The Palma neighborhood fighting against tourist rentals

PalmA lemon tree stands guard in the courtyard of Jaume Gelabert's family home. After his parents died, he bought half of it from his brother and renovated it to return to where he was happy, in the Palma neighborhood of Son Espanyolet. Sitting in front of the tree, he recalls how, during his childhood, neighbors would come to pick lemons, the doors were always open, and "everything was shared." Today, something of that neighborhood life survives in a tall staircase that, through the walls, the owners pass around when they need it. "Why buy more if we have one? Why should everyone have everything?" he argues, advocating for a way of life based on human connection. However, the neighborhood's tranquility was shattered when, starting in 2018, Norwegian businessman Erik Oren bought a dozen houses in the area to transform them into tourist rentals with a capacity for more than 150 people. At that point, two models clashed: that of a community that understands housing as a space for living and belonging; and that of tourism-real estate investment, which sees it as an asset to maximize its profits.

Oren's tenants began causing problems. Groups of young people looking for a good time would take turns week after week, for months. The cycle would start all over again the following season. "Even when they weren't throwing any parties. Two taxis mean four doors closing; the bonfires in the pool, and you're trying to sleep. It's not a neighbor who does it once or twice a year, which is understandable. It's every single day. Simply put, tourist rentals shouldn't exist where people live," says Gelabert. The affected residents founded the Son Espanyolet Residents' Platform to fight against the Norwegian's model. "If the houses had a capacity for 14 people, they far exceeded the permitted occupancy. Mattresses were moved from one property to another, and he set up more sleeping spaces than he had registered. However, the police have only responded to us on a handful of occasions," recounts one neighbor.

The Platform began to take action, prepared to attack not through protests with banners, but with complaints, bureaucratic hurdles, and by confronting the authorities with the reality they were experiencing. "We were ready to fight, to specifically combat tourist rentals. We pressured them to declare the area saturated, preventing the neighborhood from expanding into new squares. If we didn't control it, the institutions would let things slide," explains Ferran Aguiló, president of the Platform. Meanwhile, Erik Oren tried to impose, on television cameras, his own narrative as the savior and revitalizer of the neighborhood, which he described as a "cemetery" in need of "life." But the Platform continued to denounce the situation, increasing media pressure and demanding a review of licenses. "We've had some permits that were improperly granted revoked. This was either because the buildings hadn't been inhabited in recent years or because they had undergone complete renovations. In another case, the company was operating with a license from Alcúdia or Pollença, instead of the required one from Palma. This was all in plain sight—a textbook example of wasted public documents. The Public Prosecutor's Office told us there was no case. This gives you an idea of the responsibility we have, despite the inconvenience that the Data Protection Law prevents us from knowing the status of the complaint," explains Aguiló.

Oren's strategy was to double down. Encina Living began converting one of the houses into a central industrial kitchen to serve guests in all the tourist villas. Complaints from the Platform against this "horizontal hotel" halted the project. "We simply pointed out how it was possible that Palma City Council allowed them to offer hotel services if they didn't comply with the regulations. A hotel needs lifeguards and cleaning companies that adhere to the hospitality industry agreement, and they weren't using it and had no intention of doing so. We were forced to take action so that the relevant institutions [City Council, Council of Mallorca, and others] would take action. Furthermore, last year they obtained a court ruling recognizing their right to information and access to the tourist records of several properties managed by the company."

Neighborhood action has forced Oren to gradually abandon his business in Son Espanyolet. He currently has two villas left to rent and another two for sale, priced close to three million euros. And with the added incentive of tourist development. Given this prospect, the Platform only enjoys a partial victory. "It's frightening not knowing who will come. They're sold with tourist use rights, they're older, they can hold a lot of people, and a lot of people make a lot of noise. These are real estate speculation operations, because these prices aren't within everyone's reach," denounces one of the Platform's neighbors. The phenomenon begins "as it always does": when the owner dies and, after a lifetime in the neighborhood, "their heirs can't afford their share of the inheritance and end up selling the property." "That's what Erik Oren did, who even had identified elderly people so he could buy as many houses as possible at the best price," she adds.

Oren has used Santa Catalina as an advertising tool for Son Espanyolet, a model of gentrification just a few minutes away. Traditionally a humble fishing neighborhood, today it shows a trail of bruncherriesFacades adorned with plastic bougainvillea, walls painted in the Santorini style, and northern European residents typing on their laptops while sampling some of the products listed on chalkboards: smoothies, specialty coffees either cinnamon rolls"Són Espanyolet is a charming, expanding neighborhood, an extension of the popular Santa Catalina area," reads the Alzina Living website.

Son Espanyolet was born at the beginning of the 20th century to house second homes for summer vacationers and also absorbed the surplus factory workers who built more modest houses, as Joan Riera, an architect, local resident, and Urban Planning Manager for the Palma City Council when the city became the first to develop multi-family housing, recalls. "During these years, people from diverse backgrounds have remained in the neighborhood, and although its shops have disappeared, a certain social diversity survives," he acknowledges.

Still standing in front of the lemon tree, Gelabert fears the repercussions of the model initiated by Oren: "It implies a depersonalization and a dehumanization. These aren't people you'll get to know, with whom you'll stop to chat for a while, or with whom you'll have dinner. It's not like normal people." It goes far beyond business: "In economic terms, it can be successful, but it's like digging a mine in the Amazon. You don't destroy a forest, but you do destroy our memory, our lives, and our history. My godmother lived with five other people in a 27-square-meter apartment. Tourist rentals? It's not just about the disturbances, it's about having a neighborhood for people." And, if coexistence is necessary, let it at least be like the night the neighbors lit a bonfire and "two tourists came out with glasses of white wine to warm themselves." "That's what it should be. The street makes us all equal," he concludes.

With information from Héctor Rubio