The dream of the Ibiza villa is still very much alive.
But I’ve come to learn that before you can build or upgrade anything on this island, you must first navigate the labyrinth of Spanish bureaucracy.
And let me tell you—this is not a process for the faint-hearted.
After weeks of chasing quotes and finally making progress on the home cinema room, I figured I’d turn my attention to some of the more practical aspects of the renovation. Specifically, the driveway.
Simple enough, right? Wrong.
Turns out, any significant modification to a driveway—especially in a place like Ibiza, where environmental regulations are a force unto themselves—requires official approval.
When I mentioned this to Sofia over dinner, she just smirked and said, “Welcome to Spain.” I knew it was bad when even my lawyer sighed before explaining the process.
“So, how long are we talking?” I asked him, hoping for something reasonable.
“Well,” he said carefully, “it depends. Could be a few weeks. Could be a few months.”
I sighed. “Great. So I’ll have a finished home before I have a finished driveway.”
He didn’t laugh.
And then, of course, there’s the energy permits. With my recent deep dive into solar energy, I thought I’d at least check what’s required to install a system that might offset the villa’s energy costs. More forms. More approvals. More waiting. I’m almost at the point of picking up smoking again just for something to do while I wait.
Almost.
Every step of the process seems to require a visit to the local ayuntamiento, a stack of documents, and the patience of a saint. Contractors shrug when I ask about timelines. The response is usually the same: “Depende.”
Meanwhile, I’ve started looking at short-term solutions. Maybe I can get a temporary driveway laid while I wait for the approvals to come through. Maybe the solar panels can be phased in rather than installed all at once. Maybe I’ll just accept that island time applies to paperwork as much as it does to siestas.
Maybe I’ll just give up?
For the first time in my life, I actually feel a little relief realizing I could just not go ahead with my own plans. But then I hear my Father’s voice in my ear: “If a job’s worth doing, then it’s worth doing properly.” Dammit. I never thought moving to Ibiza would be such a test of patience!
For now, I’ll keep chasing approvals, bribing myself with nicotine gum, and hoping that—one day soon—the villa will be more than just a great idea on paper.