IF THERE

WAS EVER A

PLACE WHERE

A MAN MAY BE

TEMPTED TO

BITE AN

UNKNOWN

WOMAN'S NAVEL,

THAT PLACE

IS IBIZA

IN AUGUST.

[Mallemaroking runs amok]



I B I Z A | A N A V E L V O Y A G E



C O N T E N T S

My Private Wanderlust
By Don George, Editor

Ibiza: A Navel Voyage
By Karl Taro Greenfeld
- Books
on the Mediterranean
- Getting there

Mallemaroking
runs amok

By Simon Winchester
- Books by Simon Winchester

D E P A R T M E N T S

Postmark: New York
By Dwight Garner

Passages:
"Waltz at the End of Earth"
By Paula McDonald

Table Talk
- Readers' Tips
and Tales


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E A R L I E R

Welcome to Wanderlust
Don George, Editor

Isabel Allende
Jan Morris
Pico Iyer
Peter Mayle
Amanda Jones
Tim Cahill
Postmark: Paris



BY KARL TARO GREENFELD | summer in Ibiza was fine until my friend Christopher, drunk on too much tequila and Pescador wine -- an intoxicatingly sweet and fizzy Sprite-like white wine -- bit Isabella Estrapulos, the granddaughter of the most powerful man on the island, on the navel. I didn't witness the act; I had stayed home that night. It all started innocently enough when Chris and my girlfriend, Silka, drove to the center of Ibiza's old city to rendezvous with a few of our friends at Banana's, a popular joint overlooking the harbor. Chris began slamming tequila shots and ogling the women promenading along the boardwalk. Then came the incident that could be either dismissed as youthful indiscretion or prosecuted as sexual harassment.

When Silka and Chris returned from their evening excursion only an hour and a half later, two sides had already formed. On one side was everyone we knew; they were angry, insulted and repulsed by Chris' misconduct. On the other side was Chris.

"He bit Isabella," said Veronique, a Dutch woman who had been living on Ibiza for several years, "on the stomach."

As those who witnessed the incident, or claimed to, recounted it, the legend grew. By 1 a.m., when everyone headed off for a full moon party in San Josep, Chris -- who had long since passed out -- had emerged as a kind of Grendel on Vacation, terrorizing the city and gorging himself on tequila and bellybuttons.


If there was ever a place where a man may be tempted to bite an unknown woman's navel, that place is Ibiza in August. Ibiza is the third largest of the Balearics, a group of four Mediterranean islands so small that on most maps, only Majorca, the largest and most famous of the islands, merits a touch of green topographical coloring. Ibiza is usually only a speck, with its name flying from it like a pennant. While Ibiza exudes an atmosphere conducive to outlandish behavioral outbursts, it is Majorca that remains the most renowned Balearic, with Michael Douglas, Princess Stephanie of Monaco, Alain Delon and Michael Caine all making regular cameos. Majorca is also the most heavily touristed, with more than 5 million visitors each year.

Ibiza is Majorca's funky cousin -- the island has a little bit of that East Hampton-in-the-'50s flavor, when rising art world figures such as Leo Castelli, Willem de Kooning and Jackson Pollock lived or spent summers on the island, and there was still good property for less than six digits. Spanish aristocrats discovered the natural splendor of Ibiza in the 1930s. Back then, the summer tradition among the best Spanish families was to take a two-month Balearic sojourn: a month in Majorca for socializing and a month in Ibiza for recreation. But it was the European artiste crowd that made Ibiza the multicultured, multi-classed resort it is today. Dutch painter Jan Kramer, Polish director Roman Polanski and the rock group Pink Floyd were among the first to give Ibiza its boho reputation, and their legacy of soporific days and salacious nights is still going strong.

Silka pointed out that Chris may have been overwhelmed by that atmosphere, rendered momentarily senseless by the exposed midriffs and microscopic minis displayed along Ibiza's waterfront, by the tanned, muscled, studly goddesses and gods who walked the walk. Ibiza at night is Sodom and Gomorrah, costumed by Frederick's of Hollywood and shot by Steven Meisel. And Chris was a guy from New Jersey looking for a good time. You do the math.




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