UK to Ibiza by train and ferry

All aboard the boat to Ibiza

Getting to Ibiza without flying: Take the ferry from the UK  to Northern Spain then train down to Barcelona to pick up the ferry to Ibiza OR take the Eurostar to Paris, overnight sleeper train to Barcelona to catch the ferry to Ibiza. Below, Paul Miles describes how he took the ferry route via Northern Spain. For more information about the second route (via Eurostar and the overnight sleeper train from Paris to Madrid), see: How to Travel from London to Ibiza by train and ferry.

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Paul Miles describes his route from the UK to Ibiza:

“We gather here on Tanit’s island to witness the start of your life together,” says the celebrant, reaching into a silver chalice for a handful of petals that she scatters over the happy couple. “We rejoice! They are wed!” she pronounces, as petals flutter earthwards, the newly-weds kiss and Bob Marley’s ‘we’re jammin’ fills jasmine-scented air in the gardens of a boutique hotel.

Tanit was a Phoenician fertility goddess and one of the deities worshipped on this Mediterranean island. Her power is still invoked on Ibiza but these days, she usually plays second fiddle to Mammon.

Modern-day Ibiza has gone through many incarnations: from hippy hang-out to cheap ‘n’ cheerful party island to a more refined, but still bohemian bolt-hole for well-heeled A-listers and wannabees. Yoga retreats and elegant boutique hotels in old fincas have opened. No longer is it just clubbing that gets the pulse racing. Cycling is the newest activity, with companies offering mountain bike tours over rugged pine-clad hills. Ibiza of the Spanish sun, sea and sex variety has become Catalan and ‘green’ Eivissa.

It’s all very well enjoying organic produce at an agroturism hotel, cycling, walking and discovering your inner self, but if you’ve flown there, your karma is already out of kilter. The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change says that emissions at high altitude are 2.7 times more damaging than others. Like many, I am trying to fly less. So we decided to travel slowly from Britain to Ibiza (Eivissa) by train and ferry. It cost far more - in money - than a cheap return flight with a no-frills airline but the travel – nearly 60 hours of it - was part of the holiday. You can’t say that of an EasyJet flight from Luton. 

We get no further than Portsmouth ferry terminal before we worry that we’ve made an awful mistake. The inadequate building is seething with people, many clutching drinks. A nun with bosoms of balloons cavorts with surgeons in masks and gowns and men in afro wigs. It seems several stag and hen parties are about to board. Thankfully, it turns out, most are bound for other destinations. We are heading to northern Spain on P&O’s ‘The Pride of Bilbao.’ We cruise out of harbour, the city’s impressive buildings lighting the skyline. Below deck, blackjack tables are busy, cabaret dancers performing songs from Cats and the men in afro wigs spilling into corridors. We sit in the observation deck watching reflections of a full moon before retiring to our spacious, albeit basic, double cabin. Despite a reputation for stormy seas, nothing more than a constant swell rocks us to sleep. At daybreak, we venture out, 100ft above the sea on deck eleven, to watch the sunrise. Fulmars fly past at eye-level and the ocean surrounds us. After breakfast we attend a talk by the ship’s wildlife officer, John Arnott, of conservation organisation MarineLife. They have been surveying whales and dolphins from the ferry for over ten years. Over a third of the world’s 84 species of cetaceans (whales and dolphins) have been seen from the Pride of Bilbao.

The Bay of Biscay reaches a depth of over four kilometres. You could hide the Alps below the surface. Then, near the coast of Spain and France, a steep underwater cliff means it suddenly becomes shallower. Deep currents that have travelled across the Atlantic are forced upwards, bringing nutrients with them. It is this topography that makes the perfect habitat for cetaceans. They dive below the waves, sieving plankton or rounding up tuna into silver-flashing mirror balls. The largest creatures on the planet – the tongue of a blue whale is the weight of an elephant – swim gracefully in the dark. After hours below, a blue whale rises, forces a fountain from its blowhole and floats on the surface, reoxygenating its enormous 150 tonne bulk.

Enthusiasts pay a fortune to go on whale watching holidays in exotic destinations but, if lucky, we might get to see all this from the top deck of a ferry. Arnott gives us tips on how to spot  – scan the horizon first, look for blows and splashes and listen out for announcements over the tannoy on deck. “If I say we’ve got dolphins at 3 ‘o’clock, don’t think ‘oh well, that’s alright then, I’ll come back later’ as some passengers did,” he quips. “Some even ask if we feed the dolphins or teach them tricks.” We sit outside all day, waiting for the show, sun shining, wind cool. Finally, our patience is rewarded with the sight of dozens of common dolphins, torpedoing through the sea, flashing golden flanks, as they zoom towards us to ride – for fun - the pressure wave at the bow.

We arrive at Bilbao, as dawn glimmers. 36 hours after leaving Portsmouth and already we feel relaxed, as if we’ve been on holiday. From Bilbao centre, we go to Atxuri train station to buy tickets to prettier, seaside San Sebastian, to spend a night. The man in the ticket office, practising English, asks: “Are you friends of the railways?” We shake our heads, puzzled. “Is better by bus.” But we are in no hurry. We are ‘friends’ of the railways I guess? Not notebooks-and-binoculars friends but rather-train-than-road friends. On the local, hourly ‘Eusko Tren’, we chug through Basque country’s alpine scenery – mountains, haystacks, cabbage patches, old farmhouses and assorted industry - for nearly three hours. A young, drunk, proud Basque youth chats with us. “My grandfather father…” and he makes the action of a man shooting a rifle... “for talking Basque,” he says. 

In glorious San Sebastian (or Donostia) we jog along the sandy crescent of La Concha beach and enjoy views from our seafront hotel, Niza. We wander in the characterful old town and eat plates of wonderful ‘pintxos’ – Basque tapas. 
Next morning we set off for Barcelona. The train is old and slow with squidgy seats and only instant coffee. Photographs of food in the buffet car look like Martin Parr’s artwork. We pass from alpine scenery to dry, stony vineyards, then semi-desert. Finally we’re back to mountains – rugged, rocky and red, with olive trees in crumbling terraces. From Reus we hug the coast. Beaches are empty but for anglers fishing in the dusk.

Nearly ten hours after leaving Donostia, we arrive at Barcelona. It is a short metro ride to the port where we board the new Balearia ferry, Pau Casals, for a ten-hour overnight voyage to Eivissa Town on Ibiza. The crossing is as smooth as a café con leche and we sleep well in our bunks. In the morning, while it is still dark, the walled old town, silhouetted under the moon, looms over us. Finally, we have arrived on Tanit’s island.

A version of this article, by Paul Miles, was first published in the Financial Times.