The last of Ibiza

I wrote the following during my last week of summer in late September, 2017. A tad late, you could say given that I have since left Ibiza, moved to London, the seasons have changed and the snow has fallen and melted away. But this piece has remained, compartmentalised until I was in a space to unravel and re-wrap my memories of those mad, few months. It is not until now, as I sit on another flight, bound for another part of the world that I’m finally ready to wander back and tie up those last, loose strings…

27.09.2017

It is sunset as I write this blog, sitting on our makeshift lawn, on the top of our rooftop in San Matteu, Ibiza. I look above my screen at the pale blue sky with its streaks of pastel pink that are slightly hidden behind purple clusters of cloud. A thin, white slice of crescent moon hangs, unsuspectingly in the background. How beautiful it all is. The temperature is dropping now that autumn is coming, so I slip into my woollen jumper that has been tucked away in the depths of my wardrobe all summer - a sure sign that the season is truly coming to an end.

Trippy trips to trippy trees 

I think back to the beginning. I had chosen to spend my first few weeks fully absorbing the magic of everything and completely free from the constraints of work and routine. But realistically, that life was only destined to last for so long. Early one morning, I remember sitting in this exact spot, wondering whether I’d actually last the season; I now understood how expensive life was here and was already down to my last few pennies. So I meditated and set the intention on manifesting work; within 2 days I was suddenly absorbed in a busy new routine, working 6 nights a week behind a busy, Spanish bar at Can Cires, the local restaurant down the road. While it was tough, boy was I grateful. The islands magic lifted me up and spun me around and my job grounded me and brought me back down; it was the balancing force I desperately needed.

Yesterday was my last shift, so I chucked in my uniform, collected my pay and said my goodbyes. I strolled down the road and sat on the steps of the San Matteu church with B (the other waitress who I’d grown so fond of). We sipped on cañas and puffed on porros, laughing about our last few months together. We had survived the the wrath of our feisty boss, V; laughed through all the totally bizaare moments with the quirky chef, F (proud owner of a pet parrot and a donkey) and rolled our eyes each time one of the male waiters was fired or walked out (for one reason or another). The local drunks sat through it all, perching harmlessly on their bar stools and drinking their regular brew, night after night. B had trained me up tirelessly to meet the pedantic standards of V and F and now that we had finally found an easy flow, it was time to go.

The rooftop in the A.M

Sunrise jams

Beyond the working bubble, my favourite scenes of this summer surround the connections I’ve made to the special souls that this island attracts and the natural beauty that it has to offer. I smile as I remember the mornings when we would arrive back to this villa, our feet sore from dancing after another surreal night out with a beautiful crew. We’d make ourselves cosy, grab the guitar and sit out on this rooftop, jamming to our hearts content… and then our jaws would drop at the beauty of the sun rising above the misty mountains; the landscapes and colours forming a live painting, dancing across the colour spectrum; the sky’s here, are like nowhere else in the world.

Magical connections

The pink hues of the sunrise merge in my mind with the pink rock from another of my favourite moments a few weeks ago... We had been told of a secret cave that only a few knew about (or so we liked to think). It was a 15 minute swim off the bay of a paradise beach that we had gathered on for the day. We all jumped off the pier and swam through the deep blue water, splashing around like playful dolphins. Our friend who had been there before eventually spotted the obscure, dark hole on the inside of the rock face so we paddled closer. We took turns choosing our moment to flow with the surge of the wave, narrowly ducking our heads under the jagged rock. What we discovered inside was magical. We each held our breath and dived under the wall of rock that was submerged about 1m deep in the centre of the cave. I came up for air, wiped the salty water out of my eyes and looked around me in awe at the pink rock rising out of the turquoise water; it was truly spectacular. We climbed out and lay our beautiful, half naked bodies against it, illuminated by a stream of sunlight that shone through the gap. Those were the special moments.

R and I at Es Vedra rock

The window into our room

R and I spent my last few days saying our goodbyes and trying to tick off as many adventures on our bucket list as we could. So much of this summer had consisted of amazing nights out watching DJ’s (that I still can’t name) and although it had been great fun, we now craved a bit of simplicity and calm; tapaz in a local Spanish bar, cañas on the beach, a trip to Es Vedra, perhaps? On one of my last afternoons, we were sitting in a quaint café in Ibiza town, sipping on a coffee. On a public bench nearby sat four elderly locals. They were just sitting and chatting about their day, enjoying long, silent pauses in-between their sentences. I looked at each of their worn, wrinkly faces that held such character. How content they all looked. The old faces of Ibiza, enjoying life’s simplicity; that’s what I craved.

Calm.

The sun has set now and the sky is again alight with stars. R and I have made it through the season in this beautiful, hectic, 10 person, fear and loathing-esque villa and we've come out the other end more connected than ever. Despite the amazing moments, I have seen and learned about the darkness and corruption that exists beneath this hedonistic, party island and its effect on the people it draws in. So as a final gesture, I let go of my flowery vision of Ibiza being an island filled with hippies in the hills; I'm not sure if I will return again next year. But I will take away the memories, the great lessons I have learned and an experience that will last a lifetime. A huge, heartfelt thank you to R, for introducing me to a whole new world. Now it’s time for the next adventure of life in London!

Stuck in the Mud

Like the Essaouira seagulls that hover in the night sky above the sea I am seemingly still; surrounded by sand dunes and a watercolour sky I’m hovering in a Moroccan dream. Today I woke up out of a 2-week mental trap; being ill calmed my body down but as my energy began to rise up again, my mind stayed down. I was locked into the routine of doing nothing. The idea of exercise, getting in the sea or seeing people felt draining and the thought of lying in the sun and eating food, a far better option. I felt the lack of movement in my body begin to slow down my mind and my inner critic began to raise its voice. I was planning the next place I needed to be: a healing retreat, a house by the sea or in the countryside maybe? Anywhere else. Escapism is a funny thing; the more I travel the more I learn that no matter how far you go you can never escape your mind. Those old patterns that we all carry around and sometimes try to run away from always rear their heads eventually. So I indulged in this self-pity for a time – finding new ways to excuse my lack of movement and eating my feelings.
And then yesterday I broke the loop; my alarm rang at 8.30am for the yoga class I was expecting to teach, the first morning class I’d had in a while. My mind was half awake and hazy on 5 hours sleep after D’s birthday sesh the night before; my eyes were tired but my body was burning for action so I got up and walked to the riad where I was teaching. As I reached the door I looked at my phone and my client had sent me a message, cancelling last minute; instead of listening to my mind and sinking back into bed I walked to the beach, dropped my bag off at my surf school and ran. I ran away from the feeling that had me stuck in my muddled mind but it remained with me all the way. I’d look at my incredible surroundings – the motionless sea to my right and the untouched sand dunes to my left. I felt like I was running along the lines of an unseen painting leaving my fading trace behind me.
But despite its beauty the anger in my mind took me away from that scene; for an hour I played a mental game of trying to see how long I could remain concentrated on my surroundings without engaging in another negative thought - how long I could remain present for. I’d last seconds before my mind would loop on the muddled mess I had created.

As I ran passed the simple fishing hits on the side of the dunes my mind began to clear. I was noticing the ridges in the sand now and the abstract stones beneath my feet with their unique patterns - a Moroccan mosaic in the sand. I had been setting goals for myself as I went like ‘run until you get to the end of the bay’ and then I’d reach ‘the end’ and look ahead at the infinite stretch of coast that wound into the mist – an endless task. My feet ached and I suddenly felt thirsty, 1.5 hours away from the surf school with no water. Whatever I was running from had passed and there was no flag at the end of the race. I stopped and stretched out – sitting cross-legged in the middle of a deserted beach with flat sand and scattered seagulls stretched as far as the eye could see. I closed my eyes, turned inwards and breathed. I’d woken up my dormant mind.
The run back felt longer than expected and the next morning my legs were not happy; but they’re no longer stuck in the mud and my mind seems to have found its escape. So now having found my balance I hover like the seagulls as though held by strings, a puppet to the wind.