As the rain lashed (and helped to endure) our green and pleasant land this week, even the most virtuous of people shrugged off the miserable idea of a staycation. An election in early July means that even our politicians don’t have to pretend to be leading the way by claiming to be enjoying a freezing English holiday (although Gordon Brown never saw me as a sun type and probably enjoyed his holiday in Keswick enjoyed).
As a result, I could almost feel the likes of booking.com sinking under the weight of the holiday reservations. A week or two of guaranteed heat ahead, a piece of Costa del Blue Sky, a nice Spanish tan.
But not so fast, you enthusiastic holiday beaver, desperate for sun, sand and sangria. Because the authorities of some of our beloved holiday destinations have British tourists in their sights. Okay, so maybe you’re thinking this doesn’t quite apply to you, with your villa in the hills of Ibiza, or to you, with your fancy fortnight in a hotel in Palma’s old town.
Because it’s our noisier compatriots that the Balearic authorities are raising their eyebrows at as new restrictions come in force this month. Indeed, there is a whole host of rules guaranteed to frighten or even dampen the livelier intentions of the British tourist.
Smoking is banned on a number of beaches, all hotels in Magaluf, El Arenal, Playa de Palma and San Antonio must limit guests to six alcoholic drinks per day as part of an all-inclusive deal, a number of restaurants ban football shirts, strapless singlets and swimwear, while many restaurants in Mallorca insist on credit card details when booking. But the strictest regulations include a ban on the sale of alcohol in shops between 9.30pm and 8am and a ban on party boats operating within one nautical mile of the towns of Llucmajor, Palma, Magaluf and San Antonio.
All this obviously destroys the heart and soul of a real holiday in the Balearic Islands. Because when you book a holiday in, say, Ibiza, you have a great value all-inclusive deal with unlimited drinks in mind, and then, dressed in your team kit, having some good old partisan football chants and exchanging verbal abuse in the likes of O Beach Club, some random last minute restaurant decisions and then some fags on the beach. And the whole point of a booze cruise is the drunken disembarkation and subsequent city invasion, preferably with the rowdy stags invading a bar where a bachelor party is in full swing.
But the local authority has made time for what it calls ‘excessive tourism’, spending £13.7 million on enforcing these restrictions; in safety, inspections and marketing its crackdown.
Yet it was these antics that built Ibiza. We may have looked in dismay at how reality TV series depicted partying and nightlife. Words like Pacha (the name of Ibiza’s most famous club) became expressions of wild hedonism; DJs like Carl Cox and David Guetta became legends of the scene, fueling the excess. It was in Ibiza that it was all about Pete Tong.
Documentaries and other fictional series such as those from Netflix White lines have acted as great marketing for the Balearic Islands, without any cost to the Spanish tourist board. And the restaurants, bars, clubs and boats have subsequently filled up with Brits wanting to recreate those wild times and get a taste of the ‘Ibeefa’ spirit.
But now it’s thanks, but no thanks. We (and I use ‘we’ in the broadest sense of the word, as they are our fellow countrymen, our fellow taxpayers) have lined their pockets and now we can move on.
And where are those Balearic Islanders, the property developers, the bar owners and the greedy Spanish spivs who eagerly spread a load of concrete over the small fishing village of San Antonio? While the laws are being applied with ultra-local precision and our holiday hooligans will surely find new locations to splash their money and show off their torsos, those ugly apartments and wind will block hotels, those places built to provide a little sleep and little else? , soon to be empty echoing caves?
Jaime Martínez, the mayor of Palma, has said he wants to “correct rude attitudes”. But the problem is that these places were built to cater to the marauding hordes. Who does he think would want to stay in those festering apartments? The wealthy middle class already enjoys sipping imported French rosé, Chateau Minuty, in the reassuringly expensive restaurants of Playa d’en Bossa, at the open kitchens on the heights of Santa Eulalia and better yet in the restaurant Sa Capella, where you can enjoying a shoulder of lamb while thinking about how horribly far away San Antonio is as it shimmers far below, silent in the sunset.
The Balearic authorities are believed to have been on a field trip to Wales to consult their tourism counterparts. There, the Welsh government turned what was once a glorious British aspiration into the devil incarnate: it turned the term ‘second home’ into a dirty word. A Gwynedd council member said second homes were “immoral”. The local government of North Wales managed to convince people that their shortcomings, inability to tackle poverty, NHS waiting lists, poor education and a lack of housing were actually the fault of the English who loved it so much. area and so enjoyed their holiday there. in a sense that they bought a second home to fully commit to the idea.
So after investing in the local economy, spending money in bars, hotels and restaurants, putting money into the hands of local builders, plumbers and electricians as they refurbished these houses, the local government decided to castigate them, demonize them and ask them to clear away. The Welsh long for prosperity, but then deny the means to entice it and use the worst features of nationalism to achieve it.
The Cornish have followed suit, sharing a nationalist passion that suggests they too want independence, border controls, their own currency (payments in Yargs, after their nettle-wrapped cheese) and complete culinary control over those hideous pasties. The authorities encourage ugly, anti-second home graffiti and the Cornholes chose to name and shame one of our country’s most famous chefs, a man who upheld the British values of ruthless quality and precision of food has paraded all over the world. Gordon Ramsay was now nothing but a demonic second home owner. And so the Balearic Islands are using the same strategy.
Now I don’t love our hooligans, but what I hate even more is the hypocrisy of those who took advantage of them and are now brutalizing my fellow Britons.
Without those beer louts, your coastline would still be nothing but a strip of uninhabited scrub. Nice for the wealthy whose villas have a view from above, but not so great for the working people. As the popular Spanish saying goes: if you don’t have enough money, you’ll be happy.