It takes only 35 minutes in the air, more or less, from Alicante to Ibiza. Nonetheless, it took us something like six or seven hours to get there. The plane being four hours late didn't help. Then there was a slight hiccough with the pickup minibus to take us to the hire car. Actually the car was quite odd. I'd taken out insurance to cover the 1200€ insurance excess, which cost about 50€, but the car hire itself was flagged as being something less than a euro a day and that proved to be true. There was a bit of a trick though, I'd been expecting something because 87 cents per day is just too good to be true, but it was such a small trick that I happily paid. They charged me for the three quarters full tank of fuel and that was it. Even better they gave me a biggish Nissan Qashqai when I'd only paid for a little Fiat 500.
Maggie doesn't particularly care for my idea of a holiday - go somewhere, look around, move on. She likes to stay still from time to time. In Ibiza we travelled around but in the whole week we only clocked up 500kms which is next to nothing. Driving around wasn't that much fun though. I'm used to long, empty roads. In Ibiza the roads are often narrow, pretty short - the island is just 50kms from end to end - and full of cars. On road parking spaces could be tricky to find, though nearly all the villages had big car parks. We were never away from other traffic. The narrow roads provided for some amusement. Obviously people need to send messages on their phone as they drive - being out of contact for more than a few minutes might have dire consequences. Normally people try to text when they are stopped by lights, in traffic queues etc. In Ibiza the text as you drive drivers were very noticeable because their lack of concentration made them very slow and their sideways drifting made for amusing swerves as they avoided a head on collision or the very hefty looking roadside banks.
I realised when we were unpacking in our hotel that it had never crossed my mind to take anything in case it rained. I had a pullover and a jacket "por si acaso", just in case and I used them but not a thought for a pac-a-mac. I didn't need one of course. Generally the sun shone and it was only chilly in the evening. The season hasn't started yet. In fact the whole island was being painted, scrubbed and generally refitted ready for May when things swing back into gear. It was good for us. There was nobody having multi-partner sex on any of the beaches we visited, no pumping music in the air and still space in those car parks.
The island was lovely. Very green with some beautiful spring flowers. The sea was sparkly and blue or green and, although I know the Med is a cess pit, it looked clear and clean. Beaches varied from sandy to pebbly but lots of the little coves were splendid. The island's not very hilly going up to something under 500 metres which is lower than the contour line that runs past our house. It seemed quite modern too, lots of ecological this and organic that. There were places to charge electric cars all over the place. Towns and villages basically came in two varieties. In one the white church and main square were surrounded by shops selling hand made jewellery and straw hats whilst in others there were rows and rows of souvenir shops, tattoo parlours and cafes selling full English. Not even the tatty places were cheap.
One of the things that I missed, and something that I'm sure exists, was the island identity. The local version of Catalan, Ibicenco, was everywhere but we'll gently sidestep that as a mark of identity. Spanish regions usually have some regional food. We ate out stacks of times but we were very seldom offered anything that wasn't "international" or a sort of generic Spanish. When we were flying home the airport had local beer, local cheese, a local version on the ensaimada pastries, local sausages etc. Actually there was a food thing that may be quite Ibizan; I got cup after cup of terrible coffee. I may be wrong but I think they use the torrefacto coffee where the beans are roasted with sugar. Spain is good for coffee so it was a bit of a shock.
Identity wise it was the same with the architecture. In Valencia the tent like barracas, in Castilla la Mancha the blue and white paintwork and the houses on stilts in Galicia are noticeable. In Ibiza it's true that white paint was predominant, there was a common green or light blue colour and the churches were all low and squat but I would be pushed to say I noticed an architectural style.
There wasn't any pushing of "folk" traditions either - here in Pinoso you can see "traditional" dress several times a year. In Murcia the white shorts for men, zaragüelles, and the rope soled sandals get lots of outings whilst people playing regional musical instruments are on every street corner in every town of Alicante. I'm exaggerating, of course, but tradition is often on show in Spain and it wasn't in Ibiza.
There was one thing that was ever present though and that was music - the sort of chilled Ibiza, dance cum shopping music that works, with slight variations, as the soundtrack for contemplating a sunset, as background music in the hotels or bars and on the local radio stations.
Lots more to say but I've already used too many words so I'll leave it there. Good week though.
