This isn’t a rant. Having lived on this island for the best part of my life, I really have witnessed the changes that have happened here first hand. Long gone are the days where it was perfectly safe to leave your doors unlocked or your windows open, or where it was perfectly safe (& even acceptable) to hitchhike from school in San Carlos all the way back to San Jose (down a small road, NOT a highway), stopping at Mar I Sol for a refreshment (frequently even to be offered a cana and a cigarette) at 12 years old, adios. Even the Policia local would stop to give us a lift sometimes; it wasn’t uncommon for a parent to be pulled over to give a Policia Local a lift into town either. Buiding camps in the forest - even living in them for days at a time; campfires, adventures straight out of an old kids story book; catching lizards and pinching eggs from the next door neighbors chickens (if we were caught, a stern clip around the back of the head would follow) that wondered across the totally unspoiled & freshly churned-over campo. Sometimes the neighbor would bring a bucket of freezing cold well water for everyone to drink (with mosquito larvae included!), some pan payes & a bit of sobrasada – keeping an eye on you all, to make sure you didn’t run into any trouble. I remember a friend of mine being cocky with a shop owner in the Vara Del Rey, only for a Policia Local to clip him round the ear and take him home to be met by his very angry dad. Today this would be assault, back then it was how you learned to respect your elders when you crossed the line – and there was nothing wrong with it. The country folk & their families riding to church on a Sunday, piled onto a mule-drawn cart, all dressed in their Sunday best. The little old ladies sitting under an algarroba tree, dressed in traditional attire, monitoring their goats; The cats and dogs all piled up on top of one another in front of a roaring fire during the winter evenings. Having to walk off into the forest in the pitch dark to find sticks to get the fire ready for the following night (thanks Dad!) – even riding around Es Cubells on a GAC moped for the day in the winter, passing a handful of oncoming cars at best (there was a 10th of the traffic back then) in our really early teens. We were lightyears away from a Nintendo; Macdonalds was something you occasionally read about, it might have well been on another planet – best thing was we just weren’t interested at all; never gave it a seconds thought. Fast food to us was picking out sea urchins and spreading the pink stuff (raw) on bread, a slice of homemade tortilla or some homemade sausages from the neighbors last Matanza. And the ‘Ibiza Generation’ of then? Forget the Paris Hiltons. The mile long lists of uber-DJ’s. Which venue has just opened or who has a guest list & where. Ku. Pacha. Pikes (anyone remember ‘Ricadinas’ for breakfast?). Indiana Café. Keeper. That’s where all the magic happened. The stories everyone swapped were legendary. Those stories are what made this island famous. Much more interesting than billions of duck-faced selfie after duck-faced selfie (What’s with that??) in a DJ booth somewhere, all over Facebook. Sorry – I’m not having a pop; probably just evolution. Whatever it is, undeniably Ibiza’s a very, very different place these days.
Posted on: Sun, 26 Oct 2014 09:02:02 +0000
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