from the statesman - india.
The party’s over in Ibiza
Stephen Khan
LONDON, Aug. 13. — Rows of grubby pedallos lie untouched on the grey beach. Around them a few scarlet bodies cluster in small groups, puffing on cigarettes and reading the British red-top newspapers. Across a wide, open, promenade are the tables and chairs of dozens of restaurants and bars that once provided the launch pad for tourists’ evenings of excess. They’re empty.
A barman sighs. He never thought things could get this bad. For the first time, he’s decided not to bother opening for the evening. Some of his neighbours won’t be opening again.
If the weather wasn’t so good and the architecture so bad you could be in a grotty seaside town back home. There is a uniquely depressing atmosphere about a coastal resort on the wane; a sense of childhood dreams that have faded without being fulfilled; a foreboding that worse is to come; a feeling that time has passed you by. And this place has it in bucket-and-spade loads.
Perhaps it is the vast canyons of grey concrete that once adorned the pages of glossy brochures at the start of the package holiday boom. Perhaps it is the glum looks on little faces as ice-cream melts down burnt arms on to new football strips. Or perhaps it’s their parents, who sulk, bicker, then sulk again.
Whatever it is, this place just makes you want to sit down on an abandoned sun lounger (the days of tossing aside a German’s towel to grab the last one have long gone) and weep. It really shouldn’t be like this. For it is August, and, incredibly, this is Ibiza.
Tonight Radio 1’s DJs will roll in and proclaim that it’s showtime. Magazines and club nights elsewhere will join in as the White Isle celebrates a decade of dance. For 10 years, Ibiza has been the hedonistic hot spot. Countless documentaries may have highlighted the sex, booze and drugs, but a feelgood factor spread across the island and made a fortune for hoteliers, small businesses and promoters. It became the undisputed global summer party HQ.
Clubs such as Pacha, Amnesia and Space are now known throughout the world as brands as well as cathedrals of sound. And from the pulpits of these vast establishments, men and women who would once have been regarded as rather good at playing records have become international megastars. Yet behind this riot of colour and noise, a tourism crisis is taking root.
Resorts that once provided dance music’s disciples with a place to stay for their two weeks of madness are now in a desperate state. Even in the peak summer months, hotels and bars in what was a cradle of the package holiday boom are empty. Rising prices and images of drunk, drugged, sex-crazed youths have taken their toll. The Independent
The party’s over in Ibiza
Stephen Khan
LONDON, Aug. 13. — Rows of grubby pedallos lie untouched on the grey beach. Around them a few scarlet bodies cluster in small groups, puffing on cigarettes and reading the British red-top newspapers. Across a wide, open, promenade are the tables and chairs of dozens of restaurants and bars that once provided the launch pad for tourists’ evenings of excess. They’re empty.
A barman sighs. He never thought things could get this bad. For the first time, he’s decided not to bother opening for the evening. Some of his neighbours won’t be opening again.
If the weather wasn’t so good and the architecture so bad you could be in a grotty seaside town back home. There is a uniquely depressing atmosphere about a coastal resort on the wane; a sense of childhood dreams that have faded without being fulfilled; a foreboding that worse is to come; a feeling that time has passed you by. And this place has it in bucket-and-spade loads.
Perhaps it is the vast canyons of grey concrete that once adorned the pages of glossy brochures at the start of the package holiday boom. Perhaps it is the glum looks on little faces as ice-cream melts down burnt arms on to new football strips. Or perhaps it’s their parents, who sulk, bicker, then sulk again.
Whatever it is, this place just makes you want to sit down on an abandoned sun lounger (the days of tossing aside a German’s towel to grab the last one have long gone) and weep. It really shouldn’t be like this. For it is August, and, incredibly, this is Ibiza.
Tonight Radio 1’s DJs will roll in and proclaim that it’s showtime. Magazines and club nights elsewhere will join in as the White Isle celebrates a decade of dance. For 10 years, Ibiza has been the hedonistic hot spot. Countless documentaries may have highlighted the sex, booze and drugs, but a feelgood factor spread across the island and made a fortune for hoteliers, small businesses and promoters. It became the undisputed global summer party HQ.
Clubs such as Pacha, Amnesia and Space are now known throughout the world as brands as well as cathedrals of sound. And from the pulpits of these vast establishments, men and women who would once have been regarded as rather good at playing records have become international megastars. Yet behind this riot of colour and noise, a tourism crisis is taking root.
Resorts that once provided dance music’s disciples with a place to stay for their two weeks of madness are now in a desperate state. Even in the peak summer months, hotels and bars in what was a cradle of the package holiday boom are empty. Rising prices and images of drunk, drugged, sex-crazed youths have taken their toll. The Independent