A View (1500 Miles Or So) From The Greenhouse; A Postcard

My loyal reader may recall the birth of my first grandchild, twelve calendar months ago this week. To recap (contextual) it was a traumatic time for the whole family, not least for both mother and baby. Maya was delivered by emergency caesarean section eight weeks early, as there was a real risk to the well being of them both. The following month, while Maya was cared for in a Special Baby Unit, separated from her parents for over two weeks, apart from daily visits, following which my daughter had to leave her child and return home with only the next visit to look forward to was a very difficult period. Time moved on, as it always tends to do and we now have a beautiful, happy and slowly maturing (towards toddler-hood) baby who, as you might well imagine is the apple of my eye (and several other peoples, too).

Once the dust had settled (so to speak) and lives had returned to something approaching normal we made a collective decision that it might be nice for us to take a family holiday together, as a kind of way of putting the last three months of 2024 behind us and looking forward to the times we were (hopefully) going to have in the future. I have no recollection now of who suggested Ibiza, we’d had a chat and decided against the UK, mostly on weather grounds, although relative cost was also a bit of a factor. Flight times were a consideration, given Mayas age and her daily routine (routines are important for babies, apparently) and I’d suggested Majorca, which I though may be the less costly of the two Balearic islands, but I was outvoted, so Ibiza it was to be. If I’m honest, it didn’t disappoint.

We left Manchester on a typically wet Saturday following an overpriced meal, served in an untimely and haphazard fashion, at a place called “Giraffe”, next time I’m taking a sandwich and a can or two and arrived in Ibiza almost three hours later (four if you add on the extra hour) to a sunny evening and a short drive (there aren’t really any long drives on the island, unless you want to try and circumnavigate it) to our digs, a lovely villa, close to Nui Blau and the restaurant https://www.santamartaibiza.com/en where I’d booked a celebratory meal for Sunday evening. We went for provisions and sat outside for an hour or two, but it’d been a long day and an early night beckoned. I woke early and wandered, in the pre-dawn light along the cliff path, where I got a picture of the sun rising over Cala Longa and beyond. It was well worth the effort and I do like a sunrise.

I swam in the Med off Niu Blau with Mayas’ mum (May had her first paddle later that day) and we spent the rest of Sunday lazing about around the pool, having the odd beer and looking forward to our meal that evening. The restaurant (linked above) sits right beside the beach and has a terrace looking out over the sea. We sat at a table with an uninterrupted view, the setting was perfect. Restaurant Santa Marta’s a bit special, offering an extensive Mediterranean menu with a bit of a difference, the kind of place where you’d make an effort, which we all did. I’m not going to dwell on what we ate, it was all excellent, apart from the hair in Mayas’ food, which definitely wasn’t hers! The myth of the cheap Mediterranean holiday is lost to history, but if you’re on Ibiza and want somewhere to enjoy a celebratory meal, in a lovely setting, with friendly helpful staff and an owner who seemed genuinely interested in his customers and their expectations, this particular restaurant comes highly recommended. We’d have eaten there again, had time and Maya’s routine allowed, it really is a lovely place.

Monday morning was spent at the villa before we ventured up into the hills for a light lunch at a small cafe in the small town of Santa Gertrudis de Fruteria (Saint Gertrude of the Fruitery). We didn’t see the fruitery, but the town itself is lovely and clean, with a large selection of bars and eateries to people watch from and shops to browse around. Maya entranced the few locals we met, who, contrary to some reports, were all friendly and helpful. I had an interesting chat with an American woman who’d just left London after twelve years and was about to open a small Italian/Spanish bakery/cafe in the town. She’d made her money in London (she didn’t say how) and scarpered while the scarpering was good. I didn’t get into the politics (I was on holiday), but it was clear, even though she gave off strong “woke” vibes, that we both knew why she and her partner had left London behind, in search of the Mediterranean idyll. I wished her luck and went to peruse the properties on offer in the window of the local “agente inmobiliario”. A nice villa, with a pool, large enough to accommodate visiting family will set you back around 5 million euros. Smaller places are available, but if you’re going to “go the hog” you may as well go the whole one. The tomato bread, served as it comes, or topped with manchego, jamon iberico, or a bit of both was very nice, all washed down with a “cerveza fria”. 

Tuesday was quiet for the seniors in the party, as the younger elements in our party readied themselves for a night in San Antonio, whilst said seniors took on the responsibility of entertaining Maya (never a hardship) before putting her to bed and spending the evening tracking her every tiny movement on the monitor thingy. She was as good as gold and we were doubly blessed by being able to spend the following morning with her as the youngsters slept it off. My youngest bumped into an old classmate in a bar in San Antonio. He and his wife (both in their late 30’s) were there for the “Kevin & Perry 25th Anniversary” gig. His wife called it the music of their youth. I’ll stick with Otis, The Temptations and Gene Chandler, if it’s all the same. A swim in the sea and a lazy day on Wednesday, before the eldest drove us into Eivissa for a couple of drinks and some tapas. More evidence, if it were needed, that nowt’s cheap in Euro-land. Un cerveza grande, e’ dos sangria left no change from 25 euros, at least the beer glass was frosted!

The old town has a long history. Founded around 654BC as a Phoenician trading post, it was a Roman stronghold for a time, before Moorish, then Catalan invaders took it over. The fort, which is still mostly in evidence was constructed in the 16th century as a guard against pirates. The streets are lively, the buildings are gleaming white or mutedly colourful in equal measure and the whole place gives off a friendly ‘vibe’, it’s also very clean. Outside the walls super yachts grace the harbour (as one might expect) and scooters are everywhere. The area inside the walls of the fort is virtually traffic free in the evenings. It’s well worth a visit, if only to say you’ve been. The tapas was very acceptable, although the padron peppers turned out to be something of a disappointment, maybe I’m just unlucky! One thing that’s very noticeable is the lack of burger joints and the like, although burgers are available, it that’s what you fancy.

Thursday morning saw me take another welcome dip in the old brine, again accompanied by Mayas’ mum, before we all decamped (after lunch) and took a leisurely 20 minute drive along the coast to a lovely cove (Cala) with one of the nicest beaches I can ever remember visiting, the old sunbed game is the one to get into if you’re of an entrepreneurial spirit (and if you can find a patch). There are no hourly or part day rates, and the tariffs are pretty standard. Two sun-loungers and one parasol is either 25 or 30 euros, depending on the beach you pick. 100 loungers and 50 parasols would provide a nice little earner and, TBF, unless you’re carrying the stuff in the boot of your car (we weren’t), then they’ve pretty much got you. Locals make do with towels and blankets. You can’t blame them for doing so. It’s a far cry from two bob for a deckchair and windbreaker at Mablethorpe, I know that. The whole island is very popular with both German and Dutch visitors and this area seemed to be a magnet for them, including the naked and semi-naked ones. I saw things I doubt I’ll unsee for a very long time.

Time really does fly when you’re enjoying yourself and our last full day on Ibiza dawned fair, warm and sunny, with both the Med and the pool beckoning invitingly. Maya continued to enjoy enjoy the whole experience and watching her do so was (and remains) a real treat. A special meal for the final evening seemed in order, so a trip to see both the carnicera and the pescadera within the local Ekosi Supermercado was required. Some fine Aberdeen Angus steaks, a dozen fresh (ungutted) sardines, potatoes, onions, bread & salad ingredients were purchase and, at 5pm, we lit the fire, before heading down to the beach for a quick beer while it came to temprature. It’s a long while since I’ve eaten a steak, but this was something special and was thoroughly enjoyed by all. We rounded off the evening by getting a little tipsy whilst playing dominoes. I cooked the spuds and onions on the barbecue (in an aluminium tray) and they were very good, too.

Packing’s an onerous but necessary part of any holiday and babies tend not to travel light, but we got there in the end. Having several hours to kill before our flight we ventured into the resort town of Santa Eularia des Riu (of the river) for more excessive spending on sun loungers and parasols (again no hourly rate to be had). We’d had a decent breakfast, but I wanted to have a last go at some seafood, so lunched alone on olives, bread, alioli and deep fried baby squid and gurnard “Galician style”, washed down with the ubiquitous cerveza grande. Very nice, but not cheap (I’d come to terms with that by now). A fitting end, or so I thought, to my time on this magical Island.

Ibiza is very clean, there’s little graffiti and I witnessed none of the “tourists go home” that we’ve recently been hearing about. The people are open, friendly and helpful and the service is generally exemplary. I watched no television, posted only a couple of times a day on social media and hardly spoke about politics, Spanish or British, throughout the holiday. I’m guessing the social problems aren’t that different to those we face, but island life in the sun seems to make life appear, if only for a week, a little less stressful. Even the “lucky-lucky” men (I think we only saw a couple) were satisfied with one “no thank you”. I did forget to bring home tomato seed but I did bring home lemon pips. We’ll see what happens with them over the coming months. Would I recommend Ibiza? Wholeheartedly. We only scratched the surface, but I think it’s a great place to holiday and, if the wherewithal was to hand, it’d be a great place to retire to. The different European languages on the menu boards of Santa Eularia are testament to that. As are the naked Germans.

Best job on the island? The fellows that use their tractors to comb the beaches every morning. I could do that!
 

© Colin Cross 2025