The magic lay in the light, the sunsets, the special people; the freaks, the artists, the internationals, the musicians. The leftover hippies in San Juan. The fincas, the restaurants with fig trees and fairy-lights, the naked freedom on Bennirás beach. The sound of the donkeys in the valleys of Portinatx, the post-office/bar/shop/meeting-place at the T-junction in the middle of nowhere.

I was drawn to the spirituality. The people talking about the full moon, the stories of the real hippies, he ayahuasca ceremonies for 24 hours in a dome on a really high mountain, almost impossible for the cars to get to. The glistening in the eyes of someone who lived in a caravan or a cave, their connection to the land, to the rocks, to the sea. The magic of a hard-to-reach enlightenment. I was sold. Taken away. Completely starry-eyed.

Then, around 2020, something happened. To me, to the world, to Ibiza.

Ibiza became gentrified; spirituality became something practiced by every other English retiree to the sun, everyone micro-dosed magic mushrooms, absolutely everyone and his uncle became a spiritual coach and HAD TO SHOW everyone on and off social media that they had a trillion crystals, used sage and incense, pulled cards, wore indoor hats and ponchos, and oh, they are also a witch who practiced reiki and breathwork and drank cacao, and somehow, the real deal got silenced. The real magic was lost.

I withdrew from spirituality because it became shallow. I also withdrew because I noticed that many of my spiritual clients didn’t have the means to pay their invoices, because they were “manifesting the money” that never seemed to arrive. And of course; if I was spending time in spiritual circles, my clients would also be spiritual. So, the magic lay in stepping out, and reconnecting with who I am, what I’m good at, and what lights me up. I now work with hotels, restaurants, authors, photographers, stylists, psychologists and health influencers; all with a very stable foundation, with a real mission and message, grounded in reality, not a dream.

I’ve rebuilt my relationship with myself and with Ibiza. I’ve now built and created a whole new me, based on what I always wanted to do: write, document, take photos. Go deep. Into the culture, into the history, into the context, into the moment, into someone’s mission and dream and help them translate it to a digital reality.

I’ve been lucky and unlucky enough to have had both my kids in a very local village school, so I’ve been immersed in Ibicenco culture now for almost ten years via their peers and their families. I’ve heard what they think of the spiritual crowd who claim to “know the energy” of the island they were born on, and it’s really funny to think these two cultural groups actually co-exist but never ever meet and talk. They have completely different understandings of what this island is, what it means, who it belongs to.

Truth is that many people throughout history have claimed to know, belong, and own this island. Ibiza was first settled by the Phoenicians around 654 BC, who founded the port of Ibossim and dedicated it to the god Bès, protector of music and dance. Later came the Carthaginians, who made the island an important trading post in the Mediterranean. Then the Romans arrived in 123 BC, calling it Ebusus, followed by the Vandals and the Byzantines, each leaving behind traces of their rule. In 902 AD, the Moors conquered Ibiza, introducing new agricultural systems, architecture, and language influences that still echo in Ibicenco today. Finally, in 1235, the island was taken by the Catalans under King James I of Aragon, who integrated it into the Crown of Aragon, marking the start of the Ibiza we know today.

During the years of getting to know Ibiza beyond the spiritual hippie magic, I’ve started discovering her REAL magic, beyond the myths and the stories that the spiritual people have given the island. I’ve discovered some incredible places, hidden in plain sight, that I love to take photos of and do photo shoots in.

D’alt Vila holds a trillion stories in her magical 2,500-year-old streets. And Sa Penya is a treasure trove of stories, crime, love and passion. Pictured is Puig de Missa, an incredible spot: the church-fortress above Santa Eulària dating from the 16th century, built as a refuge from pirate raids. Every village church has walls thicker than the average building and whispers stories of love, death, suffering and passion. The centre of Sant Antoni de Portmany is often missed or ignored, but it has some incredible historical buildings with pure magic hidden in plain sight. The centre of Sant Jordi de ses Salines is like a fairy-tale world with its fortified church (originally built before 1577 for salt-pond workers) and a charming plethora of old buildings.

I sit and write this from the library in Eivissa, in the cultural building called Can Ventosa (turning 100 years old this year) and I work from here most days a week, and have done so since 2020, when I stopped going to cafés aimed towards foreigners. Another magical place is the Cine Regio in Sant Antoni de Portmany, As an Ibiza photographer, I’m endlessly inspired by this cinema, because stepping inside feels like travelling back in time. Its retro red-velvet curtains, warm amber lights, and polished wooden details preserve the charm of a classic 1970s cinema, lovingly maintained by the same family who built it, and it’s a true living snapshot of Ibiza’s cultural past.

There’s so much more to this island than what first meets the eye. Most visitors see what they want to see, through their own narrow lens, and they miss the real magic.

Like taking the bus, for example. Few ever experience that world; a microcosm of Ibiza hidden in plain sight. Inside, teenagers wait for hours just to feel the freedom of not having to ask their parents for a ride. Immigrants travel to and from long, exhausting jobs, often standing with heavy bags and tired eyes. The older generation, no longer driving, sits quietly by the window, watching the island change with each passing season. For a moment, all of them share the same small space… three worlds, three rhythms of life that overlap in silence or conversation. It’s both heartwarming and, at times, quietly heartbreaking.

I suppose, at first, I was drawn to Ibiza for the myths and because it looked so visually stunning. Then my children were born here, and through them being “locals” – yes, if you ask them where they’re from, they’ll simply say “Ibiza” – I was given a kind of golden ticket. A way in. Beneath the surface, into the depth and the everyday reality that so many visitors and guiris completely miss out on.

With love from my children’s island,

Linda
April Studios

PS. The name April Studios is deeply connected to both Ibiza and my children as well as their grandmother. More on that another time!

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Bar Marsella, Barcelona

GETTING DRUNK ON ABSINTHE IN BAR MARSELLA

Absinthe: Also called the Green Fairy, from the French – La Fee Verte. Others called it the Green Goddess or the Green Muse.

But the Green Fairy isn’t just another name for absinthe; it is a metaphor for artistic transformation and enlightenment. It opens up the mind to a freer state, a place where exploration of poetical pathways and new inspirational ideas can grow wildly. To the Parisian bohemians of late the 1800’s, the Green Fairy was a guide into their artistic world, where new, groundbreaking art was created. Absinthe was to the artists of the time what smoking weed was for the hippies in the 60’s; their “revolutionary guide” and what they believed was the substance that “opened their minds”.

Artists, poets and writers reached for a glass of the Green Fairy for inspiration to their creative works and during “the green hour”, in the late afternoon, many glasses were consumed in Parisian bars and cafes- but not just that, apparently, some artists even began their days with a glass of absinthe. By 1910, the French were consuming 36 million litres of the drink annually.

The active ingredient in absinthe, thujone, is said to have hallucinogenic effects, and taken in such small quantities as in a glass of absinthe it is not considered ‘very dangerous’ (!)

Most people actually believe that the drink is prohibited – well, it was, until the end of the 20th century, when it again became legal after 100 years of being forbidden.

Absinthe in Barcelona

Dalí, Picasso, Oscar Wilde, Ernest Hemingway and Gaudí are all said to have been drinking absinthe in Barcelonas barrio Raval, at that time known as the Barrio Chino.

Bar Marsella opened in 1820, and is said to be Barcelona’s oldest bar, which is certainly believable, when you enter the place and look around. Chandeliers in the ceilings (filled with dust and cobwebs) give a golden, dim light to the place, and all along the walls old bottles are decorating shelves – also covered in cobwebs and dust, with titles so old and worn, that some of them are just a blurred colour sea-green.

There are two toilets in the place, curiously facing one of the table-areas, with glass-doors so that every person who chooses to look, will see almost a clear silhouette of the person inside. Dirty and blurred mirrors decorate the walls and on each of them an instruction/prohibition is written, such as “do not stand on tables”, “no singing” etc.

The bar is as authentic as it is touristy; more than half of its clientele seems to be hip backpacker or TEFL students from the US. However on the outside of the bar works girls in leopard print leggings and stiletto heels, along with men selling various types of drugs.

Authentic, messy, touristy – all with an egdy feel to it, as the night moves on, and people start to “open their minds” with the help of the Green Fairy.

I brought friends here a few times;

… friends passing through Barcelona, or visiting me. I always got great entertainment out of observing the reactions of people whilst drinking their glass of absinthe. Always a bit nervous or excited before, they were asking if it is really okay to drink this stuff, and they went through the ritual of burning the lump of sugar and splashing the water onto it with a bit of hesitation and suspicion. Once they tasted it, they mostly thought it was alright, and then it wouldn’t take long before some sort of reaction would surface.

Depending on how much has been drunk before, the effects vary. In general, after about half a glass or less, I see a significant elevation of mood and feeling. Voices get louder, faces get softer, and it is as if we are all suddenly on a boat. A big, old ship, moving softly. Everyone gets a softer, more friendly and open vibe.

One of my best friends Kristin had the best reaction I witnessed so far. She was extremely verbal and expressive about the feeling, and it really made me want to investigate the effects of absinthe more. She said almost immediately after having only a few sips that “her face feels like when she was a child” and that she hasn’t felt this relaxed since she was in kindergarden. The feeling in the face made her understand how much she, as an adult, focuses her stress directly in her face (around the jaws, eyebrows, etc.)

She continued drinking and exclaimed “I need to tell my boss that I need to drink absinthe, every day, before work! I will do my job so MUCH BETTER! He will surely understand!!”

Another group of Swedish friends that I brought had already had a significant amount of wine with their late tapas dinner, so the effect could not be distinguished as clearly from the already-consumed-alcohol. The noticeable factor in this case, was that the already-slightly-drunk Swedish vikings rapidly deteriorated into a rowdy singing bunch of seamen, singing loudly (despite my eager pointing at the signs saying “Forbidden to Sing” and believe it or not, at one point one of them tried to stand on the table, and suddenly all the prohibitions on the walls seemed made from many years of experience with a common effect from the absinthe.

As we walked out of the bar, this bunch of rowdy, singing Swedish vikings could not walk straight nor speak coherently – they were obviously still on the boat, maybe seasick? — but obviously swimming in a sea of happiness and bliss.

This table is located to the left just as you enter the bar. It always has a ‘reserved’ sign on it, and I always wondered why, until I heard the story of my German friend Christine, who had come to the bar with a group of friends, where one guy is in a wheelchair. The staff at Bar Marsella attended to him immediately and swung the chairs down, invited the group to sit, and made a special all night table service for the group (never heard of normally)!

I was fortunate enough to be taken on a tour of Raval when I first moved to Barcelona by someone who has lived here many years. Bar Marsella was obviously included as one of the main stops, after being shown the street where the prostitutes from Eastern Europe work, and the street where prostitutes from Africa and South America work. (Very important information!)

The bar is situated almost exactly between the two areas for the geographically separated working girls, which surely does add to the exciting feeling of entering a place where all sorts of people have been drinking, for many many years.

My first experience with absinthe ended in me saying repeatedly that “my legs are round and soft” (and then I don’t mean literally; I meant the feeling… do I make sense?)

I was intrigued, to say the least.

I love the place for its decadence, flair, old feeling, dirt and authenticity. The first time I went, I saw a live (huge) cockroach crawl across one of the mirrors. Another friend told me she saw a dead mouse on the floor the other week.

I find that as my glass gets emptier, everything around me softens. The brownish, sea green colours, together with the golden light of the chandeliers, make it all feel like…a boat. I guess… that’s what absinthe does to me.. I feel like I am on a boat, full of rowdy seamen, and it’s all moving softly to the rhythm of the waves.

Outside of the bar is the seedy harbour with the working girls and the men selling drugs.

So last night I went with Emma, who was stressing about all the work she has to do (writing an article about the Spanish elections for one of the biggest newspapers in Sweden, wow!)

She NEEDED an absinthe to relax.

Emma’s friend Lana arrived with her friends, and I got a chance to show off my skills regarding the proper rituals of absinthe preparation.

“You place the lump of sugar on the small fork, on top of the glass, after soaking it thoroughly in the liquor. You the set the sugar alight, and watch the blue flames caress the sugar.”

I was already two thirds down on my absinthe glass, and was doing quite a good show as an experienced absinthe drinker, and I was enjoying being on the boat so much, as it made me feel I was at the centre of the sea of life.

“And then you take the bottle of water, and if you look closely, you will see that the bar men have already prepared the small hole for you in the plastic cap”. “Now, spray the water onto the sugar, and watch it as it melts into the green liquid, and transforms into a milky, emerald green, magical looking drink!”

“Cheers!”

As we went out of the ship and onto the sea of prostitutes and pimps, drug-sellers and young American students, the first thing I saw was a young, African boy lying on the ground, face up. I ran there, and a young Portuguese boy was picking him up, and we tried to talk to the guy, to understand if he needed help, how badly drunk/high he was, etc. Suddenly a bottle smashed really loudly behind us, and everyone looked up to one of the balconies above. Angry neighbour, frustrated after months and months of sleeplessness, in one of the busiest and seediest, and probably loudest, corners of Barcelona.

I decided to go home.

I realised, that I was more than 10 years older than most people around me. I was alone on my ship as I didn’t want to continue drinking nor continue on to another bar.

So I took my ship to the nearest Bicing station, and together with Emma, who decided it was best to go home early to have enough energy to work on her articles, we cycled up, through the Barcelona-night, to our boring, dead, and dry land – Grácia.

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This is Silvia on the left, and me, the forever guiri, on the right. We are, at the moment this picture is taken, waiting for our drinks to arrive at a lush outdoors summery restaurant in her Madrid barrio.

Her Madrid barrio is called Ibiza.

I live in Ibiza.

In 2020, we became friends. We both were going through daily life with a lot of difficulties, but our daily sharing through WhatsApp voice messages, videos, photos, and sometimes even sending each other money in emergencies, were an incredible journey.

From Ibiza, to Ibiza, two single mothers navigating life with small children after having experienced quite extraordinary life circumstances. We told each other everything, and it was just so incredible to know there is another woman out there, living life, doing daily things, going through the stories and sharing them with each other.

I told Silvia about my relationship with Spain, how I struggled as a foreigner, especially with bureaucracy and the systems. I also told her about my love for Spain, and how I always felt so free and at home here. She told me about Spanish as well as the Basque Country, where she grew up, and she taught me many many funny Spanish expressions.

I cant remember if it was her or me who called me “The Forever Guiri” but the second she (or I?) said it, it was so clear. That’s me. I’m a “guiri” because I’m a Northern European, but I’m a Forever Guiri because I’m always everywhere, or living abroad.

(A guiri is a Spanish slang term used to refer to foreigners, particularly light-skinned, often Northern European tourists in Spain. It’s commonly used for visitors who stand out due to their appearance, behavior, or lack of familiarity with Spanish customs—think sunburnt tourists in sandals and socks, struggling with Spanish menus.While the term is generally not offensive, it can sometimes carry a playful or mildly mocking tone, depending on the context. Expats living in Spain also get called “guiris,” especially if they haven’t fully integrated into local culture.)

Yesterday, however, Silvia gave me the compliment of the century. She said:

“YOU LOOK LIKE A GUIRI, BUT YOU’RE NOT A GUIRI.”

She said some more things that cannot be revealed publicly. We have some very open and intelligent conversations about many topics.

So, that’s it. My story with Spain started when I was 20; and here I am, 26 years later, both my children were born here, and their main language is Spanish. I guess you could really say I’ve been adopted by this country by destiny, fate, life coincidences… whether I like it or not, this is now my home, and as you can probably guess, I’m a bit conflicted about it. That’s because my spirit is a wandering, restless one and it doesn’t want to feel stuck anywhere.

But as this is where my children are growing up, this is where I am right now. And I’m definitely making the most of it, which I’ll be sharing here regularly, in my blog about lifestyle and culture in Spain, from the perspective of a Forever Guiri.

With love,
Linda

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