Ibiza

Arriving on a small island in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea, I wasn't quite sure what to expect from Ibiza—the capital of partying.

Except there wasn't much partying happening.

It was cold and windy, and the streets were mostly occupied by locals and a small number of tourists. Unlike Barcelona, there had been almost no preparation for this stop. No hours of YouTube videos, no carefully researched list of places to visit. Most of what appeared online was about which clubs to go to and where to eat by the beach.

Neither was particularly helpful in early March.

An Uber took me toward the hostel, which, thankfully, was a private room this time. The courtyard between the buildings was under construction, so the driver stopped a couple of streets away and told me to continue on foot.

Following Google Maps through the streets, I passed people sitting at tiny outdoor tables, eating, laughing, and talking. It reminded me of something out of Emily in Paris. Coming from Houston, Texas, seeing people casually sitting outside like this always feels a little strange. Back home, we're practically in a committed relationship with air conditioning because it's hot and humid for most of the year.

Google Maps insisted I had arrived, but there was one problem: Hostal El Parque was nowhere to be found.

After walking around searching for a sign, I finally stepped into what looked like a restaurant and small grocery shop and asked if they knew where the hostel was. Instead of giving me directions, the barista asked whether I had a reservation.

For a second, I was confused about why this man needed to know where I was staying.

Then he explained.

I was already there.

Apparently, he was also the front desk.

Passport handed over, check-in completed, and mystery solved, it was time to head upstairs. With every step, I began regretting all the things I had purchased along the way. My luggage was definitely getting heavier.

The room itself was cozy and perfect for one person. Two people might have been pushing it, especially with what looked like a full-size bed, but I didn't care. I had my own space again.

And then there was the view.

Straight ahead was the enormous retaining wall surrounding the old fortified city on top of the hill, with antique homes rising around it. It was the kind of view people imagine when they think about staying somewhere in Europe, and somehow it was sitting directly outside my window.

There wasn't much time on the island, so I followed a piece of advice my mom once gave me: the best way to get to know a place is by getting lost.

While looking around, a sign claiming to serve authentic Mexican tacos caught my attention.

Now, I believe Spanish cuisine is good for what it is.

Unfortunately, I was craving seasoning.

TKO Taco it was.

The place was actually cute and definitely had a Mexican vibe. The three tacos were a little too soggy, but the seasoning was there, which at that moment was enough to make me happy. Fed and slightly less desperate for flavor, the wandering continued.

Eventually, though, reality interrupted the vacation. A work conference call was waiting, so it was back to the room for a while.

By the time the call ended, it was getting darker and there wasn't much left to do. A little snack wouldn't hurt. A nearby rotisserie chicken shop appeared online, so I headed that way and ended up ordering a chicken sandwich to take back to the room. A whole chicken seemed excessive for one person, and honestly, even half of one probably would have been pushing it.

Later, curiosity made me check which clubs were actually open.

Then I saw the entrance fees.

Never mind.

I only wanted to look around, not make a financial commitment.

Still, it wasn't hard to understand why Ibiza becomes such a popular destination for groups of friends during the summer. The water was beautiful, there were shops and little vendors everywhere, and the whole place seemed built for people to spill out into the streets and enjoy themselves.

It just so happened that I was there alone.

In the cold.

With the wind.

That night, clouds moved across the sky while the full moon shone through them, creating an almost perfect halo. In the distance was what I believed to be a church, framed by the old buildings and the wall outside my window.

Not exactly the Ibiza experience advertised online.

I wasn't complaining.

It almost felt like I had traveled back in time.

People stayed outside surprisingly late, and because of the massive wall surrounding the area, their voices seemed to echo through the streets. Even the double-insulated windows couldn't completely keep the sound out.

The room did, however, introduce me to something else: those European blinds that look like hurricane shutters. Closing them made the room completely pitch-black.

Pretty cool, honestly.

Pretty cool, honestly.

The next morning brought the same town but another opportunity to wander. I was grateful to have the time alone, so I did what I apparently do best when traveling.

Roam around with no particular plan.

The pier came first. From there, the fortified city above me didn't look that difficult to reach, so I decided to hike to the top.

It was steep.

Thankfully, my legs had already been warmed up by days of walking.

Once inside the walls, the atmosphere changed completely. It didn't have the same medieval feeling I had experienced in Barcelona. This place felt polished, maintained, and, in a strange way, almost fancy.

It was also nearly empty.

The streets felt like a ghost town. During that entire morning, I had probably seen four people across half a mile of walking.

As the climb continued, a few more people finally appeared near the top. The museum was closed, so most of what I could learn about the area came from the metal plaques scattered around the site.

Eventually, I reached one of the places overlooking the sea where cannons had once been strategically positioned.

Then the sky decided it was done cooperating.

A heavy shower suddenly came down, and I ran toward the first covered area I could find.

Stairs.

They were stairs.

Stairs that went directly through the building.

Stairs that apparently meant I had not needed to walk that entire way up.

Good to know.

From the top, though, Ibiza started revealing something I hadn't expected. This wasn't just a place for beaches and clubs. Everywhere I looked, there were combinations of color, nature, stone, weathered walls, and the sea. Vibrant colors appeared against rough textures while the ocean breeze moved through everything, almost as if it wanted to dance with you.

On the way back down, another discovery: my hotel room was visible from the wall.

I had climbed all that way only to realize I was standing on the opposite side of the massive structure I had been staring at through my window.

Finding stairs that would take me back to lower ground led to another accidental discovery—an art museum that seemed to simply appear along the way.

It was free. The only thing they asked was where I was visiting from.

Three floors later, I had spent some time looking at the world through other people's perspectives. Their colors, shapes, ideas, and ways of seeing things.

Back at the room, I checked the time.

Barely 1 p.m.

There was still an entire afternoon ahead.

Another online search led me toward what I can best describe as a park near the water. Walking along the paths, I listened to the people around me. Most seemed to be visitors too, stopping for selfies and group photos.

Then, somewhere behind some bushes, came the sound of water crashing against rocks.

Now that sounded interesting.

Following the noise led to a spot overlooking the water.

Perfect.

Except a place like that required snacks.

I remembered passing a convenience store and headed back. Wandering through the aisles looking for things I hadn't seen before, a bag of jamón-flavored chips immediately stood out.

Honestly, one of the most Spanish snacks I could possibly imagine.

Those went into the basket, along with some chocolate—specifically the best chocolate in the entire world: Kinder.

Then it was back to the rocks.

I sat down, opened my snacks, and did something I rarely allow myself to do.

Absolutely nothing.

No destination to reach. No attraction to check off. No tour to follow.

Just sitting there, eating jamón-flavored chips and Kinder chocolate while watching the Mediterranean move in front of me.

The waves came in and disappeared again. The wind moved across the water. There was nowhere else I needed to be.

For a place I had associated almost entirely with partying, Ibiza had somehow given me quiet.

Eventually, it was time to head back and pack. It was my final night, and earlier in the day I had already tackled another glamorous part of traveling: doing laundry at a public laundromat a couple of blocks away.

The island felt incredibly laid-back during my visit, although the endless closed signs made it obvious just how heavily the area depended on tourism and how different it probably became once summer arrived.

Near the hostel, a pizza place was open, so dinner became an individual pizza to go. Downstairs, I stopped at the shop and grabbed a Coke.

Outside, friends sat around the little tables laughing and talking.

There was something about that sound.

People weren't rushing through dinner to get somewhere else. They were just sitting outside together, talking, eating, laughing, and letting the evening happen around them.

It created a completely different atmosphere from what I was used to.

An early flight meant an early night.

The next morning, opening the curtains revealed the tower behind the wall one last time.

It felt like it was saying goodbye.

Time to move on.

I walked back toward the same area where my first Uber had dropped me off and caught another one to the airport.

Walking into Ibiza Airport that morning felt like walking into a movie theater before the first showing of the day.

Empty.

So empty, in fact, that I honestly don't even remember going through security.

There hadn't been much souvenir shopping on the island, so an open shop caught my attention. After looking around there, I wandered through the small airport and found more boutiques and restaurants displaying familiar signs.

We'll be back this summer.

Apparently, I had arrived ridiculously early. My flight didn't even have a gate yet.

So there was only one thing left to do.

Doomscroll through TikTok and catch up on whatever internet lore had developed while I had been wandering around an almost-empty Mediterranean island.

Eventually, my flight appeared on the screen.

A crowd finally started forming near the gate, possibly the largest group of people I had seen in one place since arriving. Maybe ours was the only flight. At that point, it wouldn't have surprised me.

Soon, I was on the plane and heading back toward Barcelona.

Ibiza wasn't what I had expected—but then again, I had arrived with no expectations at all.

The island I had known as a party destination had been almost completely asleep. Instead of clubs, crowds, and beaches packed with people, I found empty medieval streets, unexpected museums, rain showers, closed shops, conversations echoing against old walls, jamón-flavored chips by the Mediterranean, and enough silence to simply sit and watch the water.

Maybe one day I'll return and meet the Ibiza everyone talks about.

But I'm glad I met this one first.