Ibiza: La Isla de Contrastes
The taxi driver is stunned. I’m on my way back to the airport to catch the flight home and she can hardly believe what I’ve spent the last week doing. She continues to doubt me, “Most foreign tourists only come to Ibiza for the clubs, lots in search of illegal substances and maybe some of them to lie on the beaches turning the colour of overcooked gambas”.
For sure Ibiza is an island of contrasts. Ten days ago, shortly after I first arrived on the island, I strolled into Eivissa, the capital, looking for something to eat. I felt like I was in Brighton on a bank holiday, only with more Brits. This wasn’t what I’d come for. On the other hand as I look back on the trip, eventually convincing the lass driving the taxi, it’s been a stunning paddle overall.
It all starts in the port of Eivissa. I’m sitting on my kit watching the sun go down waiting for a group of Spanish and Catalan friends to arrive on the fast ferry from Dénia. The ferry’s running late and I’ve a degree of anxiety. I’d prefer to paddle out of the harbour while it’s still light to avoid any conflict with the Guardia Civil. Eventually the ferry docks and my mates stagger down the car ramp carrying our sea kayaks. I’ve reccied a spot from which to launch which is reasonably close but given how incredibly heavy the boats seem, only just close enough. There’s a degree of rush, so we frantically get changed and I stuff my kit into the remaining space in the yellow Laser my mates have brought over for me.
It’s dark though as we launch the heavy boats down the steps. Fortunately we’ve no problems with the Guardia, only a need to keep on our toes to avoid enormous, aimlessly wandering Sunseekers. In fact we can see clearly enough, particularly as there’s a huge light display at the end of the harbour wall, coming from a massive structure shrouded in black, swarming with expensive Porsches. The clubbin’ atmosphere is apparent, even the lighthouse is a funky maroon colour. Once out of the harbour we’ve not far to go, the grand plan is to overnight on the nearby beach in Cala Talamanca.
For sure Ibiza is an island of contrasts. Ten days ago, shortly after I first arrived on the island, I strolled into Eivissa, the capital, looking for something to eat. I felt like I was in Brighton on a bank holiday, only with more Brits. This wasn’t what I’d come for. On the other hand as I look back on the trip, eventually convincing the lass driving the taxi, it’s been a stunning paddle overall.
It all starts in the port of Eivissa. I’m sitting on my kit watching the sun go down waiting for a group of Spanish and Catalan friends to arrive on the fast ferry from Dénia. The ferry’s running late and I’ve a degree of anxiety. I’d prefer to paddle out of the harbour while it’s still light to avoid any conflict with the Guardia Civil. Eventually the ferry docks and my mates stagger down the car ramp carrying our sea kayaks. I’ve reccied a spot from which to launch which is reasonably close but given how incredibly heavy the boats seem, only just close enough. There’s a degree of rush, so we frantically get changed and I stuff my kit into the remaining space in the yellow Laser my mates have brought over for me.
It’s dark though as we launch the heavy boats down the steps. Fortunately we’ve no problems with the Guardia, only a need to keep on our toes to avoid enormous, aimlessly wandering Sunseekers. In fact we can see clearly enough, particularly as there’s a huge light display at the end of the harbour wall, coming from a massive structure shrouded in black, swarming with expensive Porsches. The clubbin’ atmosphere is apparent, even the lighthouse is a funky maroon colour. Once out of the harbour we’ve not far to go, the grand plan is to overnight on the nearby beach in Cala Talamanca.
Day 1 Águilas Pescadoras
The next morning dawns sunny and bright. I decide to repack my boat after last night’s rush. I discover why my boat’s so heavy. I’m carrying nine litres of water and more than a dozen bottles of wine. I don’t complain too loudly, I’ll help to drink my share. Out of Cala Talamanca we retrace last night’s steps heading south. We’ve a great view of D’Alt Vila, the old part of Eivissa and then it’s onwards along the Platja de’en Bossa. This huge beach is lined with white apartment blocks. The camera goes back in my pocket but I’m not too downcast, the hills in the distance bode well for what’s to come.
Once past the classically shaped, round tower of Torre de sa Sal Rossa the cliffs start with caves and the odd arch or two. The water in the caves is especially blue. The cliffs gradually peter out and we’re back to sandy beach, this time with small dunes and rocks behind. It’s much more attractive but still swarming with people. In the distance we can see Formentera. It’s much bigger than I thought, unfortunately we’ve not time to include it in this trip. Maybe next time. We’re already at the southern tip of the island and we swing north again following the still crowded beach to Las Salinas where we stop for a delicious late lunch of arroz negro.
The cliffs re-start past the huge, white pile of salt. They are higher now and just before they end for the long drag passing the airport we’re treated to a fantastic, close-up display by a family of Ospreys. Rounding the narrow Punta des Jondal with its impressive cliffs punctured by numerous holes we can see the beach in the far corner of the next bay where we’re planning to stop for the night.
It’s a narrow, stony beach that greets us with fishing huts at one end and a small bar at the other. There’s no obvious, comfy spot to camp or bivvy but I’m keener on taking advantage of the bar for a well-earned cold beer. Surprisingly it closes at 8.00pm. Even more surprisingly, not least given that a security guard is there overnight, we’re invited to sleep under the shelter on the small terrace. So, later we rearrange the sun beds and tuck down to an infinitely more comfortable night that I’d imagined. However, it must be around two in the morning when I wake to a loud clap of thunder. For the next half hour there’s the most amazing electrical storm with sheet and forked lightening before the heavens open for a torrential downpour. The wind’s also blowing strongly. I’m not convinced we’ll be going far tomorrow.
The next morning dawns sunny and bright. I decide to repack my boat after last night’s rush. I discover why my boat’s so heavy. I’m carrying nine litres of water and more than a dozen bottles of wine. I don’t complain too loudly, I’ll help to drink my share. Out of Cala Talamanca we retrace last night’s steps heading south. We’ve a great view of D’Alt Vila, the old part of Eivissa and then it’s onwards along the Platja de’en Bossa. This huge beach is lined with white apartment blocks. The camera goes back in my pocket but I’m not too downcast, the hills in the distance bode well for what’s to come.
Once past the classically shaped, round tower of Torre de sa Sal Rossa the cliffs start with caves and the odd arch or two. The water in the caves is especially blue. The cliffs gradually peter out and we’re back to sandy beach, this time with small dunes and rocks behind. It’s much more attractive but still swarming with people. In the distance we can see Formentera. It’s much bigger than I thought, unfortunately we’ve not time to include it in this trip. Maybe next time. We’re already at the southern tip of the island and we swing north again following the still crowded beach to Las Salinas where we stop for a delicious late lunch of arroz negro.
The cliffs re-start past the huge, white pile of salt. They are higher now and just before they end for the long drag passing the airport we’re treated to a fantastic, close-up display by a family of Ospreys. Rounding the narrow Punta des Jondal with its impressive cliffs punctured by numerous holes we can see the beach in the far corner of the next bay where we’re planning to stop for the night.
It’s a narrow, stony beach that greets us with fishing huts at one end and a small bar at the other. There’s no obvious, comfy spot to camp or bivvy but I’m keener on taking advantage of the bar for a well-earned cold beer. Surprisingly it closes at 8.00pm. Even more surprisingly, not least given that a security guard is there overnight, we’re invited to sleep under the shelter on the small terrace. So, later we rearrange the sun beds and tuck down to an infinitely more comfortable night that I’d imagined. However, it must be around two in the morning when I wake to a loud clap of thunder. For the next half hour there’s the most amazing electrical storm with sheet and forked lightening before the heavens open for a torrential downpour. The wind’s also blowing strongly. I’m not convinced we’ll be going far tomorrow.
Day 2 La peli-porno
I’m wrong. The next day starts as a classic, beautiful blue, Mediterranean day with not a breath of wind. Almost immediately after we launch our kayaks and pass Punta des Porroig there is a glimpse of spectacularly high cliffs ahead. We’ve first though a large bay to paddle. The cliffs are made up of a real mix of rock types, from grey limestone to sandstone and a kind of soft shale. These are twisted into a variety of weird and wonderful shapes. In some areas they are topped by precariously perched buildings. One spot has proven too precarious; a large apartment block has collapsed into the sea (in the last few days, we later discover). A discussion ensues over Spanish planning law, or lack thereof. My weather forecasting skills are proving as unreliable as ever and it’s clouding over again. The rainbow off to my left, while undeniably pretty, does not bode well. We’re now almost up to Cap Llentrisca, since we passed Cala des Cubells there have been no easy landings. Fortunately, while windier it’s still reasonably calm.
The Cap itself is both high and impressive. Although the best is still yet to come, and this sounds like a cliché – but I promise you an involuntary “wow” passes my lips as I paddle at the head of the group and two smaller islands come into view. Isla de es Vendranell and de es Vendrà are sensational. The larger of the two has a pretty much sheer1200ft cliff facing eastwards. Such high cliffs on a tiny, isolated bit of rock are breathtaking. We paddle out to the islands and the scenery proves only to be half the story. The islands are home to a huge number of Falcons (Eleonora’s Falcon). According to my Spanish bird guidebook they are rare. Not here they’re not, there are thousands. The display, as they swoop, screech and play so close overhead is amazing. The 7km loop round the islands takes significantly longer that I’d first thought mainly because I find myself paddling along with my head craned back, unable to tear my eyes away from this awesome sight.
It is well into the afternoon as we cross back to the mainland (if an Island the size of Ibiza can ever be that) and food is on my mind. We stop in Cala d’Hort and stroll up to the restaurant perched halfway up the low cliff. Bread and allioli (a kind of garlic mayonnaise) starts the meal in a traditional Ibizenca way. We’ve still not escaped the tourists and Carles is intrigued by the group of twenty or so British girls on the next table. They are taking turns to each make a speech and it’s obvious that they are celebrating something. Carles is convinced that they’ve just finished filming a peli-porno (I’ll let you do your own translating), I’m almost disappointed to tell him that it’s a “hen” do.
Back on the water, the afternoon’s highlights include some great views back towards the islands, six or so of caves and some interesting rock-hopping through narrow passages before we reach Cala Molí, tonight’s stop. A beer or two later and we’re chatting to the middle-aged woman running the bar. She’s genuinely interested in what we’re doing and offers some tips on which of the half-built local buildings we’ll get away with bivvying in!
I’m wrong. The next day starts as a classic, beautiful blue, Mediterranean day with not a breath of wind. Almost immediately after we launch our kayaks and pass Punta des Porroig there is a glimpse of spectacularly high cliffs ahead. We’ve first though a large bay to paddle. The cliffs are made up of a real mix of rock types, from grey limestone to sandstone and a kind of soft shale. These are twisted into a variety of weird and wonderful shapes. In some areas they are topped by precariously perched buildings. One spot has proven too precarious; a large apartment block has collapsed into the sea (in the last few days, we later discover). A discussion ensues over Spanish planning law, or lack thereof. My weather forecasting skills are proving as unreliable as ever and it’s clouding over again. The rainbow off to my left, while undeniably pretty, does not bode well. We’re now almost up to Cap Llentrisca, since we passed Cala des Cubells there have been no easy landings. Fortunately, while windier it’s still reasonably calm.
The Cap itself is both high and impressive. Although the best is still yet to come, and this sounds like a cliché – but I promise you an involuntary “wow” passes my lips as I paddle at the head of the group and two smaller islands come into view. Isla de es Vendranell and de es Vendrà are sensational. The larger of the two has a pretty much sheer1200ft cliff facing eastwards. Such high cliffs on a tiny, isolated bit of rock are breathtaking. We paddle out to the islands and the scenery proves only to be half the story. The islands are home to a huge number of Falcons (Eleonora’s Falcon). According to my Spanish bird guidebook they are rare. Not here they’re not, there are thousands. The display, as they swoop, screech and play so close overhead is amazing. The 7km loop round the islands takes significantly longer that I’d first thought mainly because I find myself paddling along with my head craned back, unable to tear my eyes away from this awesome sight.
It is well into the afternoon as we cross back to the mainland (if an Island the size of Ibiza can ever be that) and food is on my mind. We stop in Cala d’Hort and stroll up to the restaurant perched halfway up the low cliff. Bread and allioli (a kind of garlic mayonnaise) starts the meal in a traditional Ibizenca way. We’ve still not escaped the tourists and Carles is intrigued by the group of twenty or so British girls on the next table. They are taking turns to each make a speech and it’s obvious that they are celebrating something. Carles is convinced that they’ve just finished filming a peli-porno (I’ll let you do your own translating), I’m almost disappointed to tell him that it’s a “hen” do.
Back on the water, the afternoon’s highlights include some great views back towards the islands, six or so of caves and some interesting rock-hopping through narrow passages before we reach Cala Molí, tonight’s stop. A beer or two later and we’re chatting to the middle-aged woman running the bar. She’s genuinely interested in what we’re doing and offers some tips on which of the half-built local buildings we’ll get away with bivvying in!
Day 3 – Millones de Medusas
There’s something about the light this morning. It’s still fairly low and I spend the first hour busy with the camera. By some unstated, mutual consent we’re dawdling along, exploring each cove and cave. We’re able to literally hug the cliff it’s so calm. I usually get frustrated if progress is too slow but today I’m happy to go with the flow, maybe the “don’t hurry, we’re in Ibiza” motto is having its influence.
The clouds are starting to roll back in as we pass Cap de Bou on our way to the next set of small islands, Illa des Bosc and Illa sa Conillera. Despite the clouds it is still gorgeously warm, I’m paddling in shorts and t-shirt and the sea is a stunning shade of blue. The only fly in the ointment are the millions of small jellyfish. I’d noticed earlier that even on the more crowded beaches few people were swimming. This is why, only today we’re obviously paddling through their main “drift path”. Millions is an underestimation; paddling, it’s impossible to avoid getting stung on the fingers.
The islands prove home to yet more dramatic cliffs. We stop at a small, sheltered jetty. The sun’s back out so we leave our sleeping bags to dry from last night’s dew and walk up to the lighthouse. The island has a large population of sargantanas, a fast moving, bright green lizard. It’s then a fair paddle back over to Cala Bassa where we stop for a truly lousy pizza. This is clearly a tourist hotspot and the contrast between here and the deserted islands and cliffs is stark. I know which I prefer. We don’t hang about and escape the crowds before stopping once more outside Sant Antoni de Portmany to stock up on more food and water. The shopkeeper is yet another local intrigued by what we’re doing and donates a couple of bottles of wine to the cause. Crossing the harbour mouth takes a bit of care, there are so many boats zooming about. The cliffs now turn primarily to sandstone and there are lots of caves to explore before we tuck into Cala Salada.
The goodwill theme continues. Overnight, the bar staff leave the glazed terrace open for us and we pour over the maps looking at what is to come. Tomorrow we’ll be starting the comparatively unpopulated north coast with fewer coves, fewer beaches and long, committing sections of deserted cliff. The best is yet to come.
There’s something about the light this morning. It’s still fairly low and I spend the first hour busy with the camera. By some unstated, mutual consent we’re dawdling along, exploring each cove and cave. We’re able to literally hug the cliff it’s so calm. I usually get frustrated if progress is too slow but today I’m happy to go with the flow, maybe the “don’t hurry, we’re in Ibiza” motto is having its influence.
The clouds are starting to roll back in as we pass Cap de Bou on our way to the next set of small islands, Illa des Bosc and Illa sa Conillera. Despite the clouds it is still gorgeously warm, I’m paddling in shorts and t-shirt and the sea is a stunning shade of blue. The only fly in the ointment are the millions of small jellyfish. I’d noticed earlier that even on the more crowded beaches few people were swimming. This is why, only today we’re obviously paddling through their main “drift path”. Millions is an underestimation; paddling, it’s impossible to avoid getting stung on the fingers.
The islands prove home to yet more dramatic cliffs. We stop at a small, sheltered jetty. The sun’s back out so we leave our sleeping bags to dry from last night’s dew and walk up to the lighthouse. The island has a large population of sargantanas, a fast moving, bright green lizard. It’s then a fair paddle back over to Cala Bassa where we stop for a truly lousy pizza. This is clearly a tourist hotspot and the contrast between here and the deserted islands and cliffs is stark. I know which I prefer. We don’t hang about and escape the crowds before stopping once more outside Sant Antoni de Portmany to stock up on more food and water. The shopkeeper is yet another local intrigued by what we’re doing and donates a couple of bottles of wine to the cause. Crossing the harbour mouth takes a bit of care, there are so many boats zooming about. The cliffs now turn primarily to sandstone and there are lots of caves to explore before we tuck into Cala Salada.
The goodwill theme continues. Overnight, the bar staff leave the glazed terrace open for us and we pour over the maps looking at what is to come. Tomorrow we’ll be starting the comparatively unpopulated north coast with fewer coves, fewer beaches and long, committing sections of deserted cliff. The best is yet to come.
Day 4 – Esto es Eivissa, no tengas prisa
Last night was bliss. Cala Salada gets five stars. For one, there’s a shower on the beach and for two the bar owners invited us to sleep in their glazed terrace, so no mosquitoes, no early morning dew and no sand in the sleeping bag. This morning the water is gorgeously calm and I’m eager to get out early. I can see just outside the bay the cliffs that mark the start of the northern half of Ibiza. I’m keen to shin up these in order to take some photos so I leave the others on the beach and jump in my sea kayak to grab a good spot.
As I scramble up the cliffs and reach the top, the second involuntary “wow” of this trip passes my lips. The view is stunning: pale, limestone cliffs, an assortment of artistically laid out islets, gin-clear water the colour of a kingfisher’s back, a clear blue sky and setting it all off, there’s a small, white, classically-shaped fishing boat adding foreground.
An hour or so later I’m back in the kayak catching up with the Spanish and Catalan friends with whom I’m paddling. The high cliffs continue, they are high, sheer and interrupted only by the odd cave. The day before yesterday we’d seen a huge colony of falcons. The cliffs today play host to yet more, not quite so many this time, but watching a dozen of them in a high-speed mobbing action on a pair of heron gives a fantastic display of their astonishing agility in the air. Up ahead there’s a curious looking island, ses Margalides. From a distance, it looks like an old galleon with a classic high stern. César and I end up racing each other into the headwind that’s now picked up. Reality is even more dramatic: that high stern turns into a low arch making an obvious finishing line that we paddle under.
We wait for the others and then, photo-opportunity taken, we continue on until we reach a lovely little cove after some four and a half hours paddling. Es Portitxol is the first opportunity we’ve had to land; the cliffs have been that continuous. It’s a pretty spot, well sheltered and with a dozen or so small boat-houses each with an improvised wooden slipway over the sharp rocks. After a tuna salad for lunch we continue onto Cala Benirràs just past Puerto de Sant Miguel. The cliffs approaching the Cala are swarming with nudists. The beach itself is pretty busy too and although everyone’s got their clothes on, there’s a large group swigging litronas de cerveza and smoking porros - there is an unquestionable party atmosphere and I’m thinking that it could be a noisy night. But it’s a big surprise that they all leave just as it gets dark, leaving this end of the beach to us paddlers. The bar owner is clearly as laid back as most of his usual customers and we’re invited to use the terrace to sleep.
Last night was bliss. Cala Salada gets five stars. For one, there’s a shower on the beach and for two the bar owners invited us to sleep in their glazed terrace, so no mosquitoes, no early morning dew and no sand in the sleeping bag. This morning the water is gorgeously calm and I’m eager to get out early. I can see just outside the bay the cliffs that mark the start of the northern half of Ibiza. I’m keen to shin up these in order to take some photos so I leave the others on the beach and jump in my sea kayak to grab a good spot.
As I scramble up the cliffs and reach the top, the second involuntary “wow” of this trip passes my lips. The view is stunning: pale, limestone cliffs, an assortment of artistically laid out islets, gin-clear water the colour of a kingfisher’s back, a clear blue sky and setting it all off, there’s a small, white, classically-shaped fishing boat adding foreground.
An hour or so later I’m back in the kayak catching up with the Spanish and Catalan friends with whom I’m paddling. The high cliffs continue, they are high, sheer and interrupted only by the odd cave. The day before yesterday we’d seen a huge colony of falcons. The cliffs today play host to yet more, not quite so many this time, but watching a dozen of them in a high-speed mobbing action on a pair of heron gives a fantastic display of their astonishing agility in the air. Up ahead there’s a curious looking island, ses Margalides. From a distance, it looks like an old galleon with a classic high stern. César and I end up racing each other into the headwind that’s now picked up. Reality is even more dramatic: that high stern turns into a low arch making an obvious finishing line that we paddle under.
We wait for the others and then, photo-opportunity taken, we continue on until we reach a lovely little cove after some four and a half hours paddling. Es Portitxol is the first opportunity we’ve had to land; the cliffs have been that continuous. It’s a pretty spot, well sheltered and with a dozen or so small boat-houses each with an improvised wooden slipway over the sharp rocks. After a tuna salad for lunch we continue onto Cala Benirràs just past Puerto de Sant Miguel. The cliffs approaching the Cala are swarming with nudists. The beach itself is pretty busy too and although everyone’s got their clothes on, there’s a large group swigging litronas de cerveza and smoking porros - there is an unquestionable party atmosphere and I’m thinking that it could be a noisy night. But it’s a big surprise that they all leave just as it gets dark, leaving this end of the beach to us paddlers. The bar owner is clearly as laid back as most of his usual customers and we’re invited to use the terrace to sleep.
Day 5 – Sardinas a la brasa
Cala Benirràs is guarded by an astonishing, hand-shaped, rock tower. The day starts with the sea so calm and the light so clear that with Carles posed in front of it I joke that it’s bound to be a cover shot. Although from a photographic point of view it’s almost a shame that the most dramatic cliffs are on this northern side of Ibiza. It’s usually tricky to get the light at the best angle. Just round the corner we explore some big caves. The water is like that in a deserted swimming pool: completely flat, crystal clear and a vivid blue. We make a brief stop at Cala Xarraca, one of the prettier populated beaches, albeit that there’s not many people here today. A mass of small coves, caves and tight canals that cut through the cliffs then lead us on to the lighthouse at Portinatx which marks the most northern tip of Ibiza.
It’s now 3.00pm and I’m seriously hungry. Looking at the map we convince ourselves that 6km away at ses Caletes there is bound to be a chiringuito. In my mind I’m already running through which of the likely fish options I’ll choose. When we get there and find nothing or at least nowhere to eat, I suppose it proves the point that this north side of the island is quieter and significantly less touristy but my stomach is failing to hide its disappointment. The scenery is still tremendous. There’s a string of caves in the wonderfully twisted cliffs and in each of the caves, just under the water, grows an unusual plant with closely- clustered, bright purple rosettes.
No food also means a change of plan. We had intended to stop overnight in the bay at Aigua Dolça but this is similarly deserted and we’re now running short of food. So passing Punta de Jone we complete the north coast and swing southwards pressing on to Cala de Sant Vincent. We’re back to the tourists and this Cala turns out to be a mass of hotels right on the beach. Despite the fact that we’re tired I suggest that we keep going another couple of kilometres to Aigua Blanca where, even from this distance it looks like there’s a small bar on the beach.
And so it proves. The good news: that the beers are cold. The bad news: that the only food on offer is a hamburger or tinned sardines. For me one of the great pleasures of paddling in Spain is the food. I hadn’t come to Ibiza to eat out of tins. A study of the map and I persuade my mates that it’s not too far, that we can walk over the cliffs to Platja des Figueral. The first restaurant we come to seems reasonably priced and the owner is relaxed about us drinking the wine that Juanjo has brought, stashed away in his bag. Indeed in another goodwill-to-paddlers demonstration he brings out glasses for us. I tuck into some delicious freshly-grilled sardines – this is much more like it!
Cala Benirràs is guarded by an astonishing, hand-shaped, rock tower. The day starts with the sea so calm and the light so clear that with Carles posed in front of it I joke that it’s bound to be a cover shot. Although from a photographic point of view it’s almost a shame that the most dramatic cliffs are on this northern side of Ibiza. It’s usually tricky to get the light at the best angle. Just round the corner we explore some big caves. The water is like that in a deserted swimming pool: completely flat, crystal clear and a vivid blue. We make a brief stop at Cala Xarraca, one of the prettier populated beaches, albeit that there’s not many people here today. A mass of small coves, caves and tight canals that cut through the cliffs then lead us on to the lighthouse at Portinatx which marks the most northern tip of Ibiza.
It’s now 3.00pm and I’m seriously hungry. Looking at the map we convince ourselves that 6km away at ses Caletes there is bound to be a chiringuito. In my mind I’m already running through which of the likely fish options I’ll choose. When we get there and find nothing or at least nowhere to eat, I suppose it proves the point that this north side of the island is quieter and significantly less touristy but my stomach is failing to hide its disappointment. The scenery is still tremendous. There’s a string of caves in the wonderfully twisted cliffs and in each of the caves, just under the water, grows an unusual plant with closely- clustered, bright purple rosettes.
No food also means a change of plan. We had intended to stop overnight in the bay at Aigua Dolça but this is similarly deserted and we’re now running short of food. So passing Punta de Jone we complete the north coast and swing southwards pressing on to Cala de Sant Vincent. We’re back to the tourists and this Cala turns out to be a mass of hotels right on the beach. Despite the fact that we’re tired I suggest that we keep going another couple of kilometres to Aigua Blanca where, even from this distance it looks like there’s a small bar on the beach.
And so it proves. The good news: that the beers are cold. The bad news: that the only food on offer is a hamburger or tinned sardines. For me one of the great pleasures of paddling in Spain is the food. I hadn’t come to Ibiza to eat out of tins. A study of the map and I persuade my mates that it’s not too far, that we can walk over the cliffs to Platja des Figueral. The first restaurant we come to seems reasonably priced and the owner is relaxed about us drinking the wine that Juanjo has brought, stashed away in his bag. Indeed in another goodwill-to-paddlers demonstration he brings out glasses for us. I tuck into some delicious freshly-grilled sardines – this is much more like it!
Day 6 – El rescate de Santa Eulalia
The weather has changed. It’s not raining here but it is off-shore. The horizon is obscured by heavy grey clouds so despite the east facing beach there is no glorious dawn. Gone too is the glassy calm water, in fact paddling out to the small island of Tagomago it’s actually quite rough and pretty windy too. It’s a long drag out here but worth it, as we’re treated to another display of Eleanor’s Falcons off the undoubtedly dramatic cliffs.
The morning is well over by the time we get back to Ibiza and we stop in Cala Boix or “box cove”. This comes not from the shape of the cove but from the bush that’s native here. Talking of plants, in Ibiza, walking around the cliffs, there is usually a whiff of gin in the air from the huge number of Sabina bushes and trees (a species of juniper). We stroll up to the snack-bar to get some lunch. While I’m waiting for my Tortilla Española the radio is going. I won’t give away my taste in music but it’s a welcome relief to the usual Ibicenca, incessant, electronic beat. Madonna is singing “La Isla Bonita” – and looking out across the beach and towards the cliffs: Ibiza certainly lives up to that here.
The afternoon passes with a series of pretty coves until we reach Punta Arabí. Three of us decide to whiz out to the small island of Santa Eulalia. Carles, Paco and I explore the large cave on the eastern side of the island and then continue south to Punta de Llebeig. While it’s not hugely rough, it’s here that Paco gets caught by an errant wave and suddenly he’s in the water. I knew there was a reason that I’d brought a pump and towline all the way from the UK. I get Paco back into his kayak, tow him out of the clutch of the breaking waves and then use the pump to empty out his boat. I’m an héroe!
We stop for the night in Cala Pada. The shower is welcome and the cold beer great. The goodwill-to-paddlers theme continues: despite choosing the cheapest options on his menu, the restaurant owner has no problems with us drinking our own wine, no problems with us sleeping under the shelter on his terrace and he even plies us with a free couple of rounds of drinks.
The weather has changed. It’s not raining here but it is off-shore. The horizon is obscured by heavy grey clouds so despite the east facing beach there is no glorious dawn. Gone too is the glassy calm water, in fact paddling out to the small island of Tagomago it’s actually quite rough and pretty windy too. It’s a long drag out here but worth it, as we’re treated to another display of Eleanor’s Falcons off the undoubtedly dramatic cliffs.
The morning is well over by the time we get back to Ibiza and we stop in Cala Boix or “box cove”. This comes not from the shape of the cove but from the bush that’s native here. Talking of plants, in Ibiza, walking around the cliffs, there is usually a whiff of gin in the air from the huge number of Sabina bushes and trees (a species of juniper). We stroll up to the snack-bar to get some lunch. While I’m waiting for my Tortilla Española the radio is going. I won’t give away my taste in music but it’s a welcome relief to the usual Ibicenca, incessant, electronic beat. Madonna is singing “La Isla Bonita” – and looking out across the beach and towards the cliffs: Ibiza certainly lives up to that here.
The afternoon passes with a series of pretty coves until we reach Punta Arabí. Three of us decide to whiz out to the small island of Santa Eulalia. Carles, Paco and I explore the large cave on the eastern side of the island and then continue south to Punta de Llebeig. While it’s not hugely rough, it’s here that Paco gets caught by an errant wave and suddenly he’s in the water. I knew there was a reason that I’d brought a pump and towline all the way from the UK. I get Paco back into his kayak, tow him out of the clutch of the breaking waves and then use the pump to empty out his boat. I’m an héroe!
We stop for the night in Cala Pada. The shower is welcome and the cold beer great. The goodwill-to-paddlers theme continues: despite choosing the cheapest options on his menu, the restaurant owner has no problems with us drinking our own wine, no problems with us sleeping under the shelter on his terrace and he even plies us with a free couple of rounds of drinks.
Day 7 – Clot d’en Llaudís
I was worried that today, completing the circuit of Ibiza would prove to be a disappointment. After so many days of great scenery I’d thought that we’d be back to long stretches of sandy beaches and tower-block hotels. I should have studied the map more carefully as the cliffs are still high, still impressive and there are lots of opportunities for rock-hopping. Today’s Saturday so there are more boats about but none are able to get so “up-close-and-personal” as we can with the cliffs. Particularly memorable is the impressive narrow, v-shaped arch at Punta Roja.We’re now at Cala Llonga where we stop briefly in the heat to grab something to eat. We’ve definitely gone the right way round the island, continuing south there’s no let up in the dramatic scenery. Up ahead I can see a curious, half-moon-shaped scallop in the cliffs. Another “wow”, another stunning spot: striated cliffs with a massive “window” carved through them. I’m blown away.
After this, the cliffs gradually loose height and there’s more evidence of people as we get closer to Cala Talamanca. We stop here and kill a couple of hours with an impromptu rolling lesson before finally completing the circumnavigation in the early evening by paddling back into the busy harbour of Eivissa. There’s a degree of culture shock. Depending on your perspective this is Ibiza at its best or worst: Saturday night in the main town. After finding somewhere to stash our boats we go in search of a restaurant that isn’t charging tourist prices (and succeed, following advice from a local shopkeeper). Afterwards we stroll back to the port and the party’s now in full swing. There is undeniably a great atmosphere with all forms of human life taking a paseo. A late-night drink watching this free floorshow and the fireworks and it’s time to go in search of somewhere to bivvy.
Finally, later that night I’m in my sleeping bag under the harbour wall looking across the bay towards the lighthouse. I debate with Paco, comparing Ibiza with a paddle we did around Menorca a couple of years ago. Menorca has some very strict planning laws and this has protected some long sections of virgin, unspoilt coastline. It has to be said though, that the scenery here in Ibiza has been every bit as dramatic and in places, arguably more so. I’ve been also astonished by the consistent goodwill that we’ve encountered all round the island. It’s been a great trip.
I fall asleep to the sound from across the water: the “thud–thud” of a clubbin’ beat.
Phil Quill
It’s traditional in these kinds of articles to thank your sponsors. I’d like to thank our wine supplier: Maria de Mar Vich
