13/06

La Solitaria Caseta Verda was an ecological commune set some two kilometres inland, which on so diminutive an island was roughly equivalent to 90 Mile Beach from Melbourne. Perched on the rugged slopes of a valley abounding in olive and carob trees, vegetable gardens and irrigation channels, it was a postcard image of the Mediterranean where the sun beat hard and beyond the rocky hills on the horizon was a thin glimpse of the sea. At the bottom of the property, a rainwater flume serving both irrigation pumps and a small but sophisticated hydroelectric generator was housed in a manmade ravine. Drinking water tanks dotted the landscape. Contrary to the usual clayish, infertile soil of the region, La Solitaria Caseta Verda grounds were all of a maternal richness, dusky in colour, so-kept by the flume, the sustained efforts of volunteers – of whom Bryan was soon to be one – and the compost produced every three months by a block of organic toilets, whose insides were decorated ironically by mosaic pictures of dolphins and other creatures of the water.

The main building – including the eating quarters – of the commune smelt of incense and aloe vera; extracted aloe juice was blended with lemon and served to drink at all meals, venerated as a sort of elixir. On its flat white roof were seven large solar panels, which along with the hydrogenerator supplied power to the entire facility. But except for any technological apparatus – including the broadband cables, laptops and printers inside the media and communications office – every single edifice had been constructed to the greenest of specifications. That was something Phillip, the South African founder of   La Solitaria Caseta Verda and a former nautical engineer, whose inquisitive eyes and strong, wiry build suggested a great zeal for life and work, had stressed with tremendous pride to Bryan when he first arrived.
“Look around you,” he said, repeating everything in Catalan for the local arrivals, “and you’ll see the value placed here on finding new uses for old things, on avoiding, as much as we possibly can do, the need to purchase brand new items when a similar or better result can be achieved with so-called rubbish and just a little ingenuity. This is the Friends of the Earth Headquarters for the whole Illes Balears, and it is our duty here to showcase green living as practically as we can. These buildings here, yurt, Gaya centre, toilets, head office and the kitchen to your right, have all been constructed using the very earth we’re standing on as bricks, and old glass bottles from the Ibiza Recycling Plant for fortification. The ceilings are shored up with satellite dishes headed for landfill; the windows are, as I’m sure you can see, car windscreens from the scrapheap. The mosaic art on our paths and in the toilet and shower was done by Ingrid and her son Matthias, using tile factory off-cuts and an adhesive made from carob. Ingrid also cooks for us using all the beautiful vegetarian produce we grow onsite and on a neighbouring farm by agreement with the owner. In the twenty years I’ve been here there have been no major structural problems, knock on wood. And speaking of which, all our tables and chairs I made using wooden palettes that someone had dumped thoughtlessly on Cala Saona.” And as he led Bryan and the others around the facility, Phillip proudly brought a host of other initiatives to their attention: children’s play areas and educational demonstrations; solar-powered fountains; nature shower that was entirely translucent and commanded a breathtaking view of the valley (with an ancillary gas heater to ensure the water was always warm); another two toilets nearing completion; music area – with DJ equipment for occasional psychedelic raves – and a resident cat which, he swore on his good name, had been trained to steer clear of native wildlife.

What impressed Bryan most about La Solitaria Caseta Verda, however, were its various volunteer accommodations. He was swept into a sort of second boyhood at the sight of tree houses, caves, tepees, even an old clay limekiln split in two by a massive oak branch, transformed into simple, beautiful spaces with Spanish throw-rugs, books in English, French, German, Swedish, Catalan, and views like he had never seen from out a bedroom window.