Isolated Island, Silent Island
Leaving the airport mid-february and setting foot on an island that I have heard a lot about but never been to myself, I can only speculate about what awaits me.
What I do know though, is that officially, it is off-season on Ibiza. Huge signs and banners along the empty roads read phrases like „see you next year“ and announce „closing parties“. Events that have long gone and turned into memories of numerous travelers.
Events that give a first glimpse of what inevitably happens at season’s end: a destination going to hibernation.
There is a nostalgic sense of oddness in visiting places that have grown to exist and be enlivened in a certain way. Driving across the territory on winding roads, observing colors of lemon verbena and walking through fields of blooming almond trees, we feel a deep sensation of peace in the loneliness of this sleeping island.
And experiencing the scents and sensations of summer in February brings up a melancholic magic, like rediscovering treasures that have been left behind, kept aside and stored safely. A melancholic magic of almost breathing in the scent of tangerines and sunscreen and ice cream, almost blinded by the sun reflecting in deep blue ocean prisms. Almost.
Like opening your summer wardrobe during winter, feeling fabrics and patterns, linen and silk. Going through flowing garments and remembering that they are there but not there – reawakening both memories and anticipation of summer.
Memories and anticipation of summer we feel and
Inspiration and appreciation grows with the sunsets we watch, the shapes and shades and shadow plays we observe and the textures we feel beneath our feet.
On Ibiza in february, we find peace and isolation.
On Ibiza in february, we find the sun.
On Ibiza in february, we find silence.
An isolated island in february –
Where summer is there, but not there.