket where it will sit all day, before being put back on (not to mention covered with a kaftan) for the drive home.

Miss P on the other hand – loves a suntan. She also loves the feeling of sun on her skin – as much of her skin as possible. She’s more than happy to forgo fashion for the sake of an all over tan – mind you, she’s also impossibly hot, and would look smoking in a potato sack. She doesn’t need to rely on carefully cut tops that support or flatter your figure. If I looked like Miss P I’d probably go naked on the beach. Anyway, I digress. Miss P and I were on the beach at Cala Conta, paying particular attention to the amount of girls wearing both pieces of their two-piece bikinis, we started talking about the decline of topless beaches… As is the case with most conversations on a beach in high summer in Ibiza, we got distracted (OK, there were also mojitos in plastic cups involved) somewhere between tan lines, Tom Ford, and the Pacha Flower Power parade which – while not risqué like many of the club parades used to be – is definitely one of the best ones on the island this year. Our attention then turned to the men on the beach, all of whom were obviously topless, and it made us ponder what men are thinking when they take their shirts off.

Is there a thought process, or is it just a thing they do? Surely blokes are not worrying about how their chests look, whether their tan is a little darker on the left shoulder (driving arm) than the right? They can’t be worrying about how to sit or stand to show off their best angle. And they couldn’t be self conscious about having their nipples on display for all the world to see. OR ARE THEY? Maybe, us girls have got the better end of the stick when it comes to beachwear. At least we have options. We’ve got fake tan of course, should we decide to sunbathe ‘tops on’ (as seems to be the case these days). Yes, I know guys could use this too… but DO THEY? We’ve got one-piece swimsuits if we don’t want to show our stomachs, we’ve got all different styles of bikini tops and bottoms that can suck us in, push us up and show us of (and let’s not forget the option to fake it of we’re not happy with the body we’ve got). And of course, we have beach fashion – kaftans, capes, coveralls, wraps, sarongs, all kinds of crochet…

So we started to feel some sympathy for the men in our midst. You can’t help but wonder in the age of Instagram if guys (of all ages) are feeling the same insecurities and pressure that girls feel. Feeling satisfied we had put the world to rights, we went home… which is where SOMETHING HAPPENED that made us take back all of our sympathy for mankind (and when I say mankind, I mean men). As regular readers may remember, I live in Dalt Vila – Ibiza’s beautiful, ancient, UNESCO World Heritage Listed Site. It’s charming and romantic and magic and special… until you see a man walking around with his shirt off. And sadly, this season – it’s not just the odd one with no manners here and there. There are loads of them! What is it that makes a man think it’s OK to strip off in a city? OK, it’s an old town – but it’s the island’s capital and a city nonetheless. Would you take your shirt off just strolling down the street in New York? No. London? I think not. Paris? Mon dieu! Women are not walking around town in bikini tops, so why are men going topless? It brought us back to one of our original points – it seems it’s JUST A THING THEY DO. A man gets hot, and thinks he has permission to bare his chest (I mean, it’s not against the law but common decency and all that) and wander around a beautiful, not to mention civilised place, all sweaty, for everyone to see.

Restaurants and shops have to have signs on the wall that denote ‘no shirt, no entry’ – and you can see the local shop owners sigh in disgust when they have to enforce said rule. The following day, Miss P and I island-hopped to Formentera (I know-  horrible life, right?). Here, we saw an entirely different species of man… a very very welcome one! In Formentera, all men (seriously, ALL – maybe that’s why it’s called For-MEN-tera) wear stylish button-down linen shirts. Everywhere you look, it’s like being in a stylish European film. And you know what? It made every single one of them appear more attractive – the less is more effect. The less you show, the more intrigued we are. Perhaps the men who are holidaying in Ibiza could learn something from our Formentera brothers – first and foremost, when you’re not on the beach, PLEASE keep your shirt (and better yet, upgrade your tee or vest to an actual shirt)! on! Photography by Sofia Gomez Fonzo and Alberto Alcocer

Heroes in a half shell

I never thought I’d see the day that I’d be living on a Mediterranean island, working as a professional writer and get the opportunity to quote the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles theme song in a headline, but today dear readers, is the day. Former tween Miss W would be so pleased with her future self! I jest of course, but here in Ibiza right now, turtle power is trending. For the first time in history, two mama loggerhead sea turtles have come ashore in Ibiza to lay their eggs – and they may not be the last…

Now just to be clear, these are not the first ever turtles to grace our shores, and probably not even the first ever loggerhead sea turtles (also known as the caretta caretta turtle) to shimmy themselves up on the sand. They are the first ever loggerhead sea turtles to nest in Ibiza – and this distinction is important. You see, while the breed (which is on the road to becoming endangered) is certainly known to hang out in the Mediterranean Sea, they are not known to breed in the Balearics. Environmental scientists are putting their new choice of breeding habitat down to – yep, you guessed it – climate change and the rising temperature of the sea.

This is of course, a very sad state of affairs but one part of me is just a little bit excited (sorry earth!) because in 60 days or so we’re going to have a clutch of little hatchlings (that’s the collective noun) scuttling out to sea and it’s going to be so amazing to watch! I already have goosebumps at the thought – it’s even bringing a little tear to my eye. We’re going to have baby turtles! Have you ever seen a hatchling? I have – there’s something so simultaneously enchanting and creepy about them at the same time, with their little beady eyes and tiny dinosaur like faces and webby little arms and legs. And as they’re batting their way out of their eggs… cue the heart melting, because it’s the closest thing you’ll ever see to a baby dinosaur hatching – not to mention way better than those plastic eggs you whack into a jug of water and wait for them to change.

OK so here’s what we know. The first mama turtle came ashore on Playa d’en Bossa last week – no doubt following the throb of the music from Ushuaïa as the Swedish House Mafia reunited, where she laid 58 eggs. Once the eggs were discovered, they were (safely and professionally) relocated to an undisclosed location, where they can safely gestate. Just a few days later, mama turtle number two made a beeline for Es Cavallet – clearly she had more refined tastes than her friend. Here, she laid a whopping 102 eggs (that’s actually pretty normal for a loggerhead sea turtle) and they’ve been kept in situ, however the regional environmental ministry has provided fencing to keep them protected. There are also volunteers on turtle watch, 24 hours a day, to ensure nothing happens to these precious little babies before they hatch.

The government has asked all members of the public (and especially the media – hence my use of stock and ‘borrowed’ photos) to stay away from the eggs, not to touch them and not to use flash photography anywhere near them as artificial light has been proven to cause premature hatchling death – hence the need for volunteers at the fences (there’s always one, isn’t there?). They’ve also said they expect to find more turtle egg chambers in the days and weeks to come. If you do happen to stumble across a turtle, its tracks, its nest or its eggs on your morning walk (or walk of shame – it seems turtles like to come ashore and lay eggs in the middle of the night), you should call the emergency services on 112 to ensure they get the protection they need.

Whatever you do, don’t step on the tracks (they look a bit like tyre tracks – see above) as their may be eggs beneath them. The sea surrounding Ibiza has been suffering due to the dramatic decline in turtle population in recent years – this year’s jellyfish endemic is living proof. Hopefully with mama turtles adopting Ibiza as their breeding ground, and with this clutch of more than 150 hatchlings starting their life off in the Balearic Sea, we just might be able to imagine a future where you can jump off a boat and not worry about one of those slimy suckers grazing and burning your skin on your descent into the water. Heroes in a half shell indeed. And before any environmentalists jump down my throat, I’m well aware this is not not going to make up for climate change. I’m just saying, it could be a nice change. (Side note: I don’t actually swim and I rarely go on boats due to a fear of the water, so I’m just repeating what I’ve been told).

So now, we’re on egg watch, while making lists of Renaissance artists to name each little hatchling after, Splinter style, once they pop out of their eggs at the end of the season. When the baby turtles do eventually hatch, it’s important to know that we should NOT try to help them get to the sea – they need to do this themselves to build the strength they need for the big swim into the Balearic beyond. If we pick them up and pop them straight in water, it’s highly likely they won’t have the strength to survive – so hands off. Or if for some reason, you find a baby turtle who’s lost his way from his brothers and sisters, keep it protected in a cool, dark place and call 112 who will come to the rescue. Hopefully the good volunteers of Ibiza will be out in full force to ensure this doesn’t happen.

I can’t help but wonder if those two mama turtles are out there right now, swimming around Ibiza looking for the next best place to nest. I bet they’re hoping for a brighter future for their babies – they probably long for a place where there isn’t any plastic, where superyachts don’t drop anchor on their hangouts, where jetskis and seabobs don’t disturb their calm waters, and where humans don’t trap them in fishing nets or throw all kinds of trash in their homes. We might not speak the same language, but right now, I think we all want the same thing… viva la tortuga! Image of turtle tracks and camouflaged mama turtle below borrowed from CREM Cap Blanc in Ibiza, so you know what to look out for – the animal recuperation centre who will help take care of the hatchlings!

Happy birthday Atzaró

Once upon a time, a family by the name of Guasch lived in a typical Ibiza finca set on acres and acres of beautiful, thriving farmland and orange groves in San Lorenzo, in the island’s north. Over time, the family grew, and with each new arrival – and as is the Ibicenco tradition – the farmhouse was extended to accommodate the ever-expanding brood. Five generations of Guasch family occupied the finca (most of them were even born in the house) over the years, witnessing the evolution of Ibiza from a quiet Mediterranean island into a hippie paradise, followed by the cosmopolitan holiday destination it has become today.

Little would the original Guasches have known, that their much-loved finca would go on to become one of the most iconic buildings in Ibiza and that their family legacy would be talked about all over the world, with people flying in from all corners of the globe to visit the place where their ancestors had lovingly tended the groves. Fats forward to 2004 and farm life was no longer a daily reality – most of the current generation of Guasch children had gone on to successful careers in the construction, design or property industries – and the finca that had been such an important part of their family was ready for a new lease of life.

At that time, Victor Guasch spotted a gap in the market for luxurious holidays that promoted the rustic authenticity of the island he was born and bred on. His idea to transform the finca into a five-star Agroturismo hotel, with beautiful gardens, high-end restaurants and a heavenly spa was brilliant, and perfectly timed – fast forward 15 years and Agroturismo Atzaró – the new incarnation of the Guasch family finca – is one of the island’s leading resorts. Having expanded exponentially since the early years, the hotel is now just one arm of the Atzaró Group, which also includes a bohemian beachside restaurant and chiringuito, Atzaró Beach, a healthy farm-to-table restaurant in the heart of the island, Aubergine Ibiza, a luxury events production agency, and even an incredible authentic Phinisi yacht in Indonesia, the Prana by Atzaró.

This week, the hotel that started it all celebrated its 15^th anniversary, with a glamorous party and catwalk show held on the grounds at sunset and into the night. On an island like Ibiza, where businesses and people come and go so quickly, an accomplishment like this is something that truly deserves to be celebrated and the who’s who of Ibiza, along with the UK fash-pack (and me!) set came together beneath the stars to do just that. The opening of Atzaró was just one year before my time in Ibiza, and since then I’ve been to many a glamorous ‘do on the grounds but there was something about this particular night that felt a bit like stepping back in time…

Perhaps it was because absolutely anyone and everyone you’d ever met in Ibiza over the last 15 years (a little less if you’re me – just jumping on the bandwagon) and there was a real feeling of nostalgia on the steps leading down from the main chill-out area, La Veranda and The Orange Tree restaurant as people caught up, mingled, and introduced their partners and offspring to those they may not have seen in many years. It felt a little bit like all the tribes of Ibiza had come out to play – north, south, east, west, the townies and the Santa G-eezers all came to pay their respect to what has become such an iconic Ibiza brand.

After drinks at the bar, some snacks from the food stalls, and a wander around the photography exhibition of the Prana by Atzaró yacht (no prizes for guessing where all of the island’s gypset will be headed on their winter vacations this year), we took our pre-allocated seats (FROW-ing! Thanks Atzaró!) for the highlight of the night, the catwalk show. Over the past decade, Atzaró really has become known as the home of fashion in Ibiza, hosting some of the biggest catwalk events and style launches the island has ever seen. For its 15^th anniversary, the brand pulled out all the stops, with 10 designers – most from Ibiza and a few special guests – invited to present their collections on the gorgeous poolside runway.

When it comes to Ibiza fashion, it doesn’t get any better (in my opinion, for what it’s worth) than World Family Ibiza. I had the honour, the privilege and indeed, the joy to interview the brand’s founder and matriarch Merel for Issue 4 of WHITE Ibiza Magazine (go get it! Click here to order it now and read all about her amazing life!) and let me tell you, I am now a World Family fangirl for life. Anyway, I digress – it was World Family Ibiza who opened the show and as songs about love floated over the airwaves, a lookalike John and Yoko walked down the runway as if it were the most normal thing on earth. Afterwards, a bevy of beauties in the most incredible bohemian ensembles started to strut their stuff, with the entire World Family clan – all the children, the grandchildren and even Merel’s 80 mother, who was being spun around in joyously circles in her streamer-clad wheelchair… honestly, I’m starting to tear up now at the memory.

It was such an emotional parade to watch… The show went on for about 90 minutes – it was like a non-stop fash-athon – with other iconic island names like Victoria and her La Galeria Elefante brand and label of the moment (and all the models’ fave) De La Vali, plus UK ‘it’ label Rixo London, Isabel Moore and Yasmine Eslami. Then show progressively went from flowy boho to beachy, then sexy, sassy and sultry, with lots of 80s-inspired metallic pieces making me wonder if I DO actually want to go our clubbing this season after all… Fortunately after the show, each of the designers had a pop-up boutique in the fashion market for all the girls in the audience who had the exact same thought as me!

As much as the show was wonderful, I have to say, in the end I preferred the sport of crowd watching – there were just so many interesting people in attendance! Of course, there was a gaggle of socialites you’ll probably know from the UK papers (but I didn’t because I live here in my press-less bubble), there were some actresses, some singers, there were hair and make-up artists galore, and there were all the key business owners from Ibiza, along with all the well-known multi-generational Ibiza families, which of course, includes the Guasch family. What an incredible legacy, and what an amazing achievement. Happy birthday Atzaró – here’s to the next 15 years!

Choose love… and falafels

Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. You think you know where I’m going with this, right? Wrong! As much as I love Irvine Welsh, Trainspotting and even by default, Ewan McGregor, my own version of the Choose monologue goes down a very different path to our dear Renton. You see, I choose love. And I choose falafels. And if you don’t know the connection between the two, well, I suggest you get yourself to Pikes on Wednesday July 31, 2019 to find out for yourself.

My first Choose Love experience was towards the end of last summer, when UK charity Help Refugees threw a pop-up party at Pikes (which as my regular readers know, is my favourite place on earth) and I have to admit I’ve pretty much been an addict ever since. It was here that I met the amazing Syrian chef Imad Alarnab – a truly incredible soul, who was once one of the most successful restaurateurs in Damascus. Let me give you a little background: When the war broke out in 2012, two of Imad’s restaurants were destroyed by bombings and he – like so many others around him – decided to flee the country in search of a better life for his family.

Imad’s journey took him through Lebanon and Turkey, on an extremely precarious, life-threatening boat journey to Greece, then through Serbia, Hungary, Austria, Germany and France, before he ended up in the refugee camps in Calais, where he used his cooking skills to feed as many people as possible. This conjures up an uncomfortable image many of us know from the news, but because it’s not something that affects us on a daily basis so, we find it easy to look the other way. Recently the United Nations shared a statistic that from an original population of 22 million, there are 13.5 million Syrians today who are currently seeking humanitarian assistance, and five million of those are refugees living outside of their war-torn country. FIVE MILLION. It certainly puts perspective on complaining that it’s too hot and crowded at an Ibiza club on any given summer night.

As usual, I digress. After three intensely challenging months, Imad found asylum in London, where he decided to give something back to the charities that had helped him, including Help Refugees and UNICEF. What started as a pop-up Syrian supper club – staffed by volunteers and with proceeds being donated to Hope Hospital in Aleppo – has grown to include a fully-fledged restaurant (Imad’s Choose Love Kitchen) and has now come to Ibiza, in the form of a monthly Choose Love event at Pikes. Imad himself flies out to Ibiza and takes control of the Pikes kitchen for the night, where he creates an amazing Syrian style feast (mostly his mother’s recipes, so he tells me) chock-full of amazing herbs, flavours, spices and scents. The falafels…. Oh those falafels! I have never tasted anything so good in my life. And the hummus… it’s not of this world. The Bado (smoked aubergine) was like heaven in my mouth, the Halloumi salad was a masterpiece and the thought of eating that lamb again each month is what gets me out of bed most mornings.

Just like with Imad’s Choose Love Kitchen in London, the proceeds of the Pikes Choose Love dinner are donated to Help Refugees – is there any better reason to organise a night out? As a matter of fact there is! Well, they’re not necessarily better reasons, but there are definitely more of them. You see, Choose Love at Pikes is much more than just the pop-up supper club. There’s also an art exhibition, curated by Print Club London, who have collaborated with some of today’s most talented contemporary artists on interpretations of the Choose Love logo – designed by British designer Katharine Hamnett (the creator of the original Choose Life slogan tees in the 80s). Each print you see exhibited around the ground at Pikes is also for sale (easily rolled up and packed into your luggage to take home) and yes, the proceeds are donated to charity. A good excuse to collect them all!

Going back to Katharine Hamnett’s tees, you can also snap up the exclusive Pikes twist on the tee designed in collaboration with Silken Favours on the night too. With celebs like Julia Roberts and my fave Kylie Minogue supporting the charity of late, it’s definitely the must-have t-shirt of the season (if you’re not in Ibiza, you can get kitted out via ASOS, with 100% of profits going to charity). BUT THAT’S NOT ALL! There’s still one last reason to get yourself to Choose Love at Pikes next Wednesday night…. but I’m not allowed to say because the news is under embargo right now and we all know I’m a good girl who can keep a secret when asked.

Let’s just say that the past three Choose Love parties have featured some pretty sensational special guest DJs, but that next week’s guest is pretty much the crème de la crème of electronic artists right now. It’s someone who is truly a force of nature. It’s someone who has previously graced the decks at Pikes just once (for a roadblock debut party) and called it the greatest gig of their career. It’s someone who still believes… ah, I’ve said too much. You’ll just have to Choose to find out on the day! Choose your future. Choose life… But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose something else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got falafels? And a super special top secret DJ that my heart is going to burst if I can’t share the secret soon? Photography by Elliot Young Photography for Pikes

When Chris Hemsworth crashed my birthday party

Every year when my birthday rolls around, I find the whole thing a little overwhelming. It’s not the idea of having a birthday itself – I’ve got no problem with ageing and I definitely have no problem with presents. It’s the idea of trying to organise something in middle of high summer, when it’s ridiculously hot and ridiculously busy. Anyone who lives and works in Ibiza and has a birthday in July or August will know exactly what I’m talking about. If you’re here on holiday and having a birthday, it can be the best experience – there’s nowhere better in the world to organise a celebration. That’s how I ended up living here in fact – my very first visit to the island was for my birthday and it was so good I never left!

But I digress – back to those born under the sign of Cancer or Leo who dread their birthdays rolling around in Ibiza each year. Most people I know work crazy hours and there’s no such thing as a weekend (it’s Ibiza! Every night’s a weekend!) so it can be very tricky to get all your favourite people under one roof. Secondly, all of our favourite restaurants are so overcrowded with tourists so it can difficult to get a good table (and can sometimes feel a bit rushed) and thirdly, who wants to eat a big meal in summer anyway? And the last thing you feel like at this time of year is to organise anything in your own home – that needs to stay your sanctuary.

Speaking of home, back in the land down under (where women glow and men plunder, also where I come from, in case you didn’t know), birthdays were a totally different ballgame for me. There, my date of birth fell in the middle of the beautiful sunny winter. Work hours were your typical nine to five and weekends were weekends – it was easy (in fact it was a JOY!) to get a group of your favourite people together in a lovely cosy environment to celebrate. I relished my birthdays. I planned lavish parties, fun breakfasts, cosy dinners and weekends away… until that one fateful year when I planned a European holiday and then birthdays, as I knew them, were never to be the same again.

There’s not a whole lot I miss about Australia to be perfectly honest, but winter birthdays are one thing. Vegemite is another (although these days I have a source so I never run out). Lucas’ Papaw ointment – I don’t leave home without it and ask every single person visiting from Australia to bring me a tube or tub. And Cherry Ripes (if you know you know). And while I definitely don’t miss the good old Aussie twang (I prefer an international Kylie Minogue/Elle McPherson/Nicole Kidman strain of Strayan), there are times when I hear someone from Australia talking – rarely on the streets of Ibiza, more likely on the TV, in a film or on an Insta-story in the case of my all-time celeb crush Chris Hemsworth – and it feels… like home.

Ahh, Chris Hemsworth. The quintessential Aussie good bloke, who leapt into our collective consciousness, not to mention our hearts, via a stint on Home and Away in 2004 (just a year before my fateful Ibiza birthday). If only all Australian men were like the Hemsworths (as I’m sure you all know, there are three!), perhaps I’d still live there. Just a few days ago, when my friend Miss M asked me if there was anything I’d like for my birthday this year, I answered: a housekeeper, a day off and Chris Hemsworth. So you can imagine my surprise when on Sunday – the day of my actual birthday – I discovered that the one and only Chris Hemsworth had jetted into Ibiza (private, obvs) for a birthday party. Could it be the universe was finally going to answer my prayers? Was Miss M so well connected she could hook these kinds of things up? Close, but no cigar. very obviously no cigar, since Mr Hemsworth is a very healthy person IRL and would never smoke – according to the tabloids, he even avoided pizza and beer during his trip to Ibiza. The man is clearly a saint! And if that’s what constitutes news these days, I am very scared for future generations.

Anyway, again I digress. Turns out the God of Thunder was in Ibiza for someone else’s birthday party – his own wife as it turns out, the beautiful Spanish actress Elsa Pataky, who would certainly not have been experiencing the same birthday psychosis as me, since she was holidaying in Ibiza, not living and working here (by the way, I am sure Elsa and I would be kindred spirits if she did live here – I can just feel it, we’re the same star sign, the same age, we love the same clothing brands, coincidentally we love the same man, she could help me practice my Spanish, oh what fun we’d have!), and had a concierge organise all the finer details for her. Which just so happened to include flying in her good pal Luciana Barroso, and her other half, who – if you didn’t already know – is none other than Matt Damon.

So while the Damons and the Hemsworths were glamming it up on a superyacht, eating or avoiding pizza and beer (let’s face it – the tabloids just make stuff up), I was left wondering whether my invite got lost in the post. Perhaps they didn’t call me because they figured it was my own birthday and I’d have better things to do? Maybe Chris was scared that when we met, he’d realise I was the girl of his dreams and he’d have to leave Elsa and the kids immediately and come and live in Ibiza with me and the cats? (Don’t worry Elsa – I promise I would never allow that to happen since we’re kindred spirits and all that). Maybe it was because Elsa was scared I’d throw myself at her husband and he might fall overboard? (Don’t worry Elsa – I’m more likely to throw myself at you in order for us to become BFFs) I guess I’ll never know. But as far as birthdays go…

I’ve been thinking that next year, I need to be more like Elsa. From the looks of her Instagram account, she had a wonderful birthday in Ibiza, while I’m still waiting for my housekeeper to turn up and the aforementioned day off. Perhaps next year (when Elsa and I are besties) we can have a joint birthday party… her concierge (seen below with our beloved) can arrange everything for us, Chris will of course RSVP yes and all I have to do is turn up. Although – I’ve never been a big fan of boats either. I wonder how she’ll feel about having our party on dry land. Anyone got her number so I can give her a call and ask? Most photos borrowed from my BFF Elsa Pataky’s Instagram account – you should follow her so you can see when she starts posting selfies of the two of us together. Image below courtesy of Roman Fortunato.

Greetings from Formentera

They say the grass is always greener on the other side, but I think when it comes to Ibiza’s sister isle, Formentera, it’s a case of the water is always bluer (yes, that’s a word – I checked). I’m telling you this from experience, as I sit here gazing out over the crystal clear Mediterranean Sea, looking towards Ibiza. The water in Formentera is indeed a different shade of blue than it is at home – that’s not to say it’s better by any means, but if there’s one thing in this life I know for sure, it’s that an island-hop across from one beloved Balearic to another is exactly what you need to make everything a-ok.

When you’re living and working in Ibiza, sometimes it can feel like there’s never a good time to get away in the summer. Formentera is just a 30-minute ferry ride away (and lucky residents receive 75% off the price too, making it even more appealing), and yet so many of us put it off, waiting for the right time, waiting for the right weather, waiting until we’re not busy, waiting until our visiting friends are here, waiting for some kind of occasion. For example, I waited until I needed to visit the island for work – for research purposes, obvs – and the minute I arrived on the island, I realised (as always!) I had waited far too long. I could have been here so many times up until now and now the season is almost over (disclaimer: that’s what locals think, not tourists so stay calm!).

It’s funny, how in our heads we think that going to Formentera is such a big deal, when in reality, it’s less of a journey than many daily commuters take just to get to work. And there’s just something about that little trip across the sea that can completely change your mindset – a weight just drops off your shoulders the second the boat leaves the dock. It’s almost like a phenomenon… the closer and closer we (and when I say we, I mean we the collective of Ibiza dwellers) get to Espalmador, and then the port of La Savina, the less and less we feel tense, worried, stressed, tired, negative. It’s like the air is different over there. Just like the grass is greener and the water bluer, the air is, well, airier. But, as I told you already, we are here to work so it’s not like I am able to switch my phone off and leave my laptop in the hotel safe (oh I do dream of those days), but I still feel a little like I’m on holiday from my normal life.

As we roam around the island – again, all in the name of research – and get to know more of its places and people (ohhhh Formentera people, how I love you), we become these kind of relaxed versions of our Ibiza selves. On the beaches, our photographer suddenly strips to almost nothing and swans around doing her job – and doing her job very well, mind you – in an itsy bitsy teeny weenie bikini. We stop the car on the salt flats just to breathe in and enjoy the moment (something I’m sure must drive Formentera locals insane – sorry!) in between shoots. We drink beer when we’re thirsty (disclaimer number two: that wasn’t me, I was driving safely). We collect shells on the beach. We try on every single straw hat in every single little supermarket and buy tie-dyed dresses from the market and quirky Formentera fridge magnets.

I catch a look at us in our (very typical of most tourists in Formentera) little hired Fiat Panda – sun-kissed faces, sunburnt shoulders (and backs of knees – ouch), bags full of tat in the back and Bob Marley on the radio and I think, who ARE these girls? They are definitely not the same two people who got on the ferry and satin silence as they used their mobile phones as laptop hotspots so they could keep up with emails on-the-go. And it hasn’t even been 48 hours yet.

People talk about Ibiza possessing an energy, and I can’t help but think Formentera does too. For us, it’s the yin to Ibiza’s yang – it’s a calming, blissful, soothing kind of energy. Like a year-long meditation in the course of a 30-minute boat ride. I can’t help but wonder – do the Formentera locals judge us for being this way? Do they look at us with disdain? Do they know how much we love their beautiful island, what a high esteem we hold it in, how we envy them their lives in paradise? Are they feeling the way we do in Ibiza, as their island is overrun by hire cars and mopeds, just counting down the months to winter? Do they share our joy in their island life, or does the grass seem greener to them in Ibiza (hmm, or perhaps Menorca)?

That’s when it hit me. This life, that I’m living right now in Formentera – the writer dashing all over a beautiful Mediterranean island, writing about all the best restaurants and beaches, learning the island folklore, meeting cool people and (gasp!) having FUN while she does it – this is the life that most people imagine I’m living in Ibiza. And I think to myself: why is it only like this for me in Formentera? Why can’t I have this life in Ibiza too (disclaimer number three: not saying my life is bad in Ibiza, it’s just not quite as laidback)? Essentially the work is the same. The hours are the same. The climate is the same. Why is it that I can’t try on silly straw hats, buy clothes from roadside supermarkets and blast reggae from my car in Ibiza?

It’s a tale of two islands… they’re just not the same. The people are not the same. Life is not the same. And maybe, that’s what makes these trips to Formentera so precious to me. If I was to move to the island (and believe me, I’ve thought about it A LOT), would it all start to lose the magic? Would the grass start to look greener in Ibiza? Or would I start to look further afield for green grass, blue water and airy air? As we sit here in the port right now, waiting to board the ferry back home to Ibiza, I’m reminded of my all-time favourite movie, and that moment when Dorothy has a moment of clarity when she’s back in Kansas after her trip to Oz. “If I ever go looking for my heart’s desire again, I won’t look any further than my own back yard. Because if it isn’t there, I never really lost it to begin with.” I love you Formentera, but there’s no place like home…

The day Ibiza lost power

At exactly 6pm last Wednesday, Ibiza town lost power. While those living out in the campo experience power shortages quite often, it’s been about a decade since we last went without light or electricity in the capital – back in the dark ages, so to speak (I do love a pun). So when a mysterious silence fell over Dalt Vila last week – which I really only identified after my computer stopped charging and my WiFi fizzled out – I stepped out onto my balcony to see a flurry of chefs and shop owners standing in the street looking at each other in bewilderment (while the tourists sat around sipping their drinks none the wiser).

Exactly what is one supposed to do when Ibiza has no power? Well, unlike the dark ages, I quickly discovered that life (for someone whose work involves a lot of time online) simply goes on in a blackout. Obviously in the middle of broad daylight, there’s no need for candles and with the advent of 4G, I simply needed to use my phone as a hotspot for the internet and it was business as usual. That is, until my phone and laptop battery started to run out. The desktop computer was clearly out of order and obviously I had no idea when the power would come back on – was it worth heading out to another village in search of a power source? Or would the power come back on the minute my I got to my car?

I decided there was one woman who would know for sure exactly what the score was – my corner shopkeeper, Maria. Maria’s family have operated that little corner store for over 84 years (that or she’s 84 years old and has spent her entire life in the shop, sometimes her mumbling lightning fast Spanish confuses me) and she knows the ins, the outs, the secrets and the gossip of every neighbour, every other shopkeeper, every restaurateur, every chef, every waitress, every busker, every walking tour guide and even every child from the neighbourhood. This time last year, Dolce & Gabbana preserved her image forever in one of their Ibiza campaign images, peeking out of the shop door with her little grandson beside her. She truly is a Dalt Vila legend.

Anyway, I digress. I popped down to see Maria, who was sitting outside on the street while the shop was in pitch black darkness. “Tienes luz?” I asked her (despite the fact the answer was pretty bloody obvious – no she did not have any lights!), and she quickly gave me the low down. The entire town – not just Dalt Vila – was out of power due to some construction and it would be about two hours before they cold restore it. I looked down the square to the ice cream shop, and wondered how long they’d last before they started giving out free ice cream to anyone who wandered past.

I decided that the universe was telling me to take a break and that I should go lie down on my lovely roof terrace and soak up the early summer sun (thankfully, the blackout was before the awful heat wave arrived). But as I walked into my house, I heard the dehumidifier chugging away and realised we already had power restored. Bring the good honest girl that I am, I went back to work and then within two minutes, the WiFi dropped out again and we were yet again without power (cool story, I know, sorry, I do have a point). And as the power came in and out intermittently for the next hour or so, I was struck by the true sound of silence, over and over again. The difference between my normally quiet square and the actually SILENT square was enormous.

What I thought was was originally very very peaceful, every day silence is actually full of the sounds of electricity humming from the shops and restaurants below, not to mention all of the surrounding apartments. And once you hear the difference, that hum starts to sound almost deafening. We forget (well, we townies who never go a day without electricity anyway) in this crazy busy WiFi-powered world that there is such a thing as disconnection and I started to ponder the idea of dedicating at least one day a week to going somewhere without any hums or buzzes; somewhere with nothing but the sound of silence. But then, the power came back on and I got distracted by Google and life went on. But at least it gave me something to write about on a day I had extreme writers’ block!