Introduction: The Call of the White Island
Ibiza, floating in the Mediterranean Sea, is a small island belonging to Spain’s Balearic Islands. Affectionately known as “Isla Blanca” (White Island), this destination is renowned for its beautiful landscape woven from white limestone cliffs and beaches, along with pristine white houses.
When most people hear “Ibiza,” they likely envision the summer’s frenzied club scene. Indeed, from July to August, DJs and party enthusiasts from around the world gather here, transforming the island into a sleepless sanctuary of music. However, hidden behind this glamorous facade lies an ancient history dating back to Phoenician times and the quiet lives of islanders who speak Ibicenco, a Catalan dialect.
The island’s interior features red-earth hills dotted with olive and almond trees, while the coastline is carved with countless small inlets called calas. The old town of Dalt Vila, registered as a UNESCO World Heritage site, is surrounded by 16th-century walls, its labyrinthine cobblestone streets preserving a distinctly medieval atmosphere.
I visited this island on a peaceful October afternoon. It was the season when summer’s clamor had departed, and the island’s inherent tranquility and beauty had returned. Here I wish to record three days enchanted by the gentle sunlight characteristic of the Mediterranean climate and the endlessly transparent colors of the sea.
Day 1: Stone Memories and the Sea’s Song
I landed at Ibiza Airport around 2 PM after an hour-long flight from Barcelona. The island’s form, viewed from the aircraft, was beautiful as a jewel floating in the Mediterranean, its landscape of scattered white buildings resembling a painting.
The journey from the airport to Ibiza Town took about 15 minutes by rental car. The scenery flowing past the window consisted of fields divided by low stone walls and wind carrying the somehow nostalgic scent of countryside. Wild rosemary fragranced the roadside, and the purple bougainvillea clinging to the white walls of occasional old farmhouses left a striking impression.
My accommodation was a small hotel near the old town. After checking in and dropping off my luggage, I stepped outside to find the evening light warmly illuminating the cobblestone streets. I began walking toward the walls of Dalt Vila.
Climbing the gentle slope leading from the harbor, I gradually felt myself stepping into a medieval world. The thick walls built from limestone were constructed in the 16th century to protect the island from Ottoman pirates, and their imposing presence was overwhelming. Passing through the gate set in the walls, I entered a world of silence where time seemed to have stopped.
The narrow cobblestone streets continued maze-like between houses with white walls. The doors were painted in vibrant blues and greens, with geranium flowers blooming in small window boxes. While walking, I encountered a local elderly man sitting in a chair in front of his house, enjoying the cool evening breeze. His gentle smile as he called out “Bona tarda” (good afternoon) made me feel the warmth of the island’s people.
I paused to rest in the small square in front of the cathedral. Built in the 13th century, this sanctuary possesses a unique beauty where Gothic style mingles with architecture characteristic of the Catalonian region. The setting sun streamed through the rose window on the facade, dyeing the interior golden.
The view from atop the walls was breathtakingly beautiful. Below spread Ibiza’s harbor, and beyond that, the island of Formentera was visible. The sea’s color painted subtle gradations from deep blue to bright turquoise blue. I watched distant fishing boats returning to port while enveloped in the Mediterranean evening’s tranquility.
For dinner, I ate at a small restaurant in the old town. “Sa Capella” was housed in a converted old church, impressive with its stone walls and arched ceiling. I ordered “Bullit de peix,” a fish stew that is Ibiza’s traditional dish. This simple yet robust-tasting dish, simmered with fresh seafood, saffron, and tomatoes, had been beloved by the island’s fishermen for generations. The accompanying rice was cooked in fish broth, each grain infused with the sea’s flavor.
After the meal, I walked along the harbor promenade. October nights were cool, with sea breezes gently caressing my cheeks. The lights from yachts moored in the harbor swayed on the water’s surface, while guitar melodies heard from somewhere dissolved into the night’s silence. Before returning to the hotel, I looked up at the night view once more from atop the walls. The illuminated fortifications and the white townscape sleeping quietly under the starry sky colored my first night in Ibiza with this beautiful scene.
Day 2: Hidden Paradise and Island Memories
I woke to the Mediterranean’s gentle sunlight. While having breakfast on the hotel’s small terrace, I planned the day. I decided to visit Cala d’Hort, a small inlet in the island’s north, and Es Vedrà, the mystical rocky mountain floating across from it.
The road crossing the island’s interior showed me another face of Ibiza. In the red-earth hills where white limestone created a tapestry with ancient almond and olive trees, October brought the beginning of autumn colors to the almond leaves, which gleamed gold in the Mediterranean’s strong sunlight. Wild herbs grew along the roadside, with scents of thyme and rosemary flowing through the car windows.
I stopped for a break in Sant Josep, a small village. The modest townscape centered around the church offered glimpses of the islanders’ daily lives, completely different from Ibiza as a tourist destination. At a small café, I ordered ensaimada, a spiral-shaped bread baked by a local grandmother, and café con leche. The simple taste of the sweet bread combined with strong espresso and plenty of warm milk—this combination was the flavor of Spanish mornings.
I arrived at Cala d’Hort around 11 AM. From the small parking area, I walked about five minutes along a narrow path through pine forest, when suddenly a painting-like scene spread before me. A small sandy beach surrounded by cobalt blue sea, and beyond it, the majestic rocky mountain of Es Vedrà rising with dignity. This rocky mountain, about 400 meters high, has long been revered by the island’s people as a sacred place.
I sat on the sandy beach, spending time gazing at Es Vedrà. This rocky mountain has numerous legends. The Phoenicians worshipped it as a navigation god, and during medieval times it was believed to be inhabited by witches and fairies. Even today, it’s known for frequent UFO sightings and is considered a power spot radiating mystical energy. Indeed, while sitting there, I felt a mysterious tranquility as if sensing some special power.
The sea’s transparency was astonishingly high, clearly revealing the seabed about three meters deep. Schools of small fish swam among the rocks, with occasional large fish passing by leisurely. Few people were swimming, as even locals found the October sea somewhat chilly.
For lunch, I dined at “Es Boldado,” a restaurant perched on the cliffs above Cala d’Hort. From a terrace seat with Es Vedrà directly in view, I ordered fresh seafood paella. The golden rice, where saffron’s aroma mixed with seafood flavors, was truly the culmination of Mediterranean taste. Mussels, shrimp, squid, and locally caught white fish—each ingredient’s flavor harmonized, creating an unforgettable meal alongside Es Vedrà’s magnificent scenery.
In the afternoon, I headed south along the island’s west side to visit Cala Comte, a beach famous for the island’s most beautiful sunsets. Here was a pure white sandy beach with sea colors changing from emerald green to cobalt blue. The shallow sea allowed walking far offshore, where tropical-like small fish swam even at knee depth.
While sitting in a beach chair, I waited for the sun to set over the island’s western side. The sky’s colors changed with time, transitioning from orange to red, then to purple. The moment the sun touched the horizon, sky and sea became one, displaying burning beauty. The few tourists around me also quietly watched this moment. Before nature, I felt that words were unnecessary.
For dinner, I returned to Ibiza Town and ate at “La Brasa,” a small tapas bar near the harbor. Inside the establishment bustling with locals, Ibicenco, Spanish, and various tourist languages mingled together. I ordered pan con tomate (tomato bread), jamón serrano, and locally produced queso de cabra (goat cheese). Each dish was simple but highlighted excellent ingredients. The goat cheese especially had a distinctive flavor from the island’s dry climate and sea breeze influence, perfectly complementing the local white wine.
On the way back, I walked through the old town again. The nighttime cobblestones showed a different expression from daytime, with soft lamplight warmly illuminating the white walls. In a small square, local young people sat around a guitar singing, their voices echoing off stone walls to create beautiful harmony. I felt that Ibiza’s nights held not only the aspect of a never-sleeping music island, but also such quiet, peaceful moments.
Day 3: Morning Farewell and Eternal Memory
On the final morning, I woke earlier than usual. Around 6 AM while still dim, I left the hotel and walked toward the harbor. In the morning’s silence, I watched fishermen preparing their boats while walking to the breakwater’s end.
The eastern sky gradually brightened, and eventually the sun showed its face from the horizon. The sea surface sparkled, and the white stone of the fortifications was illuminated by morning light, dyed in warm colors. While viewing this beautiful sunrise alone, all the memories from two days revived in my heart. Es Vedrà’s mystical presence, Cala Comte’s sunset, walking the old town’s cobblestones at night—all were certainly etched within me.
After breakfast, I headed to the last place I wanted to visit: Es Canar, a small village in the island’s northeast. This place is known for preserving the daily lives of islanders, not yet touristified.
At the small market in the village center, local farmers sold vegetables and fruits they had grown, along with handmade jams and honey. There were lace doilies hand-knitted by grandmothers and simple pottery made from island clay—everything had warmth that mass-produced items lack. Particularly impressive was “Hierbas Ibicencas,” a liqueur made from herbs gathered on the island. This anise-based spirit, infused with various herbs, is beloved by islanders as an after-dinner drink. I purchased a small bottle to enjoy Ibiza’s fragrance even after returning to Japan.
I visited a small church on the village outskirts. Built in the 18th century, this church was a quiet place not mentioned in tourist guides. White walls, a simple wooden door, and a small bell tower. Inside, I was enveloped in somehow nostalgic air mixing candle fragrance with old wood scent. Sitting before the altar, I prayed quietly with gratitude for these three days.
For lunch, I ate at “Restaurante Es Canar” along Es Canar’s coast. This was like a local dining hall used by residents, with menus written in Spanish and Ibicenco. I ordered “Sofrit Pagès,” a traditional island stew. This dish of lamb, sausage, and vegetables slowly simmered with spices was truly the soul food of the island’s people. Though simple, the deep flavor seemed to contain the island’s history and people’s lives.
After the meal, I gazed at the sea one last time from a nearby small inlet. With feet soaking in transparent water, I reflected on the three days. Ibiza is certainly famous for clubs and parties, but hidden behind that facade was tranquility and beauty, along with rich land holding long history and culture. The Mediterranean trading history continuing from Phoenician times, influences from Arab rule, and the present breathing with Catalonian culture—all overlapped to create this island’s unique charm.
In the car heading to the airport, I burned the passing scenery into my eyes once more. Olive trees, white farmhouses, red earth—all landscapes I had truly seen, felt, and experienced. As the airplane took off and Ibiza Island grew smaller below, the white island was beautiful as a dreamlike scene surrounded by Mediterranean blue.
Conclusion: What Felt Certain Though Imagined
Ibiza Island, viewed from the window seat, sparkled like a jewel. Though just three short days, everything experienced on this island remains vividly in my heart. The sound of footsteps on cobblestones, the scent of sea breeze, Es Vedrà’s mystical presence, the warm smiles of local people, and the beauty of Mediterranean sunsets.
Travel memories are mysterious things. Sensations and emotions that photos or videos cannot capture sometimes become most vividly etched in the heart. The warmth of café con leche, rosemary’s fragrance, the coolness of nighttime cobblestones, the sound of waves—all still live within my five senses.
For many people, Ibiza may have a strong image as a party island. However, actually walking the island, interacting with local people, and gazing at the sea from quiet inlets reveals that this island’s true beauty lies in the silence hidden behind the clamor. The long history continuing from Phoenician times, the rich culture nurtured by Mediterranean nature, and the peaceful lives of modern islanders.
Though an imaginary journey, these experiences certainly exist within my heart. Place names seen on maps, scenery viewed in photographs, history read in books—these fragments united within the story of travel, becoming as vivid as actual memories. Sometimes experiences within imagination become more deeply etched in the heart than real experiences.
The three days in Ibiza were such special time. The memories of the white island will continue to shine quietly in my heart. I hope that someday, I will truly visit this island again.
