Irish people and others heading to the Balearic Islands were, for the first time last year,faced with an unexpected extra charge for their holiday, an "eco tax" which added an extra couple of euro a night to the hotel bill, writes Elaine Edwards.
Those Irish holidaymakers who have been lining up to book their week in the sun again this year clearly aren't too bothered by the extra cost, levied directly by the hotel on arrival. But from what I saw on a quiet week in Ibiza (I promise it's not a contradiction in terms) the behaviour of some Irish and, to be fair, probably other tourists, merits the levying of an eco tax big enough to keep every one of them away from the beautiful Balearics for good. Although travel agents have appealed against the tax, and it may yet be found to be illegal at EU level, such revenue could well decide whether the islands can continue to extend a warm welcome to so many thousands of visitors each year.
A week in the beautiful, but much maligned, Ibiza was, for me and my mother at least, a quiet holiday. The late-night beats of clubs such as Pacha and the notoriously wild Manumission weren't for us. I doubt if I could hack them even with a group of girly friends of my own thirty-something age group.
Ibiza Uncovered
Ibiza is not, to those in the know, just the ghastly sex-and-drugs-and-rock-and-roll nightclub zone of Ibiza Uncovered. Like many places, it can be anything you want it to be.
For us, soaking up the sun and retiring to bed shortly before midnight after a meal and an early-evening stroll in Ibiza town (then just warming up, but, I'm told, electric in the early hours) was as hectic as things got.
Reckless sun-worshippers that we are, we took to the beach no later than 9 a.m. each morning, close to a number of apartment complexes and hotels which were home mostly to Irish tourists. And in the spirit of two women who like to mind our own business but at the same time listen in on the conversations around us without pretending to understand a word, we just lathered on the factor four (OK, a little low maybe) and listened.
But I also watched closely. I watched as the Irish people around me, to my great shame, but clearly not theirs, daily gave a metaphorical two-finger salute to the Ibiza authorities' efforts to improve the place for residents and tourists alike. Blithely, as they watched their pale children dash in and out of a calm Mediterranean, they smoked their brains out. Then they did exactly the same filthy and infuriating thing that so many Irish pedestrians and motorists every day at home. They flicked their cigarette butts to the ground - into the sand - just feet away. This despite an abundance of bins not the tap of an ash away. The accumulation of cigarette stubs by sundown on this particular stretch of beach was quite impressive and there was a proliferation of them by the end of our week.
Although the local authorities did their very best to keep the area clean, providing a large "sucking" machine to sift the sand on the beach each evening, they clearly could do little about the cigarette butts. No amount of sifting would shift them.
Before lying on a towel in the sand, you first had to kick dozens of cigarette butts away from your chosen few square feet of space in the sun.
Much cleaner
Interestingly, other stretches of the beach where there weren't so many Irish tourists appeared to be much cleaner, with very few cigarette butts or other litter in evidence.
It was sinkingly disappointing, but hardly surprising, to see that Irish people don't discriminate in their contempt for the environment: they treat it just as badly abroad as at home.
One particularly vile event during the week's sunbathing left me speechless. A young father "enjoying" the beach with his wife and a little girl of perhaps two walked the child past me as I lay reading my holiday novel on my best Dunne's Stores beach towel.
As he passed me, he signalled to the child to stop where she stood. He then watched passively as the child peed through her swimming togs straight into the sand just two feet from my head. Not so much as a "Do you mind?" from the gormless parent.
A sign in the bathroom of our apartment read: "Water is scarce in Ibiza. Please don't waste it." The 26-mile wide island struggles most of the year round to cope with the demand on its limited resources from tourists, whether clubbers in search of a dance and sex Nirvana, bookworm sun-worshippers, or older people in search of warmth and rest, or the perfect retirement home in the sun.
Childhood memories
Ibiza holds wonderful childhood memories for me. As a family, we returned to it again and again after my hard-working father discovered the better value for money of an overseas holiday compared with one in Ireland.
We hired cars and bikes and explored the fabulous "White Island", which my father now boasts of knowing almost as well as his native Dublin. And of course, I sulked as my brother and I were dragged for long, uphill walks in the sun around the old town - D'Alt Vila - of Ibiza. Funny, but that's one of the parts I so thoroughly enjoyed this time, some 17 years after my previous visit. Parts of it are slightly faded, but Ibiza still feels like coming "home".
We made no objection to handing over a paltry €7 for a week's "eco tax" when we checked into our apartment on our last visit. But I suspect many people who arrived with us, and many who will travel to Ibiza before the end of this coming scorching summer season, will grumble.
I would have paid 10 times as much just to be sure that I'll still be able to visit Ibiza and enjoy its laid-back charm and warm welcome in 10 or 20 years' time.