(by Pablo Burgués)


Hi, friends, here you have the third and last part of my meeting with those wonderful creatures that call themselves “the last hippies of Ibiza”. If you haven’t read the two previous posts you can do it clicking here. And let me tell you that if you don’t read them an innocent walrus-dog will die. Don’t tell me you haven’t been warned… 

As I was telling you… At the cave of the vantage point at Es Vedrà where the hippies live I met a friend of Whistles whom I’ll call Ouija. He’s a charming guy and the quintessence of Hippieness: well-mannered, kind, a big smile and a great hug always ready. We sat on an old mattress at the entrance of the cave and we talked for a long while on the human and the divine. The guy was coughing all the time so I asked him if he had a cold. After a long silence the following words that I’ll never forget came out from his mouth: “A couple of days ago I was about to die after a Russian Nazi practiced Vodun on me”. Russian, Nazi and Vodun in the same sentence? That combination seemed so crazy and wonderful to me that I begged him to tell me that story leaving no detail out.

It seems that in Ibiza there is a Russian former soldier that lives on the street and is quite troublesome. The guy always dresses in Nazi emblems and for some time now he does nothing more than bothering the hippies.

Ouija told me that some days ago the Russian Nazi shat in the cave. I asked him how he knew it had been the Russian and he told me that the shit had the shape of a swastika. Hahahahaha, well, I’ve made this up, but it’d have been such a marvellous reply that couldn’t avoid including it in this story. His original reply was that a friend had seen the Russian prowling around and then they found Nazi symbols and also Vodun ones painted in the forest. “He put the Vodun inside me and some days later I started to feel myself very bad. I went to the hospital and they diagnosed I had Herpes Zoster”.

Herpes Zoster? More than an illness that seemed the name of a Swedish death metal band. Seeing my sceptical face after listening such a story, Ouija showed me the medical report he was given at the hospital. “The doctors told me that I had to be hospitalized several days but I told them I wouldn’t, I asked them to give me the strongest thing they had so that I could go away”. According to the report they gave him several injections of I-don’t-know-what and some morphine tablets for the pain. “You can’t imagine the buzz that the morphine gives you. From the hospital I went directly to dance at a disco”.

It was already completely dark so I told Ouija that I had to go. But when we were saying goodbye we listened to some steps approaching the cave… I held my breath just thinking those steps could be the Russian Nazi Vodun coming ready to offer us another of his anal ephemeral art pieces… I caught my breath again when I discovered that the mysterious figure was Whistles, who came to ask me if I could drive him down to Ibiza. “Tonight it’ll be very cold here so I prefer to get down to the city and sleep at a cash dispenser I know”.

On our way to Ibiza, Whistles told me about his 33 years as football referee. “I’ve been the only hippie referee in the world”, he said proudly. When we got to the city I asked him where should I drop him, and he told me to take him to a bar in the centre because before going to sleep he wanted to watch a thrilling Osasuna-Eibar match of the Copa del Rey football competition. Before getting out of the car, to end the party in an outlandish way and in solemn commemoration of our friendship, Whistles opened a half-litre beer he had in his pocket, raised his arm and shouted: “To us, the hippies!” He drank half of it at one gulp and then he gave me a big hug, spilling the other half on the car seat. “Don’t worry, boy, beer leaves no stain”.



Translation: Dora Sales

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