“Those who want to be constant in happiness or wisdom must often change,” Confucius said, but there are changes and changes.
The world is changing radically right now, some see it negatively because they notice how greed, hatred, racism and stupidity are becoming more and more powerful. On the other hand, others see this positively, as necessary for humanity to take charge of itself and finally act, participate.
Personal changes are advisable and in almost all cases bring evolution. But in other cases this is not always the case.
Ibiza, for example, has been moving for years to a new reality that is very difficult to see the positive side, and in that longline, it tears things like a tsunami that sees no need to distinguish what to snatch and what not.
Before, rich people came from what is known as quality tourism. Rich people who wanted to know who Tanit is, what is bullit de peix and flaó, wealthy but cultured people, curious, educated in the knowledge that we are cultures, and that it is fascinating to know new cultures because in diversity is beauty.
Since a few years ago, more and more nouveau riche are coming, those ignorant people who measure everything in size and brightness. People who measure others by the material and not by the content of their personality. People that if you don’t charge them a crazy amount they feel they are in the wrong place, that come to the island looking for sushi and Versace, looking for a showcase to show off what they have without even knowing that in that act they are defining themselves. This has caused the island to change its clothes to suit the new client, and with it, over the years, to lose its essence.
And as if that were not enough, the situation that Ibiza (and the world) is going through with the housing crisis has led to the closure of emblematic places on the island in the last two years, with those characteristics that define the personality of the spaces.
From the bookshop and newspapers in Vara de Rey to the transfer of the legendarythe legendary commercial and catering establishments, among them the Bar Comidas San Juan in the port of Ibiza.
A special place, with aura, with a halo of experience, like a box of a thousand experiences impregnated on the walls. Stories of sailors and farmers, of artists and accountants. A place where we were all worth the same, no one was more than anyone else, all united in the same.
Professionally run but in flip-flops, I mean, everything well done but unpretentious, frenetic in summer and Ibizan in winter. And with prices suitable for the people to indulge themselves.
A space where tables were shared with strangers. The faces of the guiris when they realized that someone had sat at their table and it was normal… what a laugh; their faces, a poem. Rich people looking dumbfounded – hallucinating – that no one cared about their status, feeling that which years ago they no longer found or never had – to be treated like a peer. And then, more or less the two chats intertwined into one; community.
And it was so small that we were almost on top of each other and that added to the family atmosphere, it tasted like being in the living room of your house, being all present, friends.
A social center, where you can meet friends without meeting up and have a beer in the street waiting for Carlitos, as if it were bingo, to call your name.
They also provided food and drink.
Bar San Juan has fed hordes of people of all types and origins unimaginable for decades and without changing anything in its original appearance, the San Juan always perennial.
A place where no one was denied a plate of food, be it an international artist, a homeless person or a junkie; “humanity and the Ibizan spirit of not judging people by what they say but by what they do”, as a flag.
Food with grandmother’s hand, simple but homemade, delicious, most of us were going to fixed pinion, each one had his favorite and the scourge of trying something else being unfaithful – for me it was always the baked lamb shoulder and the life with potatoes. But for others it was the Fricandó or the burrida de Ratjada, or the paella first or the baby squid, grilled sardines, grilled cuttlefish or sea bass – all delicious – or the rice of matanzas. And all delivered from a built-in kitchen like a guest room closet. Aerospace engineering.
Founded in 1874 by an Ibicenco from Sant Joan, run by Antonio Marí Marí and María Marí Ferrer since the 40s, until the 90s, when it was passed on to the grandson, Carlos.
Since then he knew how to put his personality and his stamp on it, creating a space where crazy things could happen, for example, that elderly and regular client who was so kind and kind that she ended up being a spy for the SS of the Reich. When Carlos found out about it, he reproached his father for not having warned him, since he had spent time talking to her on several occasions, to which his father replied “you have to know how to forgive”.
Or when the singer Sade, who was a vegetarian, after breaking up with her boyfriend, ordered some costelles de bestiá in the small living room. Thousands, millions of stories of famous and anonymous people, that from now on, will only bounce on those walls and in the memories of those of us who were fortunate to live them.
I called Carlos Carlitos I went to Marí to ask for an interview but he preferred to pass. He explained why, and I understood that the melons were still settling in the truck. It is a time of readjustment, which is no small thing, to a new life after 25 years in the hotel business, and those of us who know this world know what it crushes and deprives.
-I‘d better not, or I’ll get hot,” he also gushed in reaction to my question of what happened, tired of issues stemming from bad policies that do not improve or solve the setbacks faced by entrepreneurs in the sector.
-I said,“Whatever you want to tell me, tell me, what happened,” I asked.
–It was already impossible to maintain staff, the housing problem had reached the point where there are few qualified people who can live here, and those who can, are taken by those who can offer more money. He goes on to say “I was under a lot of stress, missing so many moments with my family, family celebrations and moments or even Pink Floyd style concerts in Barcelona… life”.
And it’s true, I remember, the hotel business, not to mention the double shift, enslaves you, takes you over, and when you let go you are so tired that you want to relax with your legs against the wall. your legs against the wallAnd the last thing you want is to keep talking to more people, even if they are your own.
After a pause, he confesses that his mother, who was already seeing him badly, made him reflect; “my mother sat me down and told me that that was it, that it was time to let go and enjoy more time and family…” to conclude with the inevitable, “and she convinced me, the current operational problems and the need to dedicate more time to my family added up, she convinced me because she was right”.
Now the adventure of the new life, I could not avoid asking and now what happens if it is already known to what he answers me “there is still a fringe to let go completely but right now I only think about resting and family, with a desire to perhaps the possibility of emigrating … but little by little“.
Hopefully this will not be a domino and the businesses that make the island what it is will continue to close.
Greed, corruption, ineptitude, Airbnb, and whoever else can take away places that we feel are part of our lives, but they can never steal our memories.
I insist, the personality of the island exists thanks to the historical places, the authentic ones, especially in this world of farce and plastic.
Thank you Carlitos, your family and all of you who worked there, for being part of our history!
And let’s all raise a glass of herbs in honor of Bar San Juan!
[fotos cedidas por Carlos Marí]
