As Ibiza has grown up, I’ve found myself searching for the same feeling that first brought me back.
Every year someone tells me Ibiza isn’t what it used to be. They’re probably right. They’re also probably talking about the version of the island they first fell in love with.
Mine was somewhere around 2009 to 2011. Not because the clubs were better, although many would argue they were. It was because the island still rewarded curiosity. The best recommendations weren’t on Instagram or handed to you by a concierge. They travelled between friends. Someone would mention Hostal La Torre over dinner, tell you to drive to KM5 for a late drink, or suggest spending the afternoon at Jockey Club because “you’ll end up staying longer than you planned”. More often than not, I did.
My relationship with Ibiza has never been quite the same as most people’s. I lived here for a period and, while working at BlackBerry, used the island as my European base, flying in and out between meetings across the continent. Through work I found myself representing brands, helping established clubs commercialise and watching new venues fight to earn their place. It felt as though someone had handed me a golden key. Before long I’d built a black book that opened almost every door on the island.
For someone in their twenties, it was intoxicating.
Not because of the parties, although there were plenty of those. It was the possibility. Every time the plane landed, it felt as though anything could happen over the next few days. Deals were struck over lunch. Friendships formed after sunset. Someone arrived for a weekend and somehow never really left. Ibiza has always had a remarkable ability to compress life into a few square miles.
People often describe the island as two different worlds: the south for parties, the north for peace. I’ve never really agreed. The north has never been quiet. It has simply never felt the need to perform. Its parties might mean an entire village spilling into the streets for a patron saint fiesta, rather than a DJ behind a booth. It has always attracted people who wanted to discover the island rather than consume it.
That’s what has changed most. Not the music. Not the hotels. The way we experience it.
Today almost everything is planned. Tables are reserved weeks in advance. Beach clubs have become destinations in their own right. Every experience seems to have another tier, another wristband or another VIP area beyond the one you’ve already paid for. I remember seeing Leonardo DiCaprio tucked onto what was effectively a corner staircase at Amnesia because, even there, somebody had found another level of exclusivity.
It made me smile because it summed Ibiza up perfectly. The island has become exceptionally good at monetising aspiration.
Commercially, it’s hard to argue with the results. Groups such as Palladium recognised earlier than most that Ibiza wasn’t simply competing with the Balearics anymore. It was competing globally. Hard Rock wasn’t just another hotel opening. It was a statement of intent. Better hotels followed. Better restaurants followed. The season stretched beyond the traditional summer months, helped by events like IMS, with April and October now feeling every bit as relevant as July and August. That’s good for local businesses, good for year-round employment and ultimately good for the island.
Success isn’t the problem. Sameness is.
The danger for any destination is not becoming more luxurious. It’s becoming interchangeable with every other luxury destination on the Mediterranean.
That’s why the places I value most have become the ones that know exactly what they are.
Hacienda Na Xamena is one of them.
I’ve watched the island evolve around it, yet every time I drive through the pine trees and arrive on that cliff edge, it feels reassuringly familiar. The rooms have improved, as they should have. Service has evolved. Expectations have risen. But the hotel has resisted the temptation to reinvent itself simply because the market demanded something new.
The older I get, the more I admire businesses that understand what not to change.
Luxury has become obsessed with novelty. New concepts. New restaurants. New wellness experiences. New reasons to return. Yet the hotels I remember most are rarely the newest. They’re the ones with enough confidence to leave well alone. Good luck defending that in a boardroom armed with occupancy data and a growth target.
Hacienda understands that nobody really drives up that winding road because of the room. They come for the feeling. The view still silences conversation. The sunset still reminds you that nature remains a better show than anything we could build ourselves. For an hour or so, the pace of the island slows again.
These days my Ibiza looks very different. Finding the quietest beach at the crack of dawn with two kids. A guilt-free beer and a wrap from Mr Kebap in Santa Eulària. One last sunset at Hacienda before heading home. There were years when it meant Christmas walks on almost empty beaches before catching a connecting flight home through Madrid. Over time, I’ve grown to love every season because each reveals a different island.
Perhaps that’s why I no longer believe Ibiza has lost what made it special. It has simply become harder to find.
The best parts of the island have always asked you to look a little further, stay a little longer and listen to the people who know it best. That was true when I first arrived and, despite everything that has changed, it’s still true today.
Every generation believes it experienced the best Ibiza. I suspect every generation is right.
The trick is accepting that the island was never meant to stay the same. Only the feeling was.
