The Island Basics Where and what is “Ibiza” anyhow? Well, it is both an island and a city. The capital city on the island has no other name - they are both officially “Ibiza” or, in Catalan, “Eivissa.” Since Catalan is the official language here, all the signs are either in Catalan or in both Catalan and Castilian (official Spanish). Most of the official publications intended for the public are in both. Since the reasons for keeping Catalan as the official language are intensely political, with no practical benefit, there are laws that require the use of Catalan - on restaurant menus, for example. But this law is loosely enforced - as are many other laws that exist only for political reasons. Some expats joke that law enforcement here is based on the “ley del dia” method: the “law of the day.” Some days you can get fined for not having your Chihuahua on a lease but much of the time you can have a pack of Podenco hounds following you around without being bothered. And then there is also the question of which police force is responsible for enforcing what. Some crimes are the responsibility of the Policia Local and some of the Guardia Civil. If you are robbed, don’t call the Policia Local. It’s a little like Chicago; where, if you see some obvious drug commerce on the street, don’t bother to tell the cop on the corner about it. You’ve gotta call the narcotic squad. But back to Ibiza and its native language - which is not even Catalan, but Ibicenco. Officially Ibicenco is a dialect of Catalan - sort of. But some say it grew up in isolation, without much influence from Catalan on the mainland. There are expected similarities due, if for no other reason, to proximity. (Lest I forget to mention it, Ibiza is in the Mediterranean 49 miles almost straight each of Valencia. It now connects to the real world through two commercial seaports and one commercial airport.) However Catalan (I’m told) is more like French than like Castilian - which makes some sense since Catalonia borders France on the north. So exactly where Ibicenco fits in in anyone’s guess. There are plenty of reminders here that this really was a very isolated place for nearly all of its history - as were the other two major Balearic Islands, Mallorca and Menorca - each of which also has its own dialect of Catalan - sort of. At least there are no laws that require any of these local island languages be used nor taught. Actually, there are four inhabited Balearic Islands; the fourth being Formentera, which we can see from our house and which is politically administered - mostly - by Ibiza. It is close enough to Ibiza that, even before modern transport, it shared Ibicenco as its native language. But if you come here and speak only English, you can get by without difficulty. Our climate is, well, Mediterranean. Not tropical and it does snow - maybe once every ten years - but by the time you get your camera, it’s always gone. And, by Chicago standards, it never gets below “chilly” here - but it doesn’t get any hotter than it does in Chicago, however, during July and August, it gets up there more often. I never minded getting out in the winters in Chicago when I was working but I began to resent them when, after I retired, I allowed the weather to keep me indoors. So I was ready to leave. The one weather characteristic we most appreciate here is there are a whole lot more winter days that are sunny than we were used to. And when the sun comes out, the sweaters come off. Most Americans have never heard of Ibiza, but most Europeans know it as “the party island” because this is where all their youngsters come looking for action in the summer - particularly in August when not wearing any clothes is most easily justifiable. This image annoys the living Hell out of most British expats who insist the European press prejudices the island’s reputation by over-emphasizing the sex and parties and by refusing to report on anything else. Most other expats here seem to be far less sensitive than the British about what anyone else thinks of Ibiza. Who cares what anyone else thinks? It’s only a couple of months a year that the party people are here (and we don’t live in that part of the island anyway) , so why get defensive? We, after all, know the truth: Ibiza is physically beautiful, historically interesting, mostly unspoiled and politically unexplainable. It is true that - with the exception of a very few people who were so attracted to Ibiza that they were willing to endure some pretty primitive conditions in the ‘50s and even earlier - it was the international hippies in the late ‘60s who “discovered” it and began the tourist trade which still sustains the island’s economy. There are a number of autobiographical books available, if you really want to know what it was like in “those days.” How things will evolve from now on is anyone’s guess. As of right now, only a very small part of the island gives itself over to the young folks - mostly in August - and the rest of the island, while feeling the impact of summer tourism, remains civil and attractive and largely unaffected - except for lots of strolling sight-seers in the towns and, of course, more traffic on the roads. We’ve only one limited-access four-lane road, so most paved roads are still fun to drive. There is little point in speeding because, no matter how fast you drive, it is impossible to make more than a 10 minute difference in the time it takes to get anywhere on the island - and usually less because you’re usually not going all the way across the island. Yes, some try to drive too fast, but most locals are still accustomed to the old ways and so, on all but the main roads, cars still stop on the roads to talk to a friend walking by. Sometimes, in towns, the drivers of two oncoming cars will recognize each other and both will stop and have a short conversation while traffic backs up behind both of them. And it is very rare that anyone ever honks. Elsewhere on this website you can read and see more about our villa and our surrounding countryside (if not now, soon). Otherwise, if you want to read more about Ibiza, its history, politics and culture, we recommend “The White Island,” a recent book, well researched, well written and still available. (Pay no attention to its subtitle: “The Capital of Hedonism.” This subtitle always struck me as being akin to one of Mort Sahl’s stories from the late 50’s: He claimed he once noticed and was attracted to a paperback whose cover bore a picture of a nearly-naked young woman flung over the back of a horse; but when he picked it up he saw the book’s title was “Basics of Accounting.”)