View from the top

Ever since someone told me, last winter, that you can walk across the headland from the southern end of Playa d’en Bossa to Es Cavallet I’ve wanted to try it. No real opportunity arose until couple of weeks ago when my little brother was here, visiting from the States. We’d taken the bus to Salinas and walked across to meet friends at Es Cavallet. After a few hours flopped in the sun we were both too lazy to hurry back to catch the last bus from Salinas.

“You can walk around the other way, to Playa d’en Bossa,” I told him, “Fancy it?”

“Sure, why not?” he shrugged.

It was nearly 8PM and off we went, hopping over a low stone retaining wall to gain access to the first swell of rock and pine shrub. I was wearing a mini-skirt, bikini top and a pair of Havianas, beach bag slung over one shoulder. The first twenty minutes or so was pretty easy. I jumped from rock to rock, feet slipping slightly as sweat greased the soles of my feet.

Up we went over one hill to find ourselves on the edge of a 30 or 40 metre cliff, meaning we had to swing inland to circle the notch in the coastline. It was getting steeper, the brush denser. We clambered up to the top of the first big cove and stopped to look back - and down. The waning sun cast everything in a richer-than-normal hue, Technicoloring the inky sea and the dots of white sails on the horizon. For the first time ever, in all my years visiting and living in Ibiza, I felt connected to the wildness of the island. I wanted to stand there and listen to the curling of the waves against the rocks, to tasty the piney air.

On the other hand, as much as I wanted to hang around having Treasure Island fantasies, I didn’t want to be scrambling towards unknown drop-offs in the dark. “What’s the hurry?” my brother wondered aloud as I scampered down the next hill. (Nothing phases him: he has a rugged physical self-confidence inversely proportionate to my extreme cautiousness.)

“I don’t want to be here after dark,” I said.

“Oh, okay.” We trotted on.

A thin gold thread flashed in my peripheral vision. Stopped me dead. “Holy shit! That’s a big spider!” I gasped. I am cripplingly arachniphobic (I once refused to sleep in my room for a week after seeing a freakishly large spider there. My friend removed it but I was convinced there were more, lurking) and the mere thought I might have face-planted this giant critter’s home made me feel a bit queasy.

“Damn, I’m glad you’re in front. I would have walked right into that,” my brother said cheerfully. After picking up a stick and carefully testing the pathway I ducked beneath the giant web and proceeded with care. Apparently the wilds are big-spider central in Ibiza. We narrowly avoided a half-dozen more huge, artful spans flung between shrubs on the putative trail.

Whether or not there is a trail remains open to debate, I think we were following one because, from time to time rough, royal-blue triangles were daubed onto the rocks - a clue or guide of some sort. What they didn’t hint at was how near we were to Playa d’en Bossa. The sun sank low enough to render my shades unnecessary, and they got chucked in the bag in exchange for a vest top, which was quickly wringing with sweat. Sticker bushes and random branches snatched as we passed, sinking cuts into my bare ankles and weals across my upper arms.

One thing I hadn’t expected (apart from the spiders) was the wide variety of rock formations. After crossing expanses of big, smooth, reddish stone we would suddenly be slithering across grey, clay-like rock closely ridged. Ordinarily I am the least-curious of naturalists, but I wished then I knew more about rocks, enough to at least adequately describe then.

More remarkable still was the appearance, at the bottom of a deep cleft that took us right down to sea-level, and across a narrow gulch, of a dirt-bike rider. He nodded as he gunned his engine, mysteriously ascending the path we’d just skidded down.

“Where the hell did he come from?” we wondered. The next leg of the journey left us none the wiser. While there was a definite trail across some points we had to tramp through trackless brush before we finally ascended the hill that overlooks the pirate tower guarding the far end of Playa d’en Bossa beach.

It was almost twilight but we relaxed our pace, ambling down the flattening path toward the cove of boat houses at the end of the beach. Rather than follow the coastline to the bitter end we swung inland, doubling back through a stretch of woods and dirt road until we came out on the sand.

Families were packing their kids into four-wheel drives, wind-surfers putting up their boards, sunbathers sloping towards their hotels with towels flung carelessly over shoulders. It was a relief to put swollen, scraped, sweaty feet into the sea and I was reluctant to let the adventure end. So we traipsed on, through the gentle drift of evening light, all the way up Ibiza’s longest beach till we reached Figueretes.

We stopped off at the fabulous Il Vecchio Molina restaurant in Figureretes for homemade pasta and a bottle of white wine. Rarely has a meal felt more deserved or been more richly enjoyed.

It was a moment to make me fall in love with Ibiza all over again, too. A reminder that even at the height of August craziness this wonderful, multi-faceted island is full of delights just waiting to be discovered. It really is treasure island.

About to scale the mighty moutain

Question: Does summer in Ibiza mean the end of the world as we know it?

Having just completed my first winter on the island I am jittery with pre-season nerves. I’m anxious that Opening Weekend signals the end of civilised winter and the beginning of a summer fraught with hordes of hard-drinking, creatively sunburnt tourists charging around the island on dodgy mopeds. Is there really a great divide between “us” and “them” though? Or is it possible the invaders are more finely attuned to the tempo of island life than I’m prepared to give credit for?

Exhibit A: the Space queue at half-past one. Personally, I’m only here to see my friend Dan Tait play the Flight Club Arena. The line is crammed with season pass holders, and moving slowly, so there is plenty of time to ascertain the majority language is Spanish. An hour or so of idle eavesdropping finally takes us into the main arena, where — again — the crowd is overwhelmingly Latin.

Later in the afternoon we sneak off to get some lunch and bump into a couple of British friends who have just been turned away from Space for certain, er, indiscretions. Perhaps the superior ability of the locals to blend in and avoid unwanted attention from the Guardia explains why they’re more visibly out enjoying themselves.

Exhibit B: DC10. Thanks to the new opening hours law I expect my favourite grimy disco to be jam-packed by the time I arrive at 2PM. It isn’t.

My friends and I waltz in to the mostly empty car park and one of the first people I spot a friend from San An and his (Ibicenco) posse. Of course DC10 is the spiritual home of the island’s massive Italian contingent but so many of them have been around for so long they practically count as natives. More to the point, the club fills in the gradual, amiable fashion of a local watering hole: by 4PM the terrace is comfortably full of people chatting and dancing, by 7PM packed, by 10PM in the grip of a secular revival meeting with much raising of hands and voices.

Exhibit C: The aftermath. Despite horror prognostications about wild after-parties and roaming herds of bellowing Brits all is calm as we drift woozily out of DC10 at 12.30AM. Our afterparty consists of Massive Attack on the stereo and a few bottles of rotgut cava in preparation for a day at the beach. And there is notably no evidence of anyone else doing anything more exciting (at least not in Playa d’en Bossa).

Exhibit D: Tuesday. The weather makes up for its hitherto Trabant-like unreliability by allowing enough sunshine for bikini-wearing and ice cream-eating. Early evening brings a phone call from a friend who pops down to the beach to share another bottle of cava (something of a theme of the weekend). This merges seamlessly into a lazy dinner at our local grill, Cafeteria Parador, where neighbours are scattered around the terrace feasting on garlic-rich meats and heavy Ibicenco blood sausages. We linger late and enjoy a nightcap before retiring at the utterly respectable hour of 1AM.

Conclusion: For all my first-timer fears summer seems to promise more of the stuff I’ve come to love over the last few months. Spontaneous afternoons at local watering holes, cheerfully polyglot crowds in the clubs, late dinners at out of the way restaurants and lingering afternoons at the beach.

I may have to reconsider all this come July but for the moment I’m delighted and not a little relieved to discover the ease with which Ibiza rolls with the seasons.

By Cila

Platja d’en Bossa (a.k.a Playa den Bossa) presents a variety of different faces along almost three kilometres of beach. The middle part, near to the Jet apartment building, offers one of the meeting spots for the club and party scene par excellence - Bora Bora.

A high-end sound system makes for hot times and when it gets too hot just run down to the water and go for a swim. After long club nights and mornings the party people come here to continue to party the day away. Not for party poopers!

Take a walk a few hundred metres towards Ibiza Town along the shore and the atmosphere changes.
It becomes more peaceful. Around Hotel Garbi beachgoers can find a little more tranquility.

Heading the other way along the beach towards the pirate tower it’s amazing how quickly the hectic hordes of tourists dwindle away the further south you go. It’s well worth walking a little further to get away from the crowds.

The final stretch of the beach is known as Coco Beach and here the atmosphere is completely different. Once the salt flats start, there’s not a hint of the raucous parties that characterise the rest of Platja d’en Bossa. The landscape surrounding the Torre de sa Sal Rossa watchtower is relatively unspoilt.

If you’re looking for a good place to eat, you can’t go wrong with Jimmy’s restaurant, and if all you want is to laze around on the beach, then there’s plenty of soft sand and comfortable beach chairs to choose from.

However, we recommend you also try out a third option: namely the wide range of water sports on offer. Just a few yards away from Jimmy’s, you will find the Palladium Palace hotel’s sports centre, where you can sign up for a diving course, practice your sailing, hop on a surfboard or hire a canoe.

“We offer courses for kids and adults and for all levels, from beginners to advanced - but we also hire out equipment on an hourly basis,” says Stefan, who is there to tend to the needs of visiting water sports fans.

The water sports centre on Coco Beach is open daily, except for Sundays, from 10.30 a.m. to 1.30 p.m. and from 3 to 6 p.m.

How to get there: simply drive from Figueretes right to the end of Platja d’en Bossa

Tomorrow is S’Estanyol

Ibiza comes in at no.1 - unsurprisingly:

By Terry Jewell, World News Editor, On The Beach Holidays:

• Ibiza, Balearic Islands (Spain) A long time ago, Ibiza was a sleepy island where the most exciting thing happening was the harvest. After being discovered in the 1950’s by the flower power troupe, who visited the island as part of the annual hippie trail, Ibiza has been transformed into the capital of the global party scene.
  The nightlife on the island is second to none, with every type of dance music on offer late into the night. The biggest parties are to be found in San Antonio and Ibiza Town, but if you are after something more calming then head out into the country or visit sleepy Santa Eulalia. Another alternative is the incredible open air sunset beach parties at Bora Bora on Playa d’en Bossa or the full moon beach party at Sa Caleta Beach.
  While there are plenty, and I mean plenty, of beach parties in the main clubbing areas most of the huge parties that have made Ibiza the global party capital are held in clubs like Manumission and Eden. One thing is for sure, any self-respecting party animal should have Ibiza at the top of their destination list!