Casa Valentin

Francisco Romero Juan, known to everyone simply as "Paco Valentín", was born in Ibiza on 10th March 1946. In a few days he will turn 80 years old – a man who has not merely witnessed nearly eight decades of island history, but helped shape it.

"Ibiza used to be very quiet", Paco recalls. "People were friendlier, more respectful. Not necessarily more educated, but more respectful." In the mornings one greeted each other with "Buenos días"; in the street one would stop and chat. "Today everyone just walks past", he says with a hint of wistfulness. "In the countryside it's still different, there the people are from before. But in town..."

The Business Without Computers

For years Paco worked in car hire – a business he ran without computers, without telephones, using only his head. "I knew I had to deliver four cars. I noted down the name, the room number in the hotel, and the client waited for me. In the evening we collected the vehicles again. Everything in my head."

The tourists back then – English, French, Germans, Italians – stayed seven, fourteen days, sometimes longer. "I had clients who came back every year. We were almost like family. They always asked after my parents, how everyone was doing. It was more personal, not like today: take the car, pay, goodbye."

Today everything is different. Tourists stay two, three, at most four nights. "More clients, more work", Paco explains. "In the past you had a week before you saw the car again. Today you have to clean, prepare, deliver every day. More stress. But", he adds with a smile, "the young people are here, we're all here to serve the clients well. So they go home satisfied and come back."

Even today Paco works – with pencil and rubber. "If I make a mistake, I can rub it out. I don't like crossing things out", he explains, proudly showing his little notepads. "The boss, he can do everything with the computer. But I'm faster with my pencil!"

The Nights at Mar Blau

In his youth, Paco was a passionate dancer. His second home was the Mar Blau, a famous nightclub near the windmills – today one knows the place more for the hostal above, but below there was this legendary club.

"That was my second home", Paco enthuses. "Every night we went dancing. We were a group of friends, and some of us still remember the adventures at Mar Blau today."

The club began at half past ten, eleven o'clock. There were wonderful shows, magnificent musicians. The Los Zit orchestra played for dancing. Famous artists came: Gina Baró, Dúo Dinámico, and a fantastic flamenco ensemble – Los Toledanos, Paco remembers.

"During the day I worked, and from ten o'clock in the evening I just waited to go dancing again." How did he manage it? "Sometimes I went to work with one eye half-closed, but by midday I was fit again. Today I wouldn't last five minutes! But back then that was our daily bread."

There were clubs in San Antonio too: Ses Savines, La Isla Blanca, and others. "That was life: work during the day, party at night. And we managed it!"

Winters in Ibiza

In winter, when the tourists had gone, things became quieter. But the young people met at Club Tánit, a legendary dance club that stood where the Consell Insular is today – opposite the entrance. "Many marriages came out of there", Paco laughs.

On Saturdays and Sundays it was off to Las Vegas, where an orchestra played – in Calle del Mar, where the Chinese restaurant Nadkin used to be. "We went round the bars, danced, and the next day it was back to work."

A Life Without Regrets

Today, at nearly 80 years old, Paco Valentín looks back on a fulfilled life. He has watched the island transform itself – from the quiet, familial atmosphere of the post-war period to an international tourist magnet. He misses the slowness, the respect, the personal relationships of those days. But he doesn't quarrel with the present.

"Everyone does their own thing now", he says philosophically. "As long as they don't bother you, everything's alright."

And whilst the world around him becomes more digital, Paco stays with his pencil and rubber – a relic from a time when a handshake was worth more than a contract, and a friendly "Buenos días" could be the beginning of a lifelong friendship.