The dark side of paradise
Ibiza 2000 was a well presented media event. Day time TV broadcast live from the island, Lynx ran their own mini-festival and every company and its pets offered you a chance to win the Holiday Of A Lifetime there™. MTV even staged a festival with 5ive and, of all people, Geri 'so bad she's actually fucking awful' Halliwell. Thousands of punters flew in for a week in the sun and came back several hundred quid lighter and with good (if patchy) memories. Slick, safe and well managed.
Early this June I also jetted out to Ibiza. But not for seven days in the sun. Instead I joined the thousands who come to Ibiza every year aiming to find work and subsidise a four month mash up. Until then I'd been a Balearic virgin, ignorant of the harsh realities of Ibizan life. Working as a PR (the posh name for the annoying people handing out flyers) I soon discovered a slightly less sunny side to the White Isle. One problem is that flyering is illegal; although the clubs keep this pretty quiet when they're recruiting workers in the UK during close season. This means that a day's shift involves spending a fair amount of time looking over your shoulder for the police. Getting caught normally entails nothing more than confiscation of your flyers and a ticking off. But not always. I had two friends who worked for a major San Antonio beach side bar. For them being caught meant being bundled into a police van, being told they were going to be deported, handcuffed to a chair, spat at, and then finally being dumped in San Antonio at four o'clock in the morning. Another friend, not wanting to lose a night's valuable work, tried to make a run for it when the police spotted him. He didn't make it and received a good enough kicking to leave him unable to walk for two days.
The other problem with PRing is that you're paid on commission. So if no one hands in your flyers, you don't get paid. A top PR might make £120 a week. £50 a week is far more common. As people blow the money they've saved up before coming out, they get more and more desperate. It's not uncommon to see homeless workers sleeping on the beach. Unsurprisingly many turn to alternative means of making money; usually selling drugs, which offers a guaranteed 100% profit. But this too has it's dangers, mainly competition with existing gangs. Getting caught selling inside a club equals a kicking from the club security and the confiscation of your stash (which is then passed on the clubs 'licensed' dealers to sell). The police's attitude to drugs is also less than even-handed. I had friends who spent three days in solitary confinement in Spanish prisons for 'suspicion of dealing' (In fairness to the police I should perhaps point out that they were guilty as hell). But the police have also been known to turn a blind eye to other examples of drug dealing. Rumours abound that corrupt police are being paid to ignore the activities of the organised drug gangs that control most of the dealing on the island.
In fact many of the large clubs on the island are run by powerful local businessmen, whose influence extends through much of Ibiza's tourist resorts. I remember talking to the promoter of a major English club night on the island. He'd been told by one venue owner that any attempt to put one over on him would have serious consequences. In the words of the Spanish 'businessman', "You fuck weeth us, you go in the bay." "What can you do?" asked the promoter glumly, "He's got the mayor in his back pocket." A handful of these local bosses own a large proportion of the clubs, bars and hotels on the island. These are the guys who never get interviewed by Ibiza Uncovered or Mixmag. They effectively control the Island. Again, rumours of the involvement of the Spanish mafia have not been convincingly proven. But the dodgy characters hanging around behind the regular security at most clubs don't do much to dispel the rumours either. Talk to any of the English drug dealers and they'll tell you that the top end of the drug supply chain is controlled by the same gangs that have a hand in running the clubs.
So, life in Ibiza. An endless round of police brutality, organised crime and grinding poverty. You'd been mad to work there. Well, no actually. Because despite all the problems it's also the maddest, most full on and generally sorted place in the world. As a worker in Ibiza, you won't always be rich and you won't always be safe, but you'll never, ever be bored. And yes, I will be back there next year.
16th Nov 2000