I spent a total of €0.60 in 3 days in Ibiza. 35 cents for a bottle of carbonated water, and 25 cents for a bottle of mineral water. I couchsurfed with a 53 year old local guy and his Peruvian wife, but could only understand 50% of what they said, which was still in a broken form of Spanglish where no tense was correctly used, ‘want’ and ‘have’ were the same word, everything happened in the first person, all verbs had Spanish endings, and he confused words like ´time´and ´weather.´ If he asked ´you have water?’ or ‘did you check the time’ I wouldn’t know if I should answer no or yes to get more water, or talk about the clock or the rain. But I was taken care of from beginning to end and everything in between, with meals, drinks, and movies offered to an endless supply. I got picked up at the ferry terminal, and for the first time in 5 days, it was walking about weather again. So we explored Ibiza town and the old city, the churches, the city beach, and picnicked on the fortress walls. On the way to his place in San Antoni de Portmany, we stopped at a stone garden, a place only imaginable on this island so commonly loved by the hippy trail.
San Antoni is a small city, but still half empty and shut down like every other village. One out of ten restaurants or cafes is open, and all bars and discos were closed for the season. Its only surprising because the season is only from May to September, so its hard to imagine how people can survive off only 5 months of business. All the hotels, sea-side buildings and boats just sit around for the other 7 months costing money and not making a penny, and the most touristic thing I did was visit about 5 or 10 free churches in the countryside villages (more than half of them were open!).
The street art in Ibiza was phenomenal. The line between graffiti and murals was indistinguishable, and both equally intriguing, but of course the occasional penis or ‘fuck’ was spray painted in inappropriate places. Art galleries and cemeteries were just as much information to process visually, while the rolling countryside of vineyards and almond, orange, olive and fig trees seemed endless. It was surprising how green everything was, despite the cold, but in fact the rainy wintery season makes it seem like an Icelandic summer, and in their dry summers, everything dies and greenery turns yellow and gray like an Icelandic winter.
If you make it to Saint Gertrudis, definitely go to Bar Costa. One of the only cafes open, it was packed, with wooden fires burning inside, and an art gallery from floor to ceiling of melancholic paintings. It was the first and only building I visited that was warm, since no one has central heating. There was no difference from leaving the house and walking outside or returning home, the temperature remained the same. I could literally see my breath when I exhaled inside my room, and the most mundane tasks became extremely uncomfortable, like having to sit on an ice cold porcelain toilet just to pee.
I enjoyed a roadtrip around the southwest beaches and ‘calas’ despite the storm, and finally toughed it up enough to accept the weather and dress in 3 layers of all the clothes I packed. It wasn’t that cold, maybe 10°c, but the humidity, wind and wet feet sent a chill thruout your body you could never shake since it never went away. Atleast it didnt hail or snow in Ibizia, and now that I’ve seen it all alone in off-season, I´m looking forward to returning when the island returns from hibernation and the sun shines again on the thousands of visiting (and local) faces.