How ON EARTH did Ibiza become my happy CALM place?
It’s called the party island for a reason – and believe me we’ve had fun. But these days Ibiza has become such a different place. So what has changed? Let’s discuss…
Willkommen! Bienvenue! Welcome!
See, the thing about Ibiza is if you want a party, you can always find one. There’s ALWAYS something on during the summer months. Literally, every day of the week. You could probably find a party every day of the year if you truly desired.
But for the past couple of years, I’ve had a little place there that has become a refuge for me when I need time out from London. I go out of season mainly. It’s not as hot, there are less Brits and less partying. It’s a calm place.
I’ll spend three months or so (minimum) annually where I’m able to adjust my life of endless meetings, events and diary engagements back in London. Being able to slow down my day-to-day life a couple of times a year has become imperative.
Think about it – just how fast-paced our lives are nowadays? We go at a million miles an hour 24/7. Juggling clients, social media, new business meetings, social events – it’s endless.
Life right now - if I spend the day in London running around - means coming home and spending until 10pm at my laptop playing catch up. That’s not fun – but there’s not much choice. It has to be done! Safe to say some of the meetings are literally a total waste of time and occasionally people are just leaching my time for advice which, to be frank, they go away using and I hardly ever receive a thank you. I must stop being sucked into that.
I refer you to this piece about manners HERE. Do take a read…
It's easy in my position as a ‘nice guy’ to end up being taken the piss out of. People always want my opinion, ‘take’ and advice on how to make a success of what they have going on. Truth be told, I only started to learn how to say no a couple of years ago. You might remember I wrote about that exact subject here some months back in a section on THIS column. That piece served me well and I referred to it a lot with all aspects of my life. It was spurred on by somebody I always considered a friend treating me like shite in the workplace. They didn’t treat me like their friend. They treated me like a dickhead. Sometimes in life you need to realise that a situation isn’t your fault and you’re not able to keep the train on the tracks regarding friendships. I still think one day we’ll make up. But for now…no chance.
Anyway, back to Ibiza. London at the minute has been tricky to navigate. Lots of my friends are finding this. It’s an angry place. Maybe even more so since Covid. The homeless, the wars, the news, the break-ins, rogue roofers (!)…everything feels like a lot.
From the impatient van driver up your ass in the traffic jam to the school mum tutting at you in the coffee shop because you’re not moving out the way of her pram you truly didn’t see (yes, really) - it’s all just been a bit of a pig. But I don’t think I’m ready for cuntry living. I mean, I do have a desire for a veggie patch or an allotment. Probably pining for my Grandad and those lush fresh green beans. But would I really commit to that? Doubtful. And I’d love a dog. But with all my travel that wouldn’t work. I need to do that Borrow my Doggy thang. Maybe.
I’ve got to the point now where anything over five months at home in London starts to give me anxiety. I can feel it brewing across all aspects of my life. I retreat to the place I own on the outskirts of town and tend to be a bit quieter. I turn 44 this year and the older I get the more I love a fully pre-planned weekly routine. I like the gym first thing, emails, the mid-morning walk with a Podcast, the day at my computer staying on top of all the clients, eating super healthy, shopping local and getting early nights.
But for three years now I’ve forged these magical “time outs” in Ibiza. On the party island. The island I started coming to at the age of 18 where I’d stay in San Antonio and tear it up til dawn for seven nights straight before going home to recover in a very dark room. It was extraordinary how hard you could party when you were 18 and how quickly you could recover. Those were the days. No chance now.
During the past handful of years there’s been a remarkable change in my relationship with Ibiza. It’s become my sanctuary. It’s the place I long for to be quiet, to think, to write and generally it has become a haven for my creative thinking.
Being in Ibiza I get five times the amount of work done. My mind clears the second I arrive. I sleep better than I do in London on the island. Even if there’s a party I can hear in the background from my place up in the Old Town, it doesn’t bother me at all – it’s just the island and the throng of the night. It’s fabulous. I love the fact there are parties going on around me and I’m in bed watching Netflix.
Yes, I realise I sound mildly decrepit and old. I’m not. But mostly, I have zero FOMO over what people are getting up too right now.
I write to you from the air and I’m just about to start my Spring stint in Ibiza. I’m looking down on the south coast off Brighton with the wind farm far below.
What awaits me? I have my personal trainer booked twice weekly. I have nothing in my diary aside from some awesome hiking trips and a handful of zooms back with London. I’ve already made a crazy amount of notes for work projects approaching without any hesitation or questioning. I’ve also deleted Instagram for a week or so off scrolling and seeing what everyone else is up too. I’m going to catch up with pals for Granny dinner times and be in bed by 9pm (I need a new series to start btw – any ideas?).
It has got to the point where I’ve realised I need my time in Ibiza to keep my sanity with this crazy ride called life. It allows me to breathe easier.
Don’t worry, I’m not going woo woo and starting to hang out with the forest fairies over there. I just like the vibe I’ve managed to create by returning to Ibiza as an actual adult. I’ve realised there’s nothing wrong with following your gut and changing the narrative. My gut was saying London was becoming too much those three years ago when a friend suggested I rent his place there. So here we go. Ibiza time.
This isn’t a piece about blowing my own trumpet about being super healthy. I’m not larging it but I’m not saintly by a long shot. It’s just an observation of a place in the world that despite my time there in the past being rather wild has completely changed it’s dynamic and what it means to me.
So why does Ibiza work for mid-forties folks out of season, I hear you ask?
Well, here you go…
1. The hikes are brilliant. And there are hundreds of options. Hiking is as hard or easy as you want to make it. I’m a middle of the road guy mostly with my hiking. But occasionally, I like it hard.
2. The sea in the spring and Autumn is glorious. The summer can be swarmed with jellies.
3. Once you immerse yourself in the island with spending more time here you know where to eat that’s decent and not on the rip-off tourist trail.
4. Car rentals are super cheap out of season.
5. The weather is perfect and the beaches are not too packed. Sunbeds start from the end of April generally if you’re kweeny about beach sand.
6. Generally, in April and May it’s a lot less ‘full of knobs’ and you can immerse yourself in the local way of life.
Laters, Kids.
Did you enjoy this newsletter? Been to Ibiza before – what’s been your experience? Tell me below!