Drive safe: Your annual public safety announcement

Every year, around this exact same time, we experience a huge influx of traffic on the island’s roads. There are more hire cars, more scooters, more people in general; there’s more stress, more drinking, more partying, more places to go and people to see. And sadly – so very sadly – there are also a lot of accidents, injuries and even fatalities. With that in mind, and with much respect to those who lost their lives on our roads over the past week, I’d like to make today’s blog post a public safety announcement: let’s make Ibiza safe again.

Last week was a particularly treacherous one. Every time I looked on social media, I saw yet another article in the local news about car or moto accidents in Ibiza, with two of them being fatal – along with so many distressed and upset comments from those who were affected by the incidents, whether they had witnessed the accidents, were friends of the victims, or had been involved in some way themselves. We really are a small community here, so when something tragic happens, the locals do come together to support one another and over the past few days, there’s been a lot of calls on local residents’ social media groups to raise awareness for road safety. Now that the summer is in full swing however, we need to go beyond those who live here, and also appeal to the greater community of holidaymakers to help keep our roads safe.

The thought that there are people coming to our beautiful island – whether to start a new life, to visit friends and family, or for the holiday of their dreams – and never, ever going home again is truly heartbreaking. If you are reading this blog, then I truly implore you to PLEASE drive safely. Stick to the speed limit, follow the road rules, pay attention to your surroundings, go slowly on caminos with limited visibility, keep your eyes on upcoming intersections, stop at pedestrian crossings, don’t talk or text on the phone, don’t take photos or videos while you’re driving, keep your cool if someone in front of you appears lost or drives slowly, keep your distance if they drive erratically, don’t bully other drivers and FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DON’T DRINK (OR TAKE DRUGS) AND DRIVE.

It sounds simple, doesn’t it? But as my friend Mr BB pointed out (yes, you all know who I’m talking about!) in a recent post, it’s often this last point that is ignored more than all the others (and as much by residents as tourists – there’s no passing the buck here). Excuses like: ‘I need my car in the morning’ or ‘I can’t get a taxi’ or ‘There’s no one to give me a lift’ should never ever give anyone the confidence to get behind the wheel of a car if they’ve been drinking (or whatever else). Because no matter how good a driver you think you are, there’s no denying that your skills are impaired (not to mention you’re breaking the laws). Pair that with the amount of kamikaze rental car drivers who don’t know where they’re going, are driving on a different side of the road than they’re used to, who are looking at GPS screens instead of the road – the odds are not stacked in your favour.

So what’s the solution? We need more police controls obviously and we oh-so-clearly need a better public transport system. Without Uber, we clearly also need more taxis, and taxis that can be easily accessed by visitors to the island who don’t speak Spanish to call a taxi company. Thankfully, in the past month, an all-new licensed taxi app has been introduced, and according to all reports functions very well – no matter how far in the back of beyond you might find yourself. Perhaps we need more public service announcements – like billboards or posters on the backs of toilet doors in clubs – that remind people of things like this. In California, where marijuana has been legalised, there are ‘don’t smoke and drive’ ads everywhere you go – why not, in a place like Ibiza, where partying is de rigueur, follow suit and remind people not to drink and drive? Subliminally… it could hopefully sink in.

The other thing to think about is that these accidents are not just happening in the middle of the night – when one might presume is dangerous. They happen at 4pm in the afternoon, at 8pm just before the sunset, at 9am after the school run – there’s no typical time or place. And it’s not always drugs or alcohol to blame. Sometimes the road conditions are unsafe, sometimes the tyres on a moped are old and slip out from under it, sometimes a dog runs in front of a car, sometimes you’re tired and you think you see a green light when it’s actually red – there’s no rhyme or reason. That’s why they’re called accidents. We all need to drive carefully, and defensively, especially now there are so many new people on our roads. So many of Ibiza’s roads are incredibly beautiful, and lead us all to magical places and experiences – let’s look out for one another and make sure we all get to where we’re going (and back home again) in one piece.

Have a nice day

Whether you were born in Ibiza, you’ve chosen to make the island your home, you’re just here to work the summer season or you’re one of the millions of people who comes here for a holiday, there’s a very high chance that living on this Balearic island makes you happy. If it doesn’t, then you should probably move. Or at least try to change your circumstances so that it does. I like to imagine Ibiza as an island that’s filled with people #livingourbestlives – no matter what that might be, who you might be, where you might be and what you might be doing… I was reminded of this just a few days ago, when I spent the afternoon wandering around Ibiza town and port doing chores. From the pet shop to the pharmacy, the fruit market and the fancy dress store (yes, this is what my kind of chores entail) and the odd fashion boutique (which is more of a pleasure than a chore), each and every experience ended on a happy, positive note, reminding me not only why I live here, but also how easy it is to be nice to other people and make a difference to their day.

Let’s start with the pet shop, because, well, cats. My two felines are incredibly spoiled and so I spend a lot of time (err, and money) seeking out new things for them to eat, new toys for them to play with or new contraptions for them to climb on. I used to like to buy them plush beds to sleep in, but in the end they always sleep on my pillow or at my feet, so I stopped indulging in those – anyway, I digress. On this particular day in question, I was just popping in for some posh organic food sachets and the girl behind the counter greeted me and asked how I was. I do love a nicety, and so I replied (in Spanish of course – I speak fluent pet jargon) and asked her the same. AND THEN, she proceeded to ask me how my cats were and seemed genuinely interested in the answer and started telling me about her own cats in a case of crazy cat ladies unite. When I walked out of the store, she bade me farewell as if we were old friends. “Adios guapa,” (which translates to ‘goodbye beautiful’) she called out as I left. “Hasta proxima.” (‘see you next time’) and I couldn’t help but think how lovely it is to be treated not just like a customer, but like a friend. Immediately afterwards, I popped into a supermarket for some extra kitty snacks (not the same one that accused me of shoplifting cat food a couple of months ago) and after I’d piled up my purchases on the conveyor belt and paid, the checkout girl closed her till and got up to leave for the day. She smiled at me and said: “Gracias guapa.” (I must have been having a good hair day, with all these guapa comments coming my way) “Que tengas una buena tarde.” (‘Have a good afternoon.’) And again, I genuinely felt like she meant it and I floated back to my car on a happy buzz.

“Gracias cariña,” (‘thank you darling’) said the next lovely lady in the fancy dress store with a huge smile when I bought some hen party related goodies just a little later on that day. “Disfruta la fiesta.” (‘enjoy the party’) And once again, I really felt like she genuinely meant it. I hear people complain about customer service in Ibiza from time to time, but I have to say, this particular day felt like a masterclass in making customers happy. If someone comes into your store, it’s really not hard to please them – a smile here, some helpful advice there – ultimately it results in more sales, which is surely the whole point of working in retail. AND it helps the person on the receiving end of said nicety have a nice day.

When I passed by my favourite fruit market to pick up some fruit and veg, I noticed that the shopkeeper had given me too many punnets of fresh blueberries – and so I (being honest) pulled one out to give it back. “No, es un regalo,” she said, explaining that they had too many that would simply end up getting spoiled, so she was happy to give some away. Other times, she’s given me sprigs of basil, thrown in a mango or not charged me for figs that are juuuust about to turn – it’s a small thing but it’s what makes me go back to the same fruit shop every time. Personal, lovely and friendly service like this makes me want to give them my money!

Just around the corner, while totally laden with shopping bags, I spied a leopard print dress that I just HAD to have – and when I stepped inside the store I discovered rails and rails of even more beautiful pieces I needed to try on. I was a bit hesitant to go in, knowing that my armloads of bags would quite possibly knock someone, or something, over but my desire for animal print won out over practicality in the end. From the minute I stepped through the shopfront, the attendant was the nicest, most helpful person that has ever assisted me.

First of all, she offered to lighten my load and put all my shopping behind the counter. Secondly, she let me play dress up with everything and helped me style each piece, asking me what the occasion was and giving me suggestions on what to pair each piece with and FINALLY – and this is the bit that really warmed my heart – she even offered to let me take a dress home with me to see if I liked it, and if it would match my own accessories, knowing how much I liked it. Admittedly, she knew where I worked, so it wasn’t like lending something to a complete random – she would have been able to send the heavies if I didn’t return it or pay for it, but I was really touched by how helpful and nice she was. Because in this day and age – especially with online shopping – it’s just not that common to get the human touch.

Finally, on the way home, I popped into the pharmacy and picked up some turmeric tablets, thinking it would be better for my general health to try and take a natural form of anti-inflammatory for my sore wrist than continually popping Ibuprofen (sorry probably TMI but just want to paint a picture of the situation). “Es este antiinflamatorio?” I tentatively asked the pharmacist to be sure, stumbling over the syllables in Spanish. “It’s not as effective as ibuprofen,” he replied in perfect English (don’t get mad about big pharma – he was just doing his job). “But you can try it and see if it helps.” I’ve noticed this kind of customer service a lot lately in Ibiza – when you speak Spanglish, the attendant replies to you in English to make your experience easier, which of course is super helpful when you can’t quite articulate what you need.

On an island where people hail from all over the globe, someone taking the time to speak to you, and care for you, in your own language rather than theirs is a real touch. There’s a carefully considered decision there – they realise you would be more comfortable in your mother tongue and make the switch for you so you don’t have to keep bumbling. “Have a nice day,” concluded the pharmacist (even though it was pretty much sunset – but that’s semantics) as I added the little bottle of capsules to my heaving load of shopping. “Igualmente,” (‘same to you’) I said in reply, and I really, truly, do hope that the rest of his day was just as nice as he was and vowed to take a leaf out of his (and all the other people I had encountered) book and treat strangers the way I would like to be treated. And so on that note, I would just like to say – I hope that everyone who reads this blog has a nice day!

Is the Ibiza season over already?

On more than one occasion in the past week, I have found myself in three different conversations – one business, one pleasure and the other kind of random – where the general consensus was that the season is practically over in Ibiza right now. SAY WHAT? I hear all you Ibiza lovers thinking, knowing you’ve pre-booked flights and hotels and have made all kinds of plans on the white isle over the next few months. Don’t worry, I don’t mean literally… there are still plenty of good summer months left to enjoy!

The conversations I was having reminded me of when I used to work in fashion magazines. We were always working around three or four months ahead – for example, shooting swimsuits in the depths of winter and trying to make the poor bikini models look like they were having fun while they were actually shivering in cold water – which meant while other people were shopping the winter collections, our minds were on summer and coats and scarves just felt SO OVER (again, not literally, it was bloody freezing outside) and you couldn’t comprehend spending money on anything that wasn’t in the fashion cupboard at the time (ahh, I do miss the fashion cupboard sometimes). Which is why magazine girls always dress in a kooky transeasonal kind of way – they are the very epitome of being fashion-forward.

Let me put it into Ibiza terms so it makes a little more sense. If you run a business in Ibiza, you spend the months leading up to the season doing all your planning, your research, your marketing, your hiring, your buying, your painting, your decorating and all sorts of other things. When the summer arrives – if all goes to plan – your business should be running like a well-oiled machine and you should be reaping the results of all that hard work. Except this is Ibiza, where things very rarely go to plan and there’s no such thing as a ‘normal’ season. There’s just no way to predict how the next four months are going to pan out, no matter how much you’ve prepped and planned (unless you work with robots).

Picture this. You’re running a restaurant, you’re so happy with your team and your menu is getting rave reviews. Then, your head chef quits (and this can be for any number of reasons, maybe they found another job, perhaps they decided to go back to their home country, or maybe they decided to run away to the hills and take ayahuasca every night – seriously, anything can happen) and you’re in a conundrum. You must hire a new chef, obviously, but new chefs want to come in and make their mark on the menu rather than adopt the recipes of their predecessor. And while you’d love to let them do that, more and more people are streaming into your venue every day – there’s no time for test kitchens, no time to look for new suppliers, no time to waste on trial and error. Also – all the best chefs have already been snapped up by the other restaurants on the island. It’s such a small, competitive industry.

And so, the restaurant owner inevitably jumps into the kitchen – talk about from the frying pan into the fire – themselves, just to keep things running smoothly. They are already looking forward to the end of the season, when perhaps the sous chef can step up, or at least when they can step back and start looking for a replacement. That was the gist of one of my conversations this week – that at this time of year (when ‘the season is practically over’) it’s a case of if you want something done, you’ve got to do it yourself, or it’s easier just to take over temporarily as a stop-gap, while waiting for the summer season madness to pass.

On the other side of the fence, there are people (or so I hear) who want to move to Ibiza, but ‘the season is practically over’ so they think it will be impossible to find a job (see the above situation!), a place to live or a car. And so, they put off their dreams until the following year because there’s a general consensus in Ibiza that by June, all the good apartments or villas have been snapped up, most of the best jobs have been filled, the only second-hand cars left on the market are bangers and that you’ll need to pay exorbitant prices to share a single bedroom with four other people. It’s not true of course – you just have to spend a lot of time looking – and there’s another conundrum. If you’re lucky enough to score that dream summer job, you’re often too busy to spend the time looking for an apartment. It’s the never-ending cycle…

Then (remember there were three conversations had!) there are those people who live life with the belief that summer bodies are made in the winter – and there are those who don’t. Obviously, those who eat well and workout in the lead up to summer are rewarded with a better physique and they’ll naturally feel confident on the beach. That’s just logic. But just say you were one of those people who ate pizza all winter and binge-watched Netflix and only walked about 1000 steps a day from January until June (you know who you are) – this doesn’t mean your summer is over. It doesn’t mean you can’t start working on your summer body TODAY. In fact, it doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with your current body at all. You know what your summer body is? It’s the body you have on the date that summer rolls into town. Don’t let it stop you from enjoying the months ahead – and don’t use the excuse that ‘the season is practically over’ to stop you from embarking on any kind of body program – it’s always summer somewhere anyway!

As I type this blog, it’s dark and overcast and cloudy outside – it’s a rare bad weather day in Ibiza. I’ve pulled on a hoodie and I’ve got woolly socks on beneath my long skirt – there’s just a hint of winter in the air and I catch myself thinking ‘the season’s practically over’ and while wondering what flavour pizza I should order tonight. But then I look at the forecast and my workload and I’m reminded that we are very much in the early days of summer. While those working behind the scenes might think the season is over, those on the ground know that things are only just starting to heat up…

Protecting Posidonia

There’s been much ado about Posidonia of late, and for very good reason. This ancient seaweed has spent the past hundred thousand years or so peacefully doing its job underwater, keeping Ibiza and Formentera’s water clean and clear, providing us with oxygen, absorbing carbon dioxide and providing a safe haven for many sea creatures to dwell in and then wouldn’t you know it – humans had to come along and ruin everything. It’s not like we did it on purpose of course. We just didn’t think about the consequences of our actions (just like with plastic) and now, we have to take action to rectify them.

Enter Nobu Hotel Ibiza Bay, Ibiza Preservation Foundation and Love Brand & Co… You know that phrase ‘not all superheroes wear capes’? That’s what kept springing to my mind last Saturday when I attended the launch of the Protecting Posidonia project at Nobu Hotel Ibiza Bay. Gathered in the resort’s beautiful seaside chiringuito Chambao were the who’s who of eco-warriors from Ibiza and the UK – all joining forces to help raise awareness (and perhaps more importantly, money!) for Posidonia conservation. Let me give you a little bit of a roll call: there was Manu San Félix, who is basically National Geographic’s main man when it comes to underwater photography – he’s also a marine biologist who has spearheaded the Posidonia cause (read more his new Posidonia MAPS app here) in the Balearics. I would have bowed down to this incredible man right then and there on the spot, if it hadn’t been a little inappropriate amongst the rest of the esteemed company!

The co-founders of Ibiza Preservation Foundation were also in attendance – Ben Goldsmith, Serena Cook and William Aitken (who I like to think of as the Alpaca whisperer, but that’s a blog for another time), plus executive director Sandra Benbeniste who seriously fights harder and more passionately for Ibiza’s environment than anyone else I’ve ever met in my life (cue more gushing, bows, perhaps even curtseys). From the IPF council, Jade Brudenell, Frances Llopis and Arturo López were out in force (and possibly others – apologies if we met and I’ve blanked on your name, I may have sipped a few too many glasses of cava sangria!). The IPF have been championing the conservation of this island for over ten years now (read more about their 10^th anniversary here!) and really, truly, deserve a million rounds of applause.

Jetting in from the UK were the crew from Love Brand & Co – if you haven’t heart of this seriously stylish sustainable swimwear brand (try saying that five times fast after a glass of sangria), then I suggest you take a look at their website (here!) – and get involved with some guilt-free shopping. The brand’s philosophy is to commit 5% of company revenue to helping conservation projects around the world, and the swimwear is made from recycled water bottles so it’s like a double whammy environmental effort. Founder Oliver Tomalin – who was here in Ibiza for the event, along with the face of the new campaign Toby Huntington-Whiteley (yes, brother of Rosie – those cheekbones, not to mention the double barrelled surname really give it away) – was originally inspired (slash appalled) by the idea that elephants could become extinct in his lifetime, and set about creating a men’s swim wear range dedicated to the cause (you might remember ‘trunks for trunks’?). Over the years, the brand has expanded and now, Oliver is turning his attention to Posidonia – the new range is available exclusively at the Almacen at Nobu Hotel Ibiza Bay.

OK, so if you’re all as suitably impressed as I was with the guest list, let’s get on with the show. There we all were, gathered in Chambao, where executive chef Carlos Herrero (sorry, more name dropping) and his team had gone all out with the catering. Chef Carlos – who hails from Valencia, the home of paella – prepared a GIANT show paella from scratch while everyone ooh-ed and ahh-ed at the sight of it all, while lots of additional little delicious bite-sized versions of the Chambao menu favourites were being passed around (and devoured), like croquetas, octopus and prawn ceviche, quinoa salads along with the obligatory sangria. It was all very relaxed and casual – like a lovely, family-friendly afternoon on the beach, all in the name of a good cause.

Speaking of families, there were also over 30 little guests in attendance – and by little, I mean kids – who were all encouraged to make use of the Nobu Hotel Ibiza Bay Kids’ Club, where they were painting rainbows and the Protecting Posidona logo onto cool canvas bags. I have to be honest, I really wanted to join in, it looked so much fun and the results were a kind of cool hipster-esque tote that you would totally stash your (eco-friendly) yoga mat in. For the toddlers, the ground became a canvas, with an enormous space dedicated to colouring in and creating more seagrass-inspired art.

For the big kids (and this time I mean grown-ups), the games came in the form of a silent auction, with an array of prizes provided by Nobu Hotel Ibiza Bay (all the good stuff – an overnight stays, dinner for two at Nobu, lunch for four at Chambao, a John Frieda Salon experience and treatments at the Six Senses Spa), plus Posidonia artwork created by Tomalin and local artist Elizabeth Rose Langford. Sadly, I was outbid on these beautiful works – but I guess when the proceeds are going to charity, one certainly cannot complain. Also included in the auction was a day out for 36 people on Ibiza’s hottest sailing boat, Saga, which was quite possibly the most popular item on the bill (when you see this boat, you’ll know exactly why).

Around 6000€ was raised through the auction for the Protecting Posidonia project – if Posidonia could talk, I’m sure it would be saying ‘gracias’ right about now. There were also some inspirational (and nice and concise) speeches by Goldsmith, Tomilan and San Félix, about the eco-partnership between the three brands, the new range of swimwear and of course, the importance of conserving Posidonia respectively. And while I could convey the message here, I think it’s probably easier if you listen to the main main himself – without any further ado, I’m going to hand you over to Manu San Félix himself…

READ MORE ABOUT PROTECTING POSIDONIA

Misconceptions about Ibiza life

Anyone who’s lived in Ibiza for some time will understand the joys of constantly having to clear up the misconceptions that your life is a non-stop party. Or that you don’t ever have to work (well, there are plenty of people here who don’t – but those of us who do regularly get lumped into the trustafarian category with them). That you’re always at the beach. That it’s always summer. That you eat out every night. That you’re able to get instant access to wristbands/drinks tickets/guest list/discounts (and again, some people are but not ALL of us). If only life were that easy…

Over the weekend, I attended a party where I spent a lot of time justifying my existence over here. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing – I had been catching up with a lot of former island acquaintances who’d returned to Ibiza for a very special celebration for some mutual friends. I mean really, you can’t expect friends of friends to know the ins and outs of your life (and let’s be honest, do I know what they all do for a living? No!). In those cases, it’s kind of nice taking the time to let people know what you really do. I’m proud of all the things I’ve achieved in the past 11 years. But that’s not where I felt a bit miffed about the misconceptions. It all started with a random WhatsApp message, from an old acquaintance who I hadn’t heard from in more than a decade, about a week before the event…

‘What’s up Miss W?’ it read (note: this person actually used my real name, which made me suspicious from the get-go). I wondered how they had gotten my phone number. It was followed shortly by: ‘How’s Ibiza life treating you?’ And before I could reply, the punch line was immediately delivered – the sender was coming over to Ibiza to visit. And they wanted a party partner on the day before their group of mates arrived. Well, I thought to myself after initially getting upset that people from my home country think of me as nothing more than a party girl, I guess it’s nice to be remembered, if not for my skills or talent, for my sparkling personality. But when I explained to the sender that I was just not up for a clubbing session these days, particularly not on a school night (so to speak) – suggesting a civilised dinner or drinks instead – they still pushed for the party. ‘Oh come on, it’s just one night.’ Which turned into a request for guest list. Which is quite often (Ibiza people, you’ll feel me on this one) followed by a request for party favours, which is something I definitely do not and cannot accommodate, ever!

Ok hang on a minute, let me just climb down off my high horse… When you live in Ibiza, you have to accept this is something that will happen all summer long. Friends pass your contact details onto Ibiza newbies, or onto old friends who are holidaying on the white isle and all of a sudden you’re receiving random requests for boat charters, villas, guest lists, restaurants from people you’ve never met – thankfully, there’s a wonderful website that helps with all of those things, so generally for me it’s as easy as sending a link, which I am always happy to do. But then come the inevitable ‘can you get me a discount’ questions when people find out you run the aforementioned site. Can my friend leave her luggage at your house for a day? Should I order the steak or the duck? What time is Sven Vath playing at the after party? And these messages come at obscure times of day – generally I’m either in the thick of writing something or fast asleep, depending on the time zone of the person!

That’s the most common kind of misconception – that you have nothing to do but give travel advice and be there to help with a party. We all get used to it. But when you find out that someone you have known for many years in Ibiza thinks you do nothing but ‘write a little blog’ – which was something I also discovered over the weekend – it really makes you wonder. Am I not promoting myself well enough? Perhaps that’s the problem with using a pen name – you don’t get recognition for all the other things you do. This particular friend asked me if I wasn’t bored after all these years… my reaction was basically my jaw hitting the floor. Bored? In Ibiza? I can assure you, I would never ever get bored in Ibiza, not in a million years (“Only boring people get bored,” my very good friend Mr B often says, and it always echoes in my head).

Oh, how I wish I could spend my days tap tap tapping away at my keyboard like Ibiza’s very own version of a Carrie Bradshaw, doing nothing but blogging. I’d love to be some kind of highly-paid Ibiza anthropologist, sharing my opinions as and when they pop into my head (and trust me, I have so many that never make it to the blog!) and just generally being able to write whatever I want, whenever I want, about whoever I want and having a platform to publish it on. But in reality, that’s just journaling, and there are very few writers in the world who get the opportunity to do this (and make a living). In actual fact, I spend most of my time in meetings (oh-so-many meetings), strategising, planning, styling photoshoots, selecting photos, editing other people’s copy, emailing (oh-so-many emails), managing a team of people, yadda yadda yadda, blah blah blah. Writing this ‘little blog’ is my favourite two-hour window in the week!

‘I still can’t believe you’ve made a life for yourself over there,’ was another message I recently received from a former work colleague on the other side of the world. But what do they MEAN by that? I stewed to myself one night while furiously typing emails and basically doing everything I mentioned in the previous paragraph. ‘It must be so much fun,’ they counter, when I ask what they mean. Really, I know they mean well. They romanticise Ibiza in a way I never can. After a while, you learn to let it go. You take a step back from being offended by the notion you spend your life beneath a disco ball or chasing sunsets when really, you’d love to be recognised for your contribution to society, or the idea you don’t work and have a perma-tan when the beach is the furthest thing from your normal life even in the height of summer.

And when I do take this step back, when I remove myself from the situation and I put myself in the shoes of the people/person sending me messages, I start to truly understand the deeper nature of what it is that riles me up. It’s not the misconceptions about my own life – as we’ve established, I can clear those up in a few messages or a quick conversation. It’s that I love this island. I love living on this island. I love working on this island. I love the people of this island. And sometimes the thought that people around the world see it as frivolous or see the island as just a party place or a summer holiday destination upsets me. Because Ibiza is so much more than that. That’s why (and how) I’ve made a life for myself here. But then I think to myself… perhaps it’s better that so many people still think this way. Because if everyone knew what I knew… well, there just wouldn’t be enough room on the island for us all to live!

Ibiza’s anatomy

While most of us don’t mind a sniffle if it means getting to spend the day under the duvet watching NetFlix, no one likes being really sick – excluding those with Munchausen syndrome of course. Being sick enough to visit a doctor at home is already a chore in itself, but when you’re on holiday, a trip to the medical centre or hospital is the absolute last thing on your list of things to do – even moreso if you don’t speak the language of the doctors and nurses wherever you’re travelling. In Ibiza however, a trip to the hospital – should you need it, and I very much hope you don’t – can be a very entertaining experience, depending on how much pain you’re in at the time!

In the many years I’ve lived here, I’ve had my fair share of doctor and hospital visits – as most normal people do throughout life, wherever they choose to live it. When I’m immersed in the workings of the medical system here in Ibiza, I find myself feeling very much like an observer. At times, it feels a little like watching a television show – like the Grey’s Anatomy of Ibiza, but with a kind of telenovela vibe. And while you may think TV docs are glamorous with their perfect bouncy hairdos, bright lipstick and scrubs that are always perfectly fitted around the bust and tucked in at the waist… just wait till you go to hospital in Ibiza (and again, I really hope you never have to, I’m just saying!). Va va voom!

The first time I ever went to hospital in Ibiza was quite serious. I’d been very unwell but was avoiding the doctor partly because I’d hoped the pain and sickness would go away on its own, but mostly because I didn’t speak Spanish at the time and was (foolishly) nervous about the experience with a foreign doctor. I was in all kinds of pain – in fact, I was quite delirious from it – but what stood out to me during that particular experience in the emergency ward was what a show the many young tourists (you know the ones I mean, those who’ve over-partied until they’ve broken a bone or gone into psychosis) were putting on and what absolute patience the doctors and nurses had to deal with them, and deal with them kindly and graciously.

Watching the medical teams come and go and tend to their different patients, watching new cases come in and be assessed and treated, watching the staff gather together in the corridors for some sneaky gossip/flirting in between all the action – this experience made me realise that Grey’s Anatomy (yes, I’m a long-term watcher) is really not all that far from the day to day goings on of a hospital. I mean, there are probably less plane crashes and shootings and half sisters turning up out of nowhere (creative license and all that) but I could see that most of these people spent a huge amount of their lives within those hospital walls. And imagining their lives took my mind off my pain while I was recovering.

Over the years as I returned to the hospitals – sometimes for my own treatment, sometimes with friends – I would pay attention to whether some of my favourite ‘characters’ were still on staff. There was the most beautiful nurse I’d ever seen who wore red lipstick and shiny silver hoop earrings and whose eyes sparkled as she winked at all of her patients. There was the young physiotherapist who was also a yogi, who prescribed classes rather than pills. There was the sweet Indian urologist who spoke more English than anyone else in the hospital and was often seen translating for patients who couldn’t express themselves. They were all there: the Merediths, the Alexes, the Christinas, the Izzies, the Dr Baileys – the unsung heroes of Ibiza, working behind the scenes to patch up the sick and the stupid.

When I upgraded to private medical cover, my access to doctors and hospital services opened up even more. In the shiny white hallways of the private hospital were another crew of super-styled doctors and nurses to meet, even more on-trend, sexy and multi-cultural than the public hospital (If you’re a GA fan, think if it like the crossover from from Grey+Sloan Memorial to Private Practice). My first general practitioner was German – a really tall guy, covered in tattoos and wearing a ton of chunky silver jewellery. He spoke about five languages and I would have trusted him with my life (in fact, he saved it!)! The second GP I met was a cool surfer from Argentina, who had travelled the world and ended up in Ibiza, despite a distinct lack of waves – he loved the laidback lifestyle, and couldn’t quite wrap his head around the fact I thought my job in Ibiza was highly stressful. And when I took a step back and compared my job to his, well, it put a whole lot of things in perspective.

The only time I had to stay overnight in the private hospital was like checking into a luxury hotel (although they wouldn’t feed me) – after being asked whether I’d prefer my paperwork in English or Spanish (no matter how much Spanish I speak now, I’m not familiar with medical jargon), two very pretty nurses walked me to an enormous room with a view of Dalt Vila, handed me the WiFi code and told me to enjoy my stay. Of course, having a private room meant I couldn’t spend time people watching, to see the kinds of patients the hospital was admitting and the other doctors and nurses on duty, but it did have its charms (Netflix!). Not enough charm to make me ever want to stay there voluntarily mind you…

In more recent years, I’ve been opening my mind to more alternative forms of health treatments, which felt kind of like injecting those ‘guest star’ characters into the little Ibiza medical television show in my head. I’m almost ready for a spin-off series with my favourite guest star – an amazing kineseologist with her own private practice. It’s almost as tough to get into see her as it is to get guest list to an Ushuaia opening party but when you finally do, the wait is worth it. These days when I get sick (which is rare), I find myself looking forward to seeing this particular doctor – it’s actually an enjoyable experience (relatively speaking). In her waiting room, everyone – from toddlers, teens and bohemian looking adults to corporate, suited-up types, models, DJs and more – is smiling (even those who are sick) and friendly. They all know what I know… this is going to make you better!

When I was younger, I remember saying “I don’t like doctors” every time I got sick, but my combined medical experiences in Ibiza have totally changed that perspective. Doctors are wonderful, kind, caring, talented, skilled human beings who have dedicated their lives to helping others and I have endless respect for them. If you ever have to go to a hospital in Ibiza, and once again, I really hope that you don’t, you’ll see what I mean. Say hi to the cast and crew for me – while I can’t say that I miss them, I can say that I’ll be forever in their debt! [Editor’s note: Ibiza’s hospitals are not surrounded by palm trees – we thought these photos were a little more inspiring (and discreet) than hospital beds and ambulances!]

Not a northern girl

I consider myself an Ibiza girl through and through. I came to the island in 2005 for a holiday and never left – I am well and truly under the spell of this Balearic beauty and I can’t imagine living anywhere else. Except, well… there is one thing about Ibiza that I just don’t feel an affinity with. It’s an element so many people profess an undying love for, and so, I am slightly scared that once I say this out loud, once I write it in a public forum, once I post it on social media… I could be excommunicated from Ibiza. It’s controversial, but (deep breath) I just don’t love the north of Ibiza. Cue the hate mail.

It’s not like I haven’t given it a try. In the many many years I’ve been here, of course I have visited the north of Ibiza hundreds of times. I think the north of the island is absolutely stunning. Some of the best hidden gems on this island – whether beaches, shops, restaurants, jewellers, hotels or markets – are found in the north. I have friends who live in the north. In fact, I have friends who live in the south but profess an undying love for the north. I head to the north for work at least once a week – in fact, the White Ibiza office is almost as far north as you can get, on the cusp of Benirras. But despite this (and I can assure you it’s definitely not because of it), I just don’t feel a connection with the area.

Of course, I see the beauty of the north. It’s absolutely breathtaking. That cerulean sea, those long and winding roads, the fragrant pine forests, the quaint and charming villages, the views from those incredible mountaintops and cliffs, the magical fincas set in the heart of the campo, the beautiful natural flora, the kaleidoscopic colours of the sunset – it’s simply stunning. I totally understand why so many people are enamoured of the north. And yet… I remain indifferent.

One part of me definitely wants to be a northern girl. I see the tight-knit community of the north gathered together at places like Can Curune, or Can Guimo, or the streets of San Juan on a Sunday. They all look so chummy and pally and, well, like a family! Everyone knows everyone, seriously. Expats call Can Curune (which is pronounced ‘Can Coor-oo-neigh in Spanish): Can Curu-neighbours because it’s like Ibiza’s very own version of Ramsay street. You can spot the difference between the northerners and the drop-in southern day-trippers a mile off in these places.

You see, there’s definitely a (very enviable) signature style I see many people in the north wearing, almost like a uniform – think boho meets yogi, amplified by a thousand. It starts with either wildly patterned yoga pants or long flowy skirts topped with layers and layers of fabric (starting with a vest, probably with a long sheer short over the top, then a lush soft cashmere sweater, a long cardigan, a scarf and the piece de resistance, a fur (quite possibly faux) lined gilet, with tall boots (take your pick between muk-luks, Minnetonkas, vintage cowboy – it’s got to be vintage – and Uggs). The accessories tend to lean towards long feathers or some kind of beads (usually collected from travels in India, Peru, Mexico, Thailand), layered with exquisitely fine gold jewellery.

Obviously I am generalising – I know there are plenty of women in the north with a healthy Jimmy Choo addiction – but you get the picture. It’s those layers that are really key to surviving a day-to-night experience in the north. Even the northern men have got the layers down pat – swap gilet for poncho and you can imagine! That’s the thing about the north – the weather changes so dramatically from morning until night, so much more so than the east or south. You can wake up as the mist is rising off the mountains, rug up and then by lunchtime it’s practically 25 degrees and definitely t-shirt weather as you go for a hike around the coast. But then as soon as the sun’s gone, you need to wrap up warm again (at this time of year I mean – in summer it’s just balmy!) and sit by an open fire or wrapped in a fully blanket at night.

There have also been people who make me wish I was one of the northern crew. People who have this magical aura that makes me want to spend more time in their presence. The wonderful Trish Whelan of Soul Adventures – a Kundalini yoga teacher and shaman with an incredible retreat haven in the hills of Cala Xuclar. When I go to her house, with its amazing outdoor yoga deck, crystals, gongs and jaw-dropping views, I always leave declaring I simply MUST spend more time there. But then… the thought of driving from the very top of Dalt Vila, all the way up to Cala Xuclar (yes, I can hear you all mocking me – it’s only a half an hour drive!) just doesn’t grab me.

And then there’s the charismatic Merel of the iconic World Family Ibiza brand. This woman is a true life force, and from the moment I met her I wanted to be part of her family. She is the authentic pioneer of the northern ‘look’ – and I want to buy every single boot, bag, dress, coat, earring, bead and yes, gilet in the World Family Ibiza store (conveniently almost next door to our office). But then… when I come back to my little ancient-meets-urban world here in Dalt Vila, I have to wonder – will I look completely out of place? Yes, I KNOW we should all dress for ourselves, but when I wear the northern look at home, I somehow end up looking more like a bag lady, while all the northern girls pull it off with panache.

Oh! These ones are not people, but places: Los Enamorados – I mean, when I walked into that hotel for the first time I thought, I am never, ever leaving. It couldn’t have been more ‘me’ if I’d decorated it myself. But again, when I’m sitting at home on my lovely rooftop terrace, I will always choose a restaurant in town for dinner rather than jump in the car and head up to Portinatx. And Las Dalias – the hippie market. I absolutely love scouring the market for treasures and then heading to Bar Anita’s for what has to be the very best tortilla in Ibiza. And don’t get me started on beaches…

When I read back my own words above, it all sounds very romantic. In fact, it sounds like I am secretly obsessed with the north – one doth protest too much! After all, what’s not to love about somewhere that’s stunningly beautiful and full of lovely creative and stylish people and fun things to do? I DON’T KNOW. I just can’t put my finger on it. Perhaps I’m just a townie by nature. Or maybe, Ibiza town has cast a spell on me that makes me forget how wonderful the north of the island is every time I return home. Maybe I’m just scared that if I spend too much time up there, I’ll want to give up my apartment and move to the campo. Maybe I need hypnotherapy. Maybe I just need to keep writing until I’ve convinced myself I love it. But don’t worry, that’s what journals are for.

Editor’s note: Keep your eyes peeled for Issue 4 of WHITE Ibiza Magazine, featuring exclusive interviews with Trish Whelan and Merel Krielaart. And don’t let Miss W’s opinion of the north put you off – it’s the best!

Countdown to the big reveal

There comes a fateful day each May when every person in Ibiza makes the switch from winter to summer wardrobe. Some embrace it sooner than others, but if you’re anything like me, this week has probably you desperately clinging onto those last winter layers and finding the act of getting dressed in the mornings quite the conundrum. You see, Ibiza seems to lack those transeasonal periods, where you gradually and gracefully shed scarves, leggings, cardigans, jackets and boots over the course of a few months. Here, it’s cold, or it’s hot… and if you haven’t dressed for the right weather conditions, boy will you feel it!

Seasonal street style has always been one of the best ways to spot the tourists from the locals in Ibiza; right up until the end of May, residents and Ibicencos will generally still be fully-covered from head to toe, while holidaymakers are already pounding the pavements in micro-mini shorts, crop tops (or worse, bikini tops, or in the case of men, no shirts at all!) and flip-flops. The judgemental thoughts from your Ibiza fashion opponent can practically be felt through a top-to-toe glare: What on earth are they THINKING? They must be FREEZING! Put some clothes on! You’ll catch your death of cold. It’s not beach weather yet!

Put the (open-toed) shoe on the other foot however and it’s more like: What’s WRONG with them? Don’t they know they’re in Ibiza? Maybe they can’t expose their skin? Aren’t they hot? They must be sweating bullets underneath all those layers! Of course, we all know people feel the cold quite differently and if you’ve acclimatised to the Ibiza weather during the years you lived here, or obviously if you grew up in this climate, you are much more likely to find the mild May temperatures quite cold than say, someone who is fresh off a plane from the chilly grey UK.

Those of us still in boots and scarves should probably be a little more sympathetic – after all, we have the benefit of knowing we’ll be sweltering through the next hot six months, while some of the scantily dressed folk we see on the streets right now may not get the chance to spend any more time in the sun this season. You just never know, do you? And speaking of benefits… we also get to feel quite smug when the sun goes down, the chill picks up, the humidity sets in and we can wrap ourselves in those trusty scarves while we watch those in floaty summer dresses shiver their way through cocktails in the port.

Eventually however, that day in May arrives and we know the time has come to shed the layers and embrace the feeling of the sun’s rays on our skin. I can feel it in the air now. It’s close; so close. Things are literally heating up in Ibiza right now and the switch is going to come any day now and I’m wondering just how long I can procrastinate for. Because when the day to officially start dressing like all those tourists have been dressing for the past six weeks, we’re all presented with yet another question – am I really ready for this?

I’ve always thought that whole ‘summer bodies are made in winter’ thing is just a catchy marketing phrase made up by clever personal trainers but on the day you switch to summer clothes, you do sometimes wonder if you should have paid attention. But when you live on an island – well, this particular island, anyway – winter life is not all about waiting for the pending arrival of the next summer. Winter is about living your life, enjoying the environment, seeing your friends, eating, drinking and of course, being merry. It’s not about counting calories while counting down to the first beach day of the year (well, not for anyone I know anyway) – the beach is just part of every day life here, all year round. But that doesn’t make the first day of showing your legs any less daunting!

Ahhh, the legs. Now there’s another thing we girls have to (or ok, let’s be honest, choose to) think about when we swap the jeans and yoga pants of winter for summer shorts, skirts and dresses again. The day you start to bare your legs again is the day you have to start being conscious of regular defuzzing – especially if you let it side during the colder months. And then, there’s also the colour of your skin… 50 shades of lily white. The girls who are straight off a plane and striding the streets with ultra-bronzed pins are the ones who paid a visit to their spray tanner the night before their holiday (or slathered on 50 layers of St Tropez pre-flight – you can smell them from three rows away).

But when you live a busy lifestyle here, all that preparation goes out the window and you just have to gulp and step into those shorts and hope that magical natural scientific reaction that occurs between your skin and the sun’s rays happens fast. And then there are the toenails (and this is a point I think all the men out there should pay heed to as well). After six months of being cocooned in big fluffy socks, all of a sudden your tootsies are on display for the world to see. It’s time to trim the ragged edges, buff the skin around your ankles and – if you are so inclined – paint the nails. You might think your toes are a pretty long way away from eye level, but you’d be surprised how many judgemental looks from anyone who happens to look down (don’t get me started about shop assistants when you’re trying on summer shoes!). I think I’ve got at least two more weeks left of layers – please humour me if you see me sweating through them in the meantime! Photography by Maria Simon

The great Easter washout

A few weeks ago, I dedicated an entire blog to the distinct lack of winter we experienced in Ibiza over the past few months. Well, it would seem I spoke too soon, because the minute the clock struck Easter (that’s the day before Good Friday here in Ibiza), our never-ending Indian summer came to a grinding halt. Which, if you’re a keen pre-season visitor to the island, a child on school holidays, the parent of a child on school holidays, a seasonal worker returning to your summer base, an Ibiza restaurant owner, a natural-born sun bunny or a devout practicing Catholic, made the extra long weekend you’d been looking forward to all year a total washout.

Over the course of those four days, all our winters came at once. If you’re even a little bit like me – and yes, I’ve been told I’m a bit dark on occasion and I’m totally fine with that – it was like a gift from the heavens. All that dark, gloomy grey sky, those dense rainclouds, the pitter-patter of heavy rain on the roof and the windows all night long, the soggy campo, the glistening, slippery cobbled stones in Dalt Vila, the icy cold wind, the wild waves (yes! waves) on the beach – it was what I’d been waiting for all winter! It was scarf weather, coat weather, Ugg boot weather, woolly sock weather, Netflix and chill weather… and to me, it was wonderful. It was like a dream come true (and it was so good for our poor dehydrated island environment!).

I turned my heater on (in April!). I turned my phone off (yes, in April!). I wrapped myself in blankets and duvets and spent the weekend traipsing from room to room probably looking a little bit like a hobo thanks to the layers of long socks, cardigans, scarves and yep, even a beanie (though I must admit that was taking it a little too far – one never really needs a beanie when the heater is on but I’d thrown myself into character). But I was a happy hobo. I made a hearty risotto. I stewed pots of delicious steaming tea. I may have consumed my body weight chocolate. I binged watched TV till it made me cry. I didn’t even leave the house once – not once!

I didn’t want the weekend to end – I felt the way people must feel when they come to Ibiza for the Easter long weekend and never want to leave. Ah yes, all those thousands and thousands of eager people who’d booked mini-breaks on the white isle over the Easter long weekend. And all those island locals and residents who’d been looking forward to a five-day long weekend in the sun. While I was having the time of my life, it hardly seems fair that Ibiza turned off its charms right in the middle of such a golden spell. It seems 2019 is the year we had no Easter – if I could apologise on behalf of a climate, I would. Because as much as I loved the doomy gloomy weekend, it’s not (gasp!) all about me, is it?

For the first time in history, the amazing Semana Santa procession in Ibiza town was cancelled due to bad weather. All those dedicated people who were poised and ready to don pointy hats and capes, play in a sombre marching band or hoist an enormous effigy of Jesus onto their shoulders for a night of marching from church to church were left high and, well, certainly not dry, because the pouring rain made it impossible for them to fulfil their duties. On one hand… maybe God was officially letting them off the responsibility of paying penance this year. But on the other… maybe it just rained. Really, really hard.

It wasn’t just the Semana Santa parade that was called off. Blue Marlin postponed its opening party, beach restaurants who were ready to reopen for the season just couldn’t even put their tables and chairs on the beach due to the high winds and stall holders who couldn’t sell their wares in the blustery markets. Many of the outdoor Easter egg hunts that had been planned for the little ones had to be called off too. But here’s what I love about the Ibiza spirit: there might have been less parties. There may have been fewer places to eat. Shopping was off the cards and there was definitely no fluffy bunny leaving chocolate left, right and centre but did that stop the people of Ibiza from enjoying the Easter weekend? Not for a single minute.

Restaurants (with an interior, or with outdoor heaters and plastic wind/rain protectors) were mobbed. If you think it’s hard to get a reservation at some of these places in the high season, try a rainy pre-season weekend! As the old saying goes, when it rains, it pours – in this case, not just from the sky, but also for all the new staff working their first weekend shifts, for all the chefs trying to remember the ingredients and methods of their new season menus, for all the hosts and hostesses who were struggling to accommodate all the eager diners at their doors. For them, it was quite possibly a little more than they’d expected but here’s the thing about those crazy, chaotic, rainy days in restaurants. They bring people together.

Out on the restaurant floor, diners order more and more bottles of wine to make up for the lack of sun; behind the scenes, team members bond over the overwhelming weekend they just didn’t see coming. Ibiza wouldn’t be Ibiza without a party and do you really think a rainstorm or five was going to stop the eager-pre-season clubbers from hitting their rave spots this Easter? All the more reason to just arrive early! Dayspots – Bora Bora, Elements and Nassau Tanit Beach – and nightspots – B12, Pacha and Malanga – were also rammed (obviously my information is second-hand, since I was tucked up in bed, but I can assure you sources are very trustworthy!) and open till the last man standing… and even then, the last man standing found his way up to the after party in the notorious cave. When it rains outside, no one ever wants to leave a party after all… definitely not without Uber!

But surely the unsung heroes of the Ibiza Easter weekend have to be all the parents who had to keep little ones occupied, indoors, on an island that is totally child friendly on a sunny day but isn’t exactly the greatest place for a kid in the rain – especially if said children are hopped up on a sugar rush from consuming all their Easter eggs at once. Even moreso if you’re in a rented villa without all your toys or a hotel without a kids’ club – it’s a struggle. One of the funniest things I read on social media yesterday was a slightly frazzled mum who was praying for the end of the rainy long weekend in Ibiza because the indoor softplay park was as busy, hot and sweaty as a Space opening party.

It was definitely not Easter as we know it in Ibiza this weekend, but I bet most people who were here to experience it are still smiling at the memories. Whether you spent it in total hibernation like I did – enjoying the total calm before the summer storm – or whether you braved the downpours and made the most of a wet situation, it was the kind of weekend you don’t get to experience very often, which makes it even more special. And while I have spent the last five days rejoicing in this totally wintery weather, I’ve just looked at the weather forecast for the upcoming week and if you’re planning to visit us any time soon, fear not! It’s time to start singing like little orphan Annie because… the sun’ll come out… tomorrow!

Resurrection weekend is coming…

All around the world, people associate Easter with resurrection for the obvious religious reasons, but here in Ibiza, the long weekend is also associated with the island coming back to life. Easter marks the the time most island businesses, bars, hotels, shops and venues come out of winter hibernation in preparation for the season ahead. OK, so they’re not being brought back to life per se, but please allow me to make a blasphemous association in the name of clickbait and let’s move on… In the lead up to Good Friday, the signs of a reawakening are everywhere. Well, that’s not 100% true –  most places still have their signs in storage, or wrapped in protective plastic – but what I mean is, the signs of the island awakening are omnipresent.

You can smell the fresh paint in the air whenever you walk down a street in Ibiza town or through Dalt Vila; you hear the sounds of drills and hammers on the beaches as the beach clubs start to reassemble their daybeds and furnishings. You can see it on the roads, as more and more cars start to pile onto the streets as more and more workers and pre-season tourists arrive. And if you’re really lucky, you may even get to taste it, as all of our favourite restaurants host pre-opening days as they test out their new menu items on friends and family.

Speaking of Good Friday – and feel free to stop me if you’ve heard me say this before – but this has got to be one of my all-time favourite occasions in Ibiza. If you’ve never witnessed the religious procession that snakes its way from the cathedral in Dalt Vila all the way down into the port and throughout the town, stopping in to each and every one of the churches en route, well may I suggest you book yourself a last minute flight and get yourself over here pronto! It’s spooky (the participants are dressed in long flowing robes with tall pointy hats – traditional ancient Catholic costumes) and they march alongside ENORMOUS effigies of Jesus on the cross, which are hoisted onto the shoulders of sinners (there’s no shortage of those on this island!) and lugged around from dusk until very very late indeed. It’s eye-opening, jaw-dropping and unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Except I have seen it 12 times already (not to mention the rehearsals I see from my balcony during the lead-up), but every time it blows my mind…

Anyway, I digress (sorry – I did tell you to stop me!). Once the long weekend arrives (early here in Spain, kicking off from Thursday lunchtime), the island will pick up exactly where it left off after Halloween – sunny breakfasts and brunches in our favourite urban and seaside haunts (I’m mostly talking about the many Passion Cafes of Ibiza here!), leisurely long lunches on any of the island’s beautiful beaches, afternoon cocktails in the port of Santa Eulalia or Ibiza town, iconic sunsets in the west, decadent dinners in Dalt Vila or the best campo locations in the north and south (The Giri Café and Can Domingo, I’m looking at you!) and of course, late nights spent dancing to the best music in the world, played by the best DJs in the world, in the best nightclubs in the world.

Ibiza friendships are often resurrected this weekend too. Those who left Ibiza at the end of last season in search of warmer climates (the joke’s on them since it stayed warm all winter here on the island) return to a hero’s welcome, getting to tell the tales of their travels to fresh ears and catch up with long-lost friends. Although it’s not even a six-month break any more, it can feel like a lifetime when one of you has been off on the other side of the world and the other has remained here on the island. Regardless of which one you are (you obviously know which one I am), it’s always good to see familiar faces and take part in a homecoming celebration. The homecoming hangovers are never quite that welcome however…

Most people’s diet and exercise regimes are also resurrected immediately after the Easter long weekend. Four days of feasting – not to mention binging Cadbury Crème Eggs that you drive all the way from Ibiza to San Antonio to ‘stock up on’ and then have to drive back again the next day because you ate them all – will do that to a person who knows true beach weather is just around the corner. Cue a rush on yoga, Pilates and gym memberships while personal trainers get a surge of enquiries.   Very soon, it will be like winter was all a dream. Anyone who has lived in Ibiza for a long time will simply switch gears and get on with the show like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Because, well, in our part of the world, resurrection weekend and everything that comes after it IS what constitutes normal – and we wouldn’t have it any other way.