The lost art of leaving messages

I, like many other people in the modern world, am not a huge fan of answering my phone when I see an unidentified number on the caller ID. There are a few reasons why – firstly, I’m usually in the middle of writing something and don’t want the flow to be interrupted (I’m a creative, don’t you know darlings?) and other times, I might be on my way out or driving (meetings, shoots, dinners, lunches, I can’t help it if I’m popular) and don’t really want to get stuck on an unexpected call and wind up late. And finally, truth be told, I’m just not much of a phone person in general (I’m much more comfortable with a keyboard), so if I don’t know who you are or what you want, it’s highly likely I’m going to screen. Unless I’m expecting a delivery from Amazon of course, in which case I’ll pick up in case you’re my courier.

Anyway, I digress… Despite the fact I am famously not a phone person, I’ve actually had a mobile phone since the dawn of mobile phones as we know them – and by that I mean the small-ish flip ones, not those giant brick type car phones they used in Miami Vice (how old do you think I am?). Even back then, I was dubious about private numbers and unidentified callers – but there was a very simple screening system, and that system worked. It was an innovative thing called VOICEMAIL. Just like an answering machine, except INSIDE your mobile phone (well technically it was probably up in a cloud somewhere but let’s not get technical). Hands up if you remember it?

An unidentified call would come in, the user (aka me) would ignore it and about three minutes later you’d get a beep on your phone to notify you the random caller had left a message. You’d pick up your phone, access the message, find out who was calling and what they were calling about – because telephone etiquette insisted you leave your name, your number and the reason for your call and people obeyed the rules – and then as common courtesy dictates, you’d call them back when you had time to chat. Seems pretty simple, and indeed obvious, right? In the past few years (Months? Weeks? Days? I can’t tell anymore; they all blend into one) things have dramatically changed. It seems leaving a polite voicemail has gone the way of letter writing – it has become somewhat of a lost art.

I get quite a few missed calls each day because I keep my phone on silent when I’m working. And I’m popular, obvs. But never ever, does a caller leave a message anymore. Now – I get it when it’s a friend calling. They know you’ve got their number and they’ll presume when you see their number on your screen you’ll know to call them back. They might even follow up with a WhatsApp or text message to let you know what they were calling about. And the unspoken rule of friendship is that you’ll dutifully call them back when you’ve got time to talk. Or at least text them later!

But it’s not the friends who don’t leave voice messages I take issue with. It’s strangers. People who surely must know that you do not know who they are, nor the reason for their call, and then simply hang up with no further explanation. It’s these people I don’t understand. If you’re calling for a reason – tell me! For example, yesterday when my phone was on ‘do not disturb’ mode, I had two missed calls. One from a landline on the Spanish mainland, another from a local mobile phone number. I look at the voicemail box – hoping, praying for the little number ‘1’ or even ‘2’ to pop up, so I can decipher who was trying to call me but no joy. I wait a little longer to see if they’ll call back, or if someone will message me but nothing. I spend the next half hour wondering who could be trying to reach me and why, but I’m not going to call them back. Nope, I’m not that keen. I forget about them very quickly.

The last FIVE times I answered my phone to an unidentified caller, it was a telemarketing company trying to get me to change mobile carriers. I eventually got tired of the interruptions (always from different numbers too) and stopped answering. I figure – if it’s a friend, they’ll find another way to get in touch (hello Facebook, Instagram, email). If it is anyone else… anyone at all… doctor, bank manager, vet, client, courier, electricity company, landlord, whoever… they should LEAVE A MESSAGE and I will call them back as soon as I can. Because I’m good like that.

If you call me and leave a message, I will 100% call you back as soon as possible. If you let me know what you’re calling about, I’ll do my best to find out what I need to address the reason of your call before we speak, so we can make some kind of progress during our call. Once I had a missed call from a Swiss number at 9am on a Saturday morning – I was lying in bed feeling slightly hungover at the time, but because (with true Swiss efficiency) the caller had left a message, I immediately listened and returned the call – within 35 minutes (which included a very quick shower and mad run to the taxi rank) I was sitting down with none other than Luciano for a breakfast interview, grateful for dry shampoo and the call screening process. Had I answered instantly, I don’t think my groggy, sleepy voice would have bode well for a pending professional meeting.

Some may argue that with every missed call is a missed opportunity; for example, what if Luciano had not left a message? I would never have known it was him and never have gotten an exclusive interview (ahhh, but he did – we were on the same wavelength). I can see the logic to this, and yes, on occasion I have suffered for it – like the time I ordered an amazing new Bluetooth speaker online, the courier called me to see if I was home before wasting his time driving up into Dalt Vila with a bulky package, I didn’t pick up and then got a text message from the delivery company saying ‘we tried to deliver but you weren’t home’ which wasn’t true – I was home the whole time! He just never bothered to come up and I ended up having to drive to the middle of nowhere to pick it up from the warehouse and lug it home myself. So you live and learn. Now when I’m expecting a delivery, I DO answer unidentified calls!

But put the shoe on the other foot and I’m the type of person who doesn’t even call someone spontaneously unless they have requested it in an email or message prior to the call. Generally, I’ll pre-contact the person I wish to speak with and ask them when would be a good time to call and chat? Because I don’t want to put someone (especially someone who perhaps doesn’t know me yet) in the position of having to stop whatever they were doing to answer a 20-minute call they were unprepared for. This new system works for me. And if the recipient doesn’t pick up, I still leave a message. I try calling back a few minutes later. If they don’t answer again I send a message asking them to phone me back.

Eventually, we get in touch. It turns out that one of my missed calls was from the bank yesterday. They instead emailed me today to tell me that they couldn’t get in touch with me by phone, and asked me to arrange a meeting in the local office. Which I did. Immediately. Problem solved. As for the second call? I have no idea. But here’s the thing: THEY NEVER CALLED BACK AGAIN. So was it really all that important in the first place? I guess I’ll never know. Is my life really all that different for not picking up the phone? Not to me it isn’t! [Side note: If you have ever called me in the past and not received a call back, please call me again and leave a message! I promise I’ll get back to you!]

A funny thing happened on my way to the office

I’ve lived in Ibiza a long time. By most people’s standards, I live a pretty normal life. Well, comparatively normal compared to some of the more outlandish characters you meet on this island! I get up in the morning, go to yoga every day (disclaimer: TRY to go to yoga every day), run a business, manage a team of staff, meet my deadlines, cook at home, see my friends, read and watch a lot of Netflix. I go to a lot of interesting places and meet a lot of interesting people through my work but when it comes to having adventures or crazy things happening to me, well, I think my life is pretty tame. Until yesterday…

You see, a funny thing happened to me on my way to the office. Technically I was on my way home, since I work remotely, but it was that part of my daily routine where I left the yoga studio, en route to my house to get started for the day. So let’s just say I was on my way to the office. I left the studio feeling fresh, energised and happy, pondering the tasks I had to accomplish over the course of the day. I realised that I really needed a solid slog at my computer – you know the kind, where you switch your phone and email off and just write furiously (but happily!) for 12 hours straight. Oh – you don’t do that? Maybe it’s just me. Anyway, I knew that was what I needed. [Editor’s note: Skip to the end paragraph for the concise version. Or pour yourself a drink and enjoy the journey. And gratuitous cat photos.]

With my impending studious work day in mind, I decided to detour via a few shops in order to pick up the bits and bobs I needed at home to get through the day without any distractions. Cat food, painkillers (I get a sore back on these types of work sessions but feel it’s worth it), water, matcha energy drinks and chocolate. Also some shampoo, conditioner and washing up liquid (organic! I care about the sea) as I knew I was running low. This is where my head was at. I couldn’t wait to get home, open all the doors and windows, get the fresh spring air running through the house and bunker down with my laptop. I was thinking I could start outside on the roof terrace, then move to my desk and finish up under my duvet.

I like to mix things up, you know? So first stop (and pay attention here because this part is important) was the pet shop. It’s diagonally opposite my yoga studio (Hot Yoga Ibiza in case you’re wondering) – couldn’t be more convenient for a yoga loving cat owner. I had my oversized Ibicenco basket with the hand-stitched leather pockets and trim with me, because again, I care about the environment and want to say no to plastic where possible. I filled it almost to the brim with a tasty (if you’re a cat) array of organic sachets, tins, boxes and bags of cat food. My furry friends have expensive taste, but I don’t mind indulging it – they’re my babies after all.

Then I went to the pharmacy (I LOVE Spanish pharmacies so much, with their flashing green crosses above the doors and sell anything over the counter attitudes) and also made a little pit stop at my favourite Spanish bakery for a pastry. Then it was time for the supermarkets. If you live in Ibiza, you’ll understand the plight of trying to tick all things off your shopping list in one place – it’s near impossible. We don’t have anything resembling an M&S and we most certainly don’t have a Whole Foods. But my list was pretty small and I knew if I took a slight diversion on the way home, I could swing via a HiperCentro (kind of like the closest you’d get to Tesco but not even half as good) where I could pick up the things I need AND be able to get a couple of little bags of brand name cat treats that my fussy felines have taken a shining too, despite their generic nature.

I zipped into the Hipercentro, slightly struggling with the weight of all that cat food in my basket combined with my yoga mat and my handbag. I decided then and there to make it brief and not get carried away as it was a 15-minute walk to my house and I was already feeling like a pack horse. I zoomed straight up to the pet food aisle, grabbed what I needed, diverted through the beauty section to pick up my hair products, completely forgot about the washing up liquid (you always forget something, right?), decided against buying water as it was too heavy and headed straight to the cash register. (In case anyone is wondering about my matcha drinks – no I didn’t forget, they’re from a little health food shop closer to home.)

I would say I was in the store no more than six minutes in total. SIX MINUTES. I got to the cash register and there was a scruffy looking man haggling over 27c. He had 20€ and his bill had come to 20.27€. I was quite far back in the queue but just as I was contemplating giving him the spare change (we’ve all been there), he moved on and the queue progressed. Finally, it was my turn and I put my few things on the conveyor belt, smiled and said hola to the cashier (I always make the effort to do that – with contactless cards and the like, no one even makes eye contact these days) who asked if she could check my bag. Por supuesto (of course), I said happily, unzipping the lovely caramel brown leather zip on my basket. I laughed as I tipped the basket in her direction and told her (in Spanish) that it was just full of cat food. And then this is when things got interesting…

All of a sudden, I feel like I can see Señorita Checkout Chick’s brain literally FLIP into a new mode. She snappily asks to see my receipt, except I don’t have a receipt – this is Ibiza, little tiendas like pet shops don’t give you a receipt for your purchase unless you specifically ask for it (and remember, I care about the environment – let’s not waste paper) or pay by card. I tell her this and explain that it’s totally different cat food (HELLO – the HiperCentro does NOT sell expensive organic shellfish and rice blends) but by this point she no longer cares about what I’m saying. I have become a shoplifter in her glaring eyes, and she starts rifling through my basket, pulling out all varieties of cat food and muttering that they also sell it, and I cannot take it back without a receipt.

By now, after the particularly long line, and my diversionary walk to this particular supermarket, I’m getting conscious that this arguing is cutting into my work day. And of course, I know I’ve done nothing wrong so I am starting to get a little irritated that she’s suggesting I have stolen cat food. I really, really, have to fight the urge to tell her that if I had WANTED to steal cat food, she wouldn’t even know I’d stolen it and I’d be halfway home by now, or that if I was planinng to steal cat food it wouldn’t be the cheap garbage they sell in the HiperCentro, but I resist since I know it won’t help my case. I’m reminded of the awesome Jane’s Addiction song Been Caught Stealing but I think breaking into song won’t be appreciated. I also want to ask her what it is about me that looks like a thief (as I mentioned – I am pretty normal! I was in my yoga gear, hair in nice neat braids and wearing Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses) but to my total horror, I have forgotten the Spanish word for thief! It’s on the tip of my tongue when she tells me I have to be detained while they check the CCTV footage of me in the store. DETAINED! Oh my days. Sidenote: I’ve never stolen a thing in my life – I put it down to working in retail from the age of 14. I always respected the P&L process.

So, turns out the HiperCentro version of jail is just standing in that little area behind the register, while Señorita Checkout Chick keeps hold of my basket AND makes me pay for the groceries she’d already rung up while she calls her manager. Her manager is equally as displeased to meet me, although I can tell the very minute she looks into my basket, she recognises this is not your stock standard HiperCentro issue cat food, but on principle, she goes back to her office and watches said CCTV footage, agrees I have not stolen anything and proceeds to let me go without a word of apology. I have half a mind to slip a Mars Bar in my pocket, like my friend Miss L does when she gets pissed about waiting in a checkout queue. But I rise above (thank you yoga practice) and dramatically stash everything back in my basket and stomp out.

The minute… I mean, the very MINUTE I have exited the sliding supermarket doors, my brain kicks into gear. LADRÓN! That’s the Spanish word for thief. I contemplate poking my head back in and finally saying my piece properly but instead focus on getting myself home for that long, intense work day. And instead, I mentally express my gratitude to Señorita Checkout Chick for giving me something to write about! Hopefully she got go home and tell her kids and hubby about the crazy guiri (expat/foreigner) cat lady she almost caught stealing today and we all live happily ever after. [Miss W’s note: I can assure you, these are not ALL my cats – I just wanted an excuse to publish all these pictures!]

The year we had no winter

Once upon a time, there was a little island in the Mediterranean, just off the coast of southern Spain. Geography defined it as part of Spain legally but really, when you stepped foot on the shores of this island, it was clear that it possessed a micro-climate and indeed, a micro-culture, all of its own. Years on the little island were divided into two separate seasons: summer and winter, as if there were no need for anything in between. Summer was a blaze of glory: sunshine, beaches, parties and cosmopolitan tourists from all over the world while winter was much more laidback – still sunny, but a little cold and blissfully quiet, with a ‘locals only’ kind of vibe that was enjoyed by those who were lucky enough to be born and bred here and those clever expats who were clued-up enough to realise it was well worth sticking around in the ‘off-season’.

I first came to Ibiza, the island in question, in 2005 – as one of those keen holidaymakers from a far-flung corner of the globe in summer. By the end of 2006 I had experienced my first winter, realising very early on in my experience that Ibiza was much more than a one trick pony. And I’ve been here for every winter, ever since. Regular readers of my blog will know that winter is my absolute favourite time of year in Ibiza (all six months of it) and I adore the contrast between the two seasons. I’m hesitant to travel in the winter months – unlike many other winter residents in Ibiza – because I know exactly what I’ll be missing. Even the typically grey month of February is one of my favourites; it gives me time to nest, to make plans and I find the gloomy skies quite beautiful.

In recent years however, the winter part of the Ibiza year has been getting shorter and shorter. This was initially due to an extended tourist season – businesses stayed open longer and opened earlier. And despite losing some of my favourite winter time, I knew that it was good for the island. Then there was the festive season boom – all of a sudden people wanted to spend Christmas and new year in Ibiza which meant more places to go, more things to do, more people to see. And again, despite losing some of our small town Christmas charm, I totally understood that was also good for the island. By 2018, winter in Ibiza had been reduced to around three and a half months (gasp! Making it like the rest of the world) at the most.

To those of us who enjoyed the six-month stop-gap between summers, it was starting to feel like a ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ kind of season, especially if you had to spend any time off the island due to family commitments or holidays or whatnot. Which brings me to today. March 15, 2019 – a point in time most people in Ibiza would say is the end of winter and the start of summer (give or take a few weeks depending on your occupation). It’s the time of year those who spend their winters in warmer climes start to return to Ibiza; it’s the time when business owners kick back into planning mode and start monitoring their inboxes a lot more sharply and – this is the bit I like best – it’s the time of year when the shops come alive with colour, as the new season fashions start to pop up in the windows, reminding us all we should start eating salads and going to yoga and get some sun on our skin to be able to wear them.

It’s the unofficial start of summer, but when I look back at the past six months, I don’t think the winter ever began! Is it just me, or is 2019 the year we had no winter in Ibiza? First of all – where was the downtime? I’ve been almost relentlessly busy with work since the clubbing season wrapped up – and I mean REALLY busy, not the kind of busy where you go to yoga, have a coffee with someone and then send a few emails busy. I mean that 12 hours a day, seven days a week kind of busy that most people associate with August in Ibiza. Being busy is a good thing for business of course, but it has the ability to skew your sense of time (especially in our industry, when you’re often working on content plans ahead of time – right now it’s the end of June in my head) and make you forget that you need to take a break ‘between seasons’.

It’s not just me who is experiencing this mega-workload – many of my island-based friends are feeling the same kind of pressure. Could it be that… finally… the Ibiza business model is morphing into a fully functional year-round thing? Business reasons aside however, I think the other really important reason it feels like we’ve had no winter in Ibiza this year is BECAUSE WE’VE ACTUALLY HAD NO WINTER IN IBIZA THIS YEAR! Aside from two days of extremely cold temperatures in December (I remember them clearly because I was thrilled to finally have a reason to buy both an oversized puffer parka and a faux fur-trimmed coat on the same day), the weather has been pretty darn glorious from November all the way through until today: March 15, 2019.

Let me be clear about this; I’m certainly not complaining about living on a beautiful Mediterranean island where the sun shines all year round, with a bunch of un-worn coats collecting dust in my wardrobe. Life could definitely be much worse. Way worse. It’s just… well, it’s kinda weird, right? Last winter it was grey, cold and even a lot rainier than usual here in Ibiza (I loved it). The winter before had been remarkably cold too (I was a big fan). And now here we are, just 12 months later and it’s hot enough to sunbathe; nay, it’s hot enough to get sunburned. It’s not normal, and no matter how much all we Ibiza residents are enjoying our extra hours spent outdoors, it’s not good. It’s the result of climate change and we need to do something about it.

Let’s take another look at today’s date because it’s one that may go down in history: March 15, 2019 so I think we need to stop and recognise it. Today is the day that tens of thousands of students all over the globe are collectively bunking off school – inspired by teenage Swedish student Greta Thunberg whose environmental activism earned her a Nobel Peace Prize nomination earlier this week – to strike against climate change; to urge our governments to take action on this matter to prevent future climate change. They’re saying you’re never too young to make a difference… which is true but for those of us who have been out of school for many years, it’s also important to remember that we’re never too old to make a difference either.

I’m not going to list all the stats I just read about global warming on the NASA website and pretend to know what I’m talking about (you can ask Google yourself!). All I really understand is this: the effects of climate change are irreversible which may mean I may never get my beloved winter back. The earth is in crisis and we have to do something about it. While we wait for politicians and big corporations to make their next move, we – the everyday people of the world – need to do as much as we can to show that we’re committed to making a change in the world.

Say no to plastic, buy local produce, reduce water waste, conserve and use the energy in your home wisely or use renewable energy sources, upcycle or repurpose instead of buying new things, use eco-friendly products, drive less, walk more, adapt your diet, fly less… the list goes on. Each and every little action (no matter how tiny) we as individuals make will help make a difference. But we can’t start tomorrow. We have to start today. If you have a heart, you will recognise our moral obligation to do more than just soak up the extra sun all year round in Ibiza. If you want to live happily ever after on this little island in the Mediterranean… you will act right now.

Goodbye Mr Pike

After 85 incredible years, five wives, four children, a modelling career, a shipwreck off the Bermuda Triangle, countless love affairs, kindred friendships with some of the most iconic celebrities of our time, infinite crazy adventures and more parties than most of us will experience in a lifetime, Tony Pike has left the building. Physically that is, as the iconic and hedonistic hotelier passed away in his sleep here in Ibiza on February 24, 2019, leaving behind a legacy that will live forever. The building in question is none other than Pikes, and while Tony Pike sadly won’t be propping up the poolside bar this summer – where he had been famously holding court for the last 39 years – his presence (and loss) will be felt throughout the hotel forever. As the sign says outside: You can check in, but you can never check out and in the case of Tony Pike, never a truer word has been spoken.

Tony was one of the old guard in Ibiza; he’d been there, done that and written the book – literally; his autobiography Mr Pikes: The story behind the Ibiza legend was released in 2018. If you were to pick up the book with no prior knowledge of Tony or Pikes, it’s quite possible you’d think it was a work of fiction. Each and every story – and there are so many of Tony’s tales squished within those pages – seems more outlandish and sometimes more scandalous than the next, but sure enough, they all took place in real time, in real life. As the old saying goes: you just can’t make this stuff up! I won’t go into detail here – buy the book! – but when you’ve read it, there is a fair chance that by the end of it, you’ll be shocked and surprised that Tony made it past the age of 50, let alone all the way to 85. What a life well-lived.

Like many of us who have lived (or spent time) in Ibiza for many years, I have a special connection to Pikes and feel forever indebted to Tony for this. You see, I think I may never have even moved to the white isle had I not been fortunate (or could it be clever?) enough to have spent my very first week on island soil at Pikes. This was back in the day when (GASP!) the island didn’t have such a huge presence on the internet. Social media wasn’t even invented. I lived on the other side of the world – Australia – so I had very little clue about where to stay in Ibiza – I wanted a boutique hotel and when I was Googling ‘ibiza boutique hotel’ to try and find somewhere appropriate, the only place that kept showing up was Pikes. The website at the time was quite terrible I recall – the photos of the room were tiny and slow to load so you didn’t really know what you were getting yourself into – but there was a section that sang the praises of its founder and owner Tony Pike, in addition to mentioning his many famous friends and guests.

When I discovered that Tony was Australian (which I later on found out was not his birth nationality, but where he’d declared citizenship) and that Kylie Minogue had spent time at Pikes, that cemented the decision for me. If there was an ‘Aussie done good’ in Ibiza, and one that our very own singing budgie had frequented his place, then I needed to get on the bandwagon immediately. That very first night I arrived, I remember bouncing around in the back of a taxi as it went up that famously bumpy (but now smoothed out) camino, wondering what the hell I’d gotten myself into. It was pitch black, it felt like the taxi had been driving for about 40 minutes (the big highway wasn’t there back then and there was no such thing as GPS so perhaps he’d gotten lost – my Aussie twang pronouncing ‘Pikes’ is a far cry from the Spanish ‘Pee-kays’), there were no signs anywhere and the campo seemed like a horror movie waiting to happen.

And then, the magic happened. We raced up to reception to get out of the rain and at once I was greeted by that famous wall of goosebump-inducing photos and a friendly smiling face who said they’d kept the reception open while waiting for their Australian guests to arrive. Ahh, there’s my Kylie. Oh look! Bon Jovi! Freddie Mercury! George Michael! Julio! Grace Jones! Every superstar DJ from the 90s… We were led down to Room 1 and I instantly felt at home. I’d never seen architecture like this before. The quaint little mezzanine and the wooden stair railings, rickety tiled floors, the wood beam ceilings and a tiny private garden – it was all new to me. And I clearly remember the very first thought that came to mind: I needed go back to Australia, collect my cat, and come back because we could seriously LIVE here! In the light of the next day, we could see the hotel was in much need of some love – this was many years before Tony went on to sell it to the Ibiza Rocks Group – but I was already in love. Every shabby surface, every broken window pane, every bathtub that didn’t have enough hot water to fill it up… I loved it!

And when we got up for breakfast (far too late; at the time they only served breakfast till 8am, but smiley-faced barman Emil – who has now worked at Pikes for over 35 years – plonked us on a bar stool, made us one of the best Bloody Marys I’d ever had and went about finding someone to whip up a basic brekkie for us anyway because he was nice like that. Right about that time, the sun had come out, that famous Club Tropicana pool was sparkling in all its glory, and as we surveyed the slightly crumbling empire around us we were greeted by the man himself, wearing a robe (if I remember rightly) as if he too had just swanned out of bed. “This is my hotel,” I remember him saying by way of introduction. “Where are you from girls?” Being fellow countrywomen (and in bikinis) meant we’d gotten Tony’s attention and we proceeded to chat about life in Australia, what brought us to Ibiza, what had brought him to Ibiza and so on and so forth. We thought he was charming (perhaps a little too forward given our age differences – though I would go on to learn that was simply his way with all women) and that was the start to a life-changing holiday, because true to my very first thought on checking in, I went back to Australia, collected my cat and moved to Ibiza. For obvious reasons living at Pikes wasn’t really an option so ultimately I found my own place with rickety tiled floors, wood beam ceilings, quaint little nooks and corners. And I never left…

Over the years I met and spoke with Tony again on many occasions; I was always amazed by his stamina, his charm and his ability to tell a story. I was of course saddened to hear that he had passed away but at the same time just so impressed that he lived – and boy did he live! – to be 85 years old. Pikes will always be a testament to Tony’s hard work and creativity; I imagine the team at the hotel are already planning to create a place where the many thousands of people whose lives he touched can pay their respects to him in years to come.

Speaking of paying respects, one part of me felt like I should be writing ‘rest in peace’ (I mean, after 85 years of being one of the most hard-partying people on the planet you certainly deserve some rest!) within this blog, but somehow I think you’d prefer to be getting up to no good somewhere alongside your dearly departed and debaucherous friends Freddie Mercury and George Michael. So instead I’ll just say this: Goodbye Mr Pike and thank you. I will be forever grateful to you for creating the place that ultimately changed the course of my life and your legend will never be forgotten. Anthony John Pike: 1934 – 2019

Ain’t love grand?

I’m going to be honest. As I sit here at my computer on Valentine’s Eve, I find myself (for once) lost for words. You see, after 11 consecutive years of writing some kind of ode to love, love in Ibiza, the loveless in Ibiza, being loved-up in Ibiza, love for Ibiza, anti-Valentines, love to all beings, loves lost, love being in the air, all the single ladies, finding Valentine’s gifts in Ibiza, things to do on Valentine’s Day in Ibiza and well, all kinds of other V.Day and love related topics, this year I simply have nothing to say on the subject of Valentine’s Day. And so I turned to my good friend Google for some inspiration.

Whenever I’m a bit stuck for words, I find song lyrics can usually encourage some kind of inspiration. As do movie titles. I instantly clicked with My Funny Valentine and started concocting a sweet little soliloquy dedicated to my kooky little cat, but then common sense stopped me in my tracks. Those are the kind of journal entries we crazy cat ladies must always keep to ourselves. Though… if you could see her, I’m sure you’d also fall completely head over heels in love with her too. *quietly books photographer for cat portrait session for next V.Day’s blog*

OK, so let’s keep scrolling. My Bloody Valentine is the next one that piques my interest but I’m not sure the world needs to read a blog dedicated to my love of slasher flicks on V.Eve (or does it? DM me for more gory details!). And then I landed on Blue Valentine. Ahhh Ryan Gosling. Even when he’s as messed up as his character in that dark, dark Oscar-nominated movie, he’s still every girl’s (single, coupled, married and dare I say possibly even gay) dream Valentine. Now there’s a topic I know my good friend Miss S would LOVE to read about – an entire blog singing the virtues of that beautiful baby-faced Gosling, who doesn’t seem to have aged a bit since that movie was made almost a decade ago. But then I circle back to the question I often ask myself when penning these blogs, what relevance does he have to Ibiza? (RG, if you’re reading, please come and visit us so we can make you relevant enough to write about next V.Day!) Sigh.

Back to the drawing board. Which, in this case was a message board where I contact my fellow writer Miss L in despair about my case of writer’s block. She instantly obliges with a plethora of ideas to use as a base, such as the fact Ibicenco men would play the flute near the houses of girls they wished to court, but they’d hide in the bushes so they wouldn’t be seen (pretty silly plan if you ask me – like sending an anonymous card: what’s the point? I’d want the glory). She also floated the idea of drawing a parallel with Ibiza’s well-known god of dance, Bes, with Valentine’s Day traditions of love and indulgence, which was a great one, until I started researching it and found out it had previously been written on another website!

Then we started talking about the fact that Valentine was indeed a Saint, and I began to wonder why – on an island where almost every single area is named after a saint – we don’t have a village called San Valentin in Ibiza? Seems the poor old Roman Catholic saint just wasn’t in luck when it came to doling out geographical areas on the white isle, though Miss L tells me there are 15 towns in the USA which are indeed named after him, Google tells me I should head to France for the ultimate St Valentin village experience and I also have vague memories of visiting a small backwater suburb named Valentine near Lake Macquarie in Australia during my childhood. I’m digressing…

Let’s face it, it’s not like Saint Valentine was all that lucky anyway: the guy was beheaded, after a beating with clubs and stones failed to kill him. Light bulb above the head moment! I finally see the connection between the patron saint of tomorrow’s big love fest and my favourite slasher flick! There was certainly no love lost there. [Side note: The remains of the V man himself are actually deposited in St Anton’s Church in Madrid just a short plane ride away from Ibiza in case anyone cares to visit him tomorrow.]

Miss L’s final contribution to my pot of V.Day blog ideas was one that I must admit I got a kick out of. And while it’s not technically in Ibiza, it’s a Valentine’s Day treat that’s available to women and men all over the globe and accessible via satellite so I think it’s well worth writing about. Especially for Valentine’s Day, the El Paso Zoo has created a genius Facebook campaign, where followers can opt to name a giant hissing cockroach after their ex-partner, which will then be fed to a meerkat. The feast is going to be streamed live via webcam tomorrow at 2.15pm.

Slightly more twisted than Blue Valentine, possibly more macabre than Saint V’s execution and just the comments alone on the post are more entertaining than any slasher flick could ever hope to be. Turns out while I was lost for words on what to say about Valentine’s Day, there are around 6.5k people out there who were ready just to let their thoughts rip. Ain’t love grand? Meerkats are pretty damn cute too. Look at him below, just waiting for his deliciously crunchy cockroach feast tomorrow. But judging by the viral success of that campaign, they’re going to need more meerkats!

A year without clubbing in Ibiza

The last time I stepped foot in an Ibiza club was the day of January 1, 2018. Yep, that’s 396 entire days and nights ago. The weirdest thing is, apart from the odd pang of FOMO related to some Luciano gigs in high summer, I really haven’t missed the experience at all. If I could step back in time and tell my fresh-faced dance music enthusiast self that she’d go on to spend a whole year without clubbing in the future, I am sure she’d scoff at me in disgust, while sprouting some kind of waffle about music being life and life without music being no life at all. Not to mention pointing out the whole reason she’d crossed continents and hemispheres to be here was for the chance to be at the heart of the clubbing capital of the world. Oh how times change…

First things first, let me make one thing clear. Just because I didn’t go clubbing per se, doesn’t mean I didn’t listen to music. It doesn’t even mean I didn’t dance. It simply means that I never crossed the threshold of Pacha Ibiza, Amnesia, Hï Ibiza, HEART Ibiza, Ushuaïa Ibiza, Privilege, Sankeys, Lío, Eden, Es Paradis, Ibiza Rocks Hotel and not even my all time fave, DC-10. [Side note: I did technically go to Ibiza Rocks, but it was for a daytime photo shoot and there were no parties on that day. So it doesn’t count!]. Wow – when you write them all down in a running list like that, there really are a lot of clubs in Ibiza, aren’t there? So anyway… those were the places I stayed away from in 2018.

It started out as a bit of a joke really. After spending New Year’s Day at DC-10, I developed some quite serious health problems (unrelated, but let’s just say a day and night there certainly didn’t help) that persisted and persisted until the beginning of the clubbing season. And at that point, when I was finally feeling good again, I didn’t want to do anything that would affect my health, which included late nights/early mornings, smoky environments, loud noise, booze and whatever else a night in an Ibiza club entails. We’ve all been there. And so I started to joke that I might spend a season from of the clubs. I mean, when you’ve been going regularly for more than a decade, you start to see patterns and realise that the more things change, the more they stay the same. You know that although you’ll surely miss some magical dance floor moments, the club scene will still be there waiting for you next year.

I thought about penning a blog about the idea back then, but I didn’t trust myself to stick to my word. Especially not when my ultimate duo of Luciano and Ricardo Villalobos were planning to reunite on the Amnesia terrace (my heart still pangs a little knowing I missed that one) in August. But August came and went, and I remained true to my word. And then September – known to one and all as the greatest clubbing month of the year – also passed. As did October (and yet another B2B by my faves). Once I’d managed to make it through an entire season, I started to ponder the idea of making it through the entire year. And yet STILL I didn’t write about it, mainly because Luciano was booked to play Pacha Ibiza on NYE and I thought surely that would get me to pull on my dancing boots.

But the clock struck 12 and the calendar flipped into 2019 with no chance of me turning into a pumpkin, because I’d never left the house. And when DC-10 opened its doors the next day, I was indeed tempted to go. Truly tempted. Because you know, it had been 364 days since I’d last been clubbing and it really is the best day of the year for islanders to go out. But I had a bit of a sniffle and the memories of the previous year’s illness still haunted me so I opted out again. Which leads me to today. Here I am, alive and well, and telling the tale of a year spent in Ibiza without clubbing. Did I miss the experience of clubbing?

Sometimes. But not often. Did I miss my friends? No, because I made an effort to see them outside of clubs, which I found to be much more rewarding. Did I miss the music? Well, I missed the great big whomping sounds of those mega sound systems and that excitement you feel when your taxi pulls up outside the club (because we never drink and drive!) and it’s vibrating through the walls, but as for actual songs/tracks/mixes/DJs? No. I didn’t miss them at all thanks to the power of the internet which means you no longer have to be front left at DC-10 week in, week out, to identify the songs of the summer. Did I miss doing the walk of shame through Dalt Vila in a sequinned dress at 7am and trying to avoid eye contact with my neighbours? Hell no! And obviously I did not miss the hangovers one bit.

One of the other things I realised during my clubbing sabbatical was that over the years, Ibiza clubbing lost a bit of its sparkle for me. After so many years spent working in Ibiza’s best clubs and interviewing the world’s best DJs, I’d turned into one of those people who arrive at the club and instantly head to the backstage schmoozing area, green room or office where OK, it was less sweaty and busy which is nice in high summer and you’re also likely to be the lucky recipient of a handful of drinks tickets, but it’s also not conducive to dancing and enjoying the music. Depending which club you’re in, half the time you can’t even hear the music at all from these spaces (which is ideal for DJs and their agents/managers and the club staff). It’s a privileged position to be in of course, but if my former self could have seen me, no doubt she would have been ashamed of me. Because music is life and life without music yadda yadda yadda…

I think the moral of my story is that I finally realised that just because I live in the clubbing capital of the world doesn’t mean I have to go to a party every night. By going to so many parties over so many years (although I wouldn’t change a thing), I had diluted the experience and now, after a year’s break, I feel just about ready to reignite my love for the dance floor. If I go to any parties this season (and I’m not averse to the idea; in fact, it kind of excites me), it will be all about the music (no Carola pun intended). To quote the great Kylie Minogue (oh come on, indulge me – you know I love her): ‘When I go out, I want to go out dancing.’ However, that’s not to say I’d ever say no to a handful of drinks tickets!

The life changing art of not making resolutions

How to stick to your new year’s resolutions, why most new year’s resolutions fail, how to trick your brain into keeping a new year’s resolution, 10 reasons you won’t stick to your new year’s resolutions, why you should never make another new year’s resolution again, how to stay motivated with your new year’s resolutions, why today is the day you’re most likely to break your resolutions… WOW. Is it just me, or is the internet TOTALLY obsessed with the idea that absolutely everyone in the world turns into a giant quitter come the second week of January?

Even here in Ibiza, the steady stream of local company newsletters and targeted Facebook posts I see suggest we islanders have already given up on #livingourbestlives and that the #newyearnewyou crew actually believe #oldhabitsdiehard. Well here’s a thought (inspired by a conversation with my very good friend Miss M yesterday): what about supporting all those people out there who HAVE stuck to their new year’s resolutions? Or better still, those who – like Miss M herself – strive to live their best lives all the time and don’t beat themselves up if anything goes awry at any time. They just see it as a hiccup, forgive themselves and try again the next day rather than attaching any unnecessary drama (or dates for that matter) to it.

I haven’t made any specific new year’s resolutions for the past few years, mainly because (if the internet is anything to be believed) I felt like I’d be setting myself up for failure. And in all honesty? I don’t want to start a new year with restrictions to my diet; I don’t need any additions to my workout schedule that cause me pain or anything that makes me feel like I am being denied a simple pleasure in life. My idea of #livingmybest life is doing the things I love (which happen to include binge-watching Mexican telenovelas, Disney movies and teen TV on Netflix, spending glorious sunny days holed up in bed just because I can, loving Lady Gaga but hating A Star Is Born, eating Thai noodles for breakfast and chocolate for dinner plus not giving a single fuck what anyone else thinks about any of it (pardon my French – but I figure if there’s a book written about giving less of them, we can write the word here too). Oh and as for clearing out my house – why? Everything I have fits in it just perfectly and that fact alone brings me joy (no I have not watched Marie Kondo and nor will I ever).

That’s not to say I think I’m perfect by any means, or there’s nothing in my life that doesn’t have a little wiggle room for improvement (I mean come on – a girl who eats chocolate for dinner surely needs to balance that out with some yoga, right?). But all in moderation. I think it’s better to do things as and when you’re ready; with a balanced approach and with baby steps rather than a military-like gung-ho attitude or going cold turkey. I prefer to be grateful for what I have rather than what I don’t (whether that relates to kilograms, possessions or feelings) and to always, always, listen to my intuition. The life changing art of not making a new year’s resolution has made me even more conscious of the way I live my life but on a daily, weekly and monthly basis instead of just once a year. If I missed yoga this morning (yep, I did), I’m not disappointed with myself. I’m just going to try again tomorrow rather than giving up on it altogether.

Of course, there are some people out there who thrive on setting new year’s resolutions. Who look forward to the first day of the new year with gusto and see it as a chance to right wrongs and change lives. And – while I must admit it’s totally not for me – there’s definitely nothing wrong with that! As long as it makes you really, truly, happy. For example, if you are the type of person who is reading this blog on your phone as you’re simultaneously jogging, eating the assorted crudité you prepped before work this morning, slugging celery juice without gagging, taking a selfie and hashtagging the hell out of it and getting a massive kick out of it all, then I applaud you.

But if you’re beating yourself up because you ate one carrot stick too many, or you’re obsessing about filtering any imperfections on your face or body or the thought of another five-mile run makes you miserable and you’re worried that your post hasn’t got enough likes or comments – WHY are you doing it all in the first place? These are the people the internet has been targeting this week. The ones who are struggling because they don’t really want to be doing the things they’re doing anyway. The ones who feel like they aren’t achieving anything if they’re not suffering. And the internet can be mean (especially this week!), making you feel like you’re just another statistic and your may as well give it all up now. I have yet to see an article that champions those who fall off the horse but then get back up again; or those who are yet to fall off at all. Or those like me who never got on the horse in the first place! Why are we so busy focusing on the negatives when we should be focusing on the positives?

Of course, I also know there are plenty of other positive new year’s resolutions that fall under ‘bucket list’ categories, like learn a new language, write a novel, visit Peru, save money, read more, adopt a rescue puppy – now these are resolutions I can get on board with. But again, only if they make you happy and you don’t make yourself miserable trying to achieve them. If everyone simply resolved to be happy – every day, every week, every month, every year – and strived to do the things that made them happy all the time… oh, what a wonderful world this would be.

To all of you out there who didn’t make a new year’s resolution and are just getting on with the process of living your best lives, I salute you. To those who did make new year’s resolutions and have managed to stick to them, I hope achieving your goals brings you happiness. And to those who’ve felt like they’ve been kicked in the teeth by the internet this week because they’d given up on their resolutions already, well… tomorrow is another day (and so is the next day, and the day after that and so on and so forth). You just have to choose to either get back on that horse or just put it out to pasture and don’t feel bad about it (horses are happy in the pasture!). Whatever makes you happy. Who give a f*** about what anyone on the internet thinks anyway?

18 things I learned in 2018

I’ve been making new year’s resolutions for as long as I can remember and I’ve been forgetting them by January 10 for the same amount of time. So when I started to think about the arrival of 2019, I decided it would be a waste of my own time to sit around pondering ways to make my life better when actually, my life is pretty good as it is. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, right? Well of course, I know there are always things we can be working on to become better people, ways we can do more to help others or things we can be doing to improve the state of the earth in general… but rather than write them all down right now, I’m just going to wait and see what happens organically. In the meantime, I’m reflecting on some of the things I learned in the year that’s just flown by instead.

1. The more things change, the more they stay the same. This is especially true of Ibiza and as 2018 segues into 2019, there will (as usual) be more people saying the island is ‘not what it used to be’ and at the same time, there will be a slew of newbies who will be in love with the newness of their discovery and shouting it from the rooftops. To each their own, I say – there’s no right or wrong way to enjoy Ibiza, it’s all a matter of personal taste.
2. Wearing high heels is like riding a bike. I spent the better part of the last ten years wearing flat boots or shoes, citing the fact I lived in Dalt Vila as the reason but mostly it was because I was fighting a Tom Cruise/Nicole Kidman style height dilemma around my past boyfriends. Fast forward to 2018 when I started buying mega-heels again and started skipping down the cobbles as if I’d been schooled by SJP – now I’ve got a whole new reason to buy more shoes in the sales.
3. It’s totally OK to turn your phone off, log out of social media and not reply to emails in the moment you receive them – but these days, you can rest assured people will freak out and think you’re dead (or take it as a personal insult). I’ve been experimenting this year with going off-grid for 24 hours (no more, no less!) when I needed space, privacy, concentration or silence and each and every time I’ve done it, people have gone overboard in their obsession to try and track me down. The culture of instant gratification has gone too far.
4. Ibiza’s not all about dance music. Discovering Rock FM on the Ibiza radio dial changed my driving life this year. When Ibiza Sonica and Open Lab went off the airwaves, I flicked to this station and have never ever changed the dial since. I used to hate being stuck in traffic – now I’ll stay in the car while it’s parked to keep singing along to the non-stop classic rock, grunge, hard rock and psychedelia. I even have a theory – if you get in the car and hear Bon Jovi, you’re guaranteed to have a good day. Most days, this station plays Bon Jovi – and I’ve had more good days than bad this year! Coincidence? I think not.
5. Vegan food is not all bad. You see, I’ve always taken a firm anti-vegan staunch when it comes to my diet – a Chinese medicine doctor once told me I need red meat every day due to my blood type so I naturally took offence to preachy vegans who insisted we save the planet via our diets and thus avoided vegan cafes, restaurants and culture in general. But then… I was introduced to the world of vegan desserts and my world was rocked. And then… I tried cashew cream. And after that, I bought a vegan cookbook with the aim of introducing more veggies to my life. Six months later, I haven’t cooked from it yet and I still get edgy if I don’t eat meat daily… but I no longer think vegans are the devil.
6. Alpacas were once indigenous to Ibiza. Or so I was recently told! For this reason, the Ibiza Preservation Foundation have brought three alpacas to the island this year in the interest of re-introducing the species and to help protect fields of sheep at Can Pere Mussona from wild dogs. At the moment all the alpacas are male, but two pregnant females are due to arrive any day now and will give birth to the first of the new breed Ibiza alpacas next year. Tougher than any guard dog, apparently.
7. Not going along with the status quo is totally acceptable. Case in question: I was an early adopter/avid fan of Lady Gaga (who else remembers when she played at Eden?) and I’m not afraid to say I think she is a musical genius – to the shock of my friends in Ibiza who dismiss her. But when I saw A Star Is Born I was absolutely horrified – I thought it was one of the worst movies I’d ever seen in my life (and I went in there wanting to love it!). Just because something’s got Bradley Cooper and Gaga in it, and happens to have been nominated for zillions of awards doesn’t mean you have to like it. But so many people keep telling me I’m wrong. I’m not wrong; nor are you – we just have different opinions. I feel the same about Carl Cox by the way; lovely man, I’ve interviewed him before, but his music just grates on my nerves. I’m not afraid to publicly disagree with the 10k people who went to see him at Privilege this year – and I wish more people would speak their minds like this too.
8. I believe the children are our future. I spent a weeklong period working on an extended photo shoot at Ibiza Rocks Hotel back in September and I felt like I learned so much from the youth culture there. For example, young English girls have the body confidence to walk around in virtually nothing, even when their body size/shape is not ‘perfect’ per se. While it may not always be aesthetically pleasing, to me it’s better than all the fake boobs/lips/brows/lashes/tans you see elsewhere. Everyone was always smiling, everyone was super polite (the Brits do have good manners!), even when falling off inflatable unicorns with absolutely zero grace. If this is our future, I think we’re in good hands.
9. Asking for help when you need it is important. If you suffer in silence – whether it’s work-related, an emotional issue or even just basic overwhelm when faced with cleaning your house – you’ll never evolve. Things just loom bigger and darker when actually, a quick call to a friend can help put things in perspective, even if it doesn’t solve the issue at hand directly. I’m a big believer in this – and if you think you’ve got no one you can talk to, then reach out to the organisations and hotlines that are there to help you in an anonymous manner. None of us are ever truly alone.
10. There are some people in this world who will say the sky is bright red when it’s clearly sky blue. The fact is, people will lie to you; people will lie about you; people will lie to protect you and people will lie to protect themselves. Sometimes, what matters more than the truth is the way you react to a lie. Arguing quite often gets you nowhere and there are times when its better to take a step back, put some space between yourself and the lie/liar and simply let it be. I’ve learned the truth always comes out in the wash in the end anyway.
11. When everyone around you is having babies, it’s ok to remain a cat person (or to become one). In fact, you’ll find over time, most of the people with babies turn to you for ‘normal’ conversations, for time out without the children and to talk about the good old days in Ibiza before they had to worry about babysitters. It seems to me (and if the internet is to be believed!) like cat people really are the happiest people of all, so I firmly stand by my choice. And my cats.
12. Speaking of cats and cat people, Insta-stories really are the best platform to let your crazy cat lady flag fly. I was never a fan of the medium – I always found it a bit strange that you’d spend time creating content that would disappear after 24 hours, it seemed to devalue one’s own time – but then highlights were introduced and I realised I could create a never-ending reel of photos of my furry friends in all types of situations AND WITH GIFS. It really is true that the simple things in life are often the best.
13. When you learn to listen (and trust) your intuition, it’s crazy how in tune you become to things. I don’t want to sound like someone who just got all woke… but I’ve experienced some seriously spooky situations this year – so spooky I allllmooost believed I was psychic. But then I decided I wasn’t – that’s just crazy. It’s hard enough reading my own mind, let alone other people’s! So let’s just stick with living intuitively
14. Real life is so much better than the movies – and if your own life isn’t offering up enough drama on a daily basis, you can just look to Netflix and tap into all the crazy real life documentaries and biopics and whatnots. Sometimes I watch things and can’t believe they really, truly took place in our lifetimes (Pablo Escobar and Osho being two that particularly blow my mind). In saying that…
15. When real life gets too much at times, having the imaginary worlds of books, movies and the internet to turn to is a saviour. This year I discovered it is indeed possible to watch all nine seasons of Modern Family in one week (yes, I know there are 10 in total but only nine are on Netflix and I’m too lazy to stream it elsewhere) and I also rediscovered the joy of reading books (made from real paper) after a few years of using an iPad. It might not be sustainable but it just feels so good!
16. Influencer marketing is real and it’s not going away any time soon. I’m still gobsmacked by the pull of the popular people online (and the fact other people pay them to promote their products) and after watching The American Meme, I couldn’t help but wonder – is anyone who uses the internet so frequently truly happy? It also made me wonder about point number 14 above. Does that movie fall into the category of real life or movies? Or both? I’m not sure it qualifies as entertainment, and yet I couldn’t look away. I’m happy I live in a bubble!
17. Sustainability starts at home. With that in mind, I am vigilant about recycling, I use a basket to carry my groceries home, I do my best to avoid single-use plastic, I avoid those delicious chocolates that are made with palm oil and I buy organic cleaning products and biodegradable garbage bags, however I’m not sure I’m ready to become a total Pachamama and use baking soda as deodorant just to avoid the packaging, or use a bamboo toothbrush that just doesn’t seem to do the job as well as the technologically advanced ones. Does that make me a bad person? Possibly, probably, and most definitely in the eyes of some eco-warrior people’s eyes, but isn’t it better to be doing something rather than nothing? Of course I’m interested in doing more – but not at the expense of my teeth, my skin and my body odour.
18. It’s completely possible to exist in Ibiza without going to any clubs at all. In fact, one can live a completely normal life here on the white isle all year round – but that’s a story for another blog…

An unconventional Christmas party

Office Christmas parties have become quite the competitive sport in recent years. What was once a few plastic cups of lukewarm bubbly gathered around the water cooler (and quite possibly an inappropriate snog with the accounts geek in the hallway) before the team dispersed for the holidays has become an event planner’s dream, with many companies investing lots of time and money into creating next level Christmas parties as a way to say thank you for all the work you’ve put in throughout the year. It’s a great team bonding exercise; a celebration of company culture and a way to start the holidays early.

While there’s definitely a party culture in Ibiza – not to mention some of the most impressive, off-the-scale event planners who can make anything happen – there’s not so much of a corporate culture here and the seasonal nature of so many of the island’s businesses means company Christmas parties are not quite the crazy no-holds barred affairs that might automatically spring to mind when you think of the party capital of the world. First of all – there are only a very limited amount of venues open in which to host your event. Second, most if your team are scattered all over the world by this stage. And third – when you have parties on tap all summer long, by December (for some of us, anyway), all you really want to do is curl up by the fireplace and get an early night.

Take the White Ibiza annual Christmas get together for example. Now I’m sure many of you would be expecting to hear stories of a sunny lunch that started on Thursday afternoon and carried all the way through until Friday morning, dancing on a bar, crazy road trips through the countryside to find the next destination or a sunrise skinny dip at Las Salinas. Nope. For us, it was quite the unconventional Christmas party; a stylish and civilised team dinner in a lovely restaurant where we sipped sake and nibbled sushi until just before midnight (because like Cinderella, most of us wanted to be home before midnight to avoid turning into a pumpkin).

Instead of shrieking and squealing into a karaoke microphone or guzzling champagne from the bottle and taking group selfies in the bathroom, we bantered about the fact pumpkins have flowers; we agreed everyone absolutely must purchase 400-thread count Egyptian cotton bedding in the new year; we ruminated on how to make vegan bone broth; we googled the Spanish word for radish and we giggled over the fact adult British people still say things like ‘dippy eggs’ and ‘eggy bread’ (as you may guess, most of our team are from other parts of the world). And then we all went home, with not even the slightest temptation to pass by the Marina and see if there were any other parties we could crash.

As I snuggled into my amazing new winter duvet with a lovely warm cup of organic lavender tea before the clock struck 12, I asked myself whether our version of an office party was boring? Or worse still – were we boring? I started to look at pictures online of friends in other countries at their Christmas parties, or clients’ Christmas parties and tried to envision putting myself in their place. Did I secretly want to be playing beer pong? Was I wishing our office had been transformed into a tropical fantasyland with topless waiters handing out cocktails all night long before splashing about a blow up pool in the conference room? (Sidenote: we don’t actually HAVE an office – our entire team works remotely)

Did I imagine myself making out with a co-worker in the toilet? (Another sidenote: all my co-workers are women) Did I want to be serenaded by a reality TV star who was being paid to be at the party? (Final sidenote: yes, this really happened to a friend of mine). I must have drifted off during these thought processes, because next thing I knew, I woke up just after the sunrise with my make-up removed, last night’s clothes in the laundry basket and my shoes neatly tucked away where they belong, without even a hint of a hangover (a Christmas miracle!). I was happily at my computer at the sprightly hour of 9am, ready to write a blog about Christmas parties and NOT having to do it in between trips to the bathroom to puke (as has been the case in previous party times) or indeed, not being able to recall the event I was trying to write about. And so the answer to my original question about being boring was immediately clear. No. Definitely not. Well, not this year anyway!

Of course not all Ibiza Christmas parties are as chilled and laidback as ours. There’s a huge community of self-employed people and freelancers in Ibiza, many of whom were recently lamenting the fact they had no office Christmas party to attend. Within 15 minutes, a WhatsApp group had been assembled, a Facebook event created and voila! Dozens of people came together and created their very own kind of non-company Christmas party complete with Santa hats, reindeer ears, new friends and all the kind of antics you might associate with Ibiza. In this case, I can’t be the one to kiss and tell, as I was sworn to secrecy, but for anyone wondering if Christmas parties in Ibiza were all as well-behaved as ours, well, rest assured – the party spirit lives on!

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas…

It’s that time of year again where people are talking about naughty and nice lists and while I’m never quite sure which one I want to find myself on, I feel like I must have done something right this year as my Christmas wish from 2017 is coming true! The Christmas markets and the big tree have returned to their rightful home in pride of place on the square in Vara de Rey, which means the nightly winter buzz has been restored to my home town and I have all the more reason to go nuts on tinsel, baubles and those cute mini-cups of red wine with sobrasada!

Let me explain. Last year, after the extensive renovations to Ibiza town’s main street, Vara de Rey, the powers that be decided they didn’t want to scuff the brand new pavement on the lovely new pedestrianised square with portable market cabins (or a giant Christmas tree) and so they were banished to a weird corner of Ibiza town that bordered on the main road leading up to Can Misses. The space was ample enough, sure. It just didn’t feel all that Christmassy, in the shadow of Can Misses hospital and the location wasn’t appealing to most Ibiza dwellers – walking up through the empty, desolate streets of the new town to be greeted by a crazy LED tree and a few sad little stalls and a churros truck. It just wasn’t a ‘destination’ if you know what I mean.

But order has been restored to the universe this year and for all those naysayers who thought the regeneration of Vara de Rey was destined to be a flop, I dare you NOT to have a good time on any given weeknight over Christmas! Right now, the squares are pulsating with life (and flashy Christmas lights), the restaurants are buzzing (and busy!) and the vibe is even better than it used to be. OK, so there were no celebrities flicking a big switch and the lights are more quaint than Carnaby Street, but this was always what I loved most about Christmas in Ibiza. It’s just the right amount of sparkle and not at all overly commercialised. It’s like a lovely little village Christmas, where friends and family can get together after dark and have a little stroll around as they catch up, followed by some nice food and wine before heading home at a very family-friendly time indeed.

Let’s start with Plaza del Parque – an area that was oft-neglected when it came to decorations at Christmas time, which really made no sense given that it’s a hub of activity on winter nights. Now, the whole square is glowing under the light of globes strung like a Maypole, and while parents are sipping mulled wine or cava in one of the many cafes and restaurants, their children are extra visible as they around the middle of the square. It’s here where you’ll also find most people heading for their last minute ‘stocking filler’ type shopping needs, as Natura is situated on the square and is open til 9 every night. Its windows are also strung with beautiful fairy lights in the spirit of the season and there are more fluffy Christmas socks and candles in stock than you could ever dream of.

Meanwhile, over in the bigger square, Vara de Rey, a double row of cute little market huts run down the centre of the plaza. Now – if you’re looking for a one-stop shopping location to tick off everyone on your ‘nice’ list, let me pre-warn you. The Ibiza Christmas markets are more about decorating your home for the holidays than filling stockings, though there are a few token stalls with typical hippy market-esque jewellery and leather goods if you need a last minute gift. You know the stuff: fringed and embossed leather handbags and purses, some rabbit fur vests (look away vegans!) and Indian-style jewellery sparkling with coloured gems or crystals. There’s also a very nice Italian man with an entire stall dedicated to Parmigiano Reggiano (aged 17 years and 25 years), which I must admit – I do not personally associate with Christmas! Italian friends – can you shed any light on this? He does look very out of place there with his little platters of cheese (but DAMN it tastes amazing) while everyone else around him is peddling Christmas decs. Ahhh yes, the Christmas decs. Anyone who knows me will tell you, I LOVE CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS!

Growing up, we always had amazing trees and then when I was old enough to have a part time job in a department store, I managed to score myself work in the Christmas section over the holidays. Ever since then, I have developed a keen eye for perfectly executed decoration layout and precision light placement and it’s something that has travelled with me to the other side of the globe. Here in Ibiza, my Christmas tree is my creative pride and joy. One year I kept it up until the end of March (defying the myth that you have a year of bad luck if you keep it up past January 6) because I loved looking at it so much. In case you were wondering, I’ve gone for a gold and red theme, interspersed with all the meaningful decorations I have from years gone by, with a quirky little pigtailed angel on top who one of my friends recently called deranged, but I thought looked like a whimsical Christmas fairy.

So where was I? Right, the Christmas markets. So within the 12 or so stalls you can shop from, you can get decorations – and also fake Christmas trees –  within all budgets. There are the cheap-ish plastic ones complete with strings of brightly coloured tinsel, santa hats, reindeer ears headbands and felted stockings (and one of these stalls also donates a portion of their profits to charity); then you go up a level and can get glossy glass baubles, beautiful angels and metres and metres of fairy lights. And lastly, you can get creative, with one entire stall dedicated to custom wreaths, garlands, table centrepieces and decorations made by a professional florist with natural and rustic materials. The stalls that sell trees also offer a styling service, decorating the tree under your guidance, then packing it all up for you to take home as a bundle (the thought of this makes me shudder, but I also understand not everyone is a Christmas pro like me). The biggest novelty for me are the stalls selling all the individual parts to create your own nativity scene.

This is a big thing here in Spain and you can pick and choose your palm trees, sheep, mangers, wise men, donkeys, baby Jesuses and so on, and so forth. It’s such an interesting tradition – made even more interesting by the fact all Catalan nativities feature a caganer (which roughly translates to a pooping peasant). Apparently the little pooper has been making an appearance since the 18^th century, found squatting behind the manger, although he’s been updated in more recent years to some very irreverent (and blasphemous) characters, including the pooping Queen, the pooping Pope, pooping Yoda, pooping David Beckham – you name the celeb, they make it. You simply pick your favourite pooper and add him to your set!

My favourite market stall this year is the man who hand-makes typically Ibicencan ceramic dioramas. He does have a few nativity-inspired sets (yes, with the caganer), but my favourites are the ones that are most representative of daily island life, like the Ibicenca making sobrasada, or the typical local bar serving hierbas or families at home in their fincas complete with all the details you’d expect to see in real life. They’re not cheap (upwards of 100 and 200€ for many) but for a true Ibiza lover, they’re an amazing gift and something you won’t find anywhere else in the world. Once you’ve had your fill of market browsing, it’s time to find a place to unwind and all the bars in the area are decked in Christmas lights and with toasty outdoor heaters to lure you in.

The Montesol is indeed the grandest, decked in thousands of fairy lights and presiding over the whole square; while Le Vrai entices with the offer of Raclette cheese and cold cuts with a glass of vin chaud. Back in Plaza del Paruqe, the oyster bar is also set to open on the corner of Hostal Parque later this month – serving up fresh oysters, prawns and champagne every night until January 6, 2019, which is when the Spanish typically celebrate Christmas and the arrival of the three kings. But that’s a story for another blog…