Before the land we had left was out of sight, two little clouds low on the western horizon were recognized as outlying islets of the Ivizan group. Then, as we gradually approached nearer, hills upon hills, promontories, more islets, appeared; and still we steadily steamed westwards. The sun sank in golds and greys behind the Ivizan heights, and still we went on through the grey gloom, past a rocky, indented coast on which we saw no sign of habitation.
Then, out of the darkness arose the vision of a town piled on an eminence—a town of unexpected beauty, for from the tranquil waters of the almost landlocked bay to the highest point it was sparkling with lights. It was Iviza, the one important town of the main island.
To the hoarse grating of her anchor chain the Lulio swung to, and through the darkness the vague outlines of rowing boats could be seen approaching.
The young boatman who was the first to accost us secured our custom, and we stepped down the accommodation-ladder into the swaying boat. Half a dozen natives followed, carrying their belongings in big cotton handkerchiefs, a form of Balearic travelling case that to me always seemed peculiarly alluring, for when not in actual service, the handkerchief-portmanteau could be folded and stowed in the pocket; or even, did occasion require, be put to other uses.
The behaviour of the boatman who rows him ashore in a new country serves the experienced traveller as symbol of the treatment awaiting him in that country. Our boatman asked one real each—twopence-halfpenny—as his fee, which was exactly the sum required of the native passengers. And that served as our token of Iviza. We would be treated with strict honesty—there was but one price either for native or stranger.
The arrival of the steamer, whose departure from Palma had attracted so little attention, was a matter of importance at Iviza. People clustered on the pier, and the steps leading to the water's edge were so densely crowded that it was difficult for those landing to find foot-room.
A burly Ivizan took the luggage, and after a cursory custom's inspection we reached the fonda, which was only a stone's-cast away. The fonda, which appeared to be the only one in the town, was delightfully situated on the harbour. The rooms allotted to us were the best in the house. Two opened from the drawing-room and one had a balcony overlooking the water. The inclusive charge was six pesetas a day—about four shillings and sixpence of English money.
Supper was in process of serving. Going downstairs, we entered the dining-room, to find one long table at which were seated about a dozen men. Judging rashly by our Minorcan experience, we classified them collectively as commercial travellers, and concluded that Iviza must be a more important place than we had imagined, if it gave employment to so many.
The meal, which revealed a lack of inspiration on the part of the cook, was served by a solitary waiter. When it was over, we went out and felt our way about the streets. The capital town of Iviza, which is built on a high rock, faces the sea. It has no back, no other side. The old town, which is surmounted by the Cathedral and the castle, is entirely surrounded by a perfectly preserved Roman wall. The newer portion of the town, which is built on land reclaimed from the sea, lies just below the principal gate of the old city.