The Dream is Alive E-Book

Christian Braun

• Herausgeber: novum publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 635

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Christian Braun, raised on the sun-soaked island of Ibiza, built a thriving business empire but struggles to balance work, family, and freedom. Burnt out and yearning for meaning, he turns to his lifelong passion for sailing. Together with his wife, Sil, and their sons, Noah and Cosmo, Christian embarks on a transformative journey across the Atlantic aboard their beloved boat, Paz. This is not just a tale of high-seas adventure—it's a story of resilience, love, and rediscovering dreams. Set against the vibrant backdrop of Ibiza, The Dream is Alive explores the challenges of success, the strength of family, and the pursuit of a life true to one's heart.

Leseprobe

Imprint

All rights of distribution, also through movies, radio and television, photomechanical reproduction, sound carrier, electronic medium and reprinting in excerpts are reserved.

© 2025 novum publishing gmbh

Rathausgasse 73, A-7311 Neckenmarkt

[email protected]

ISBN print edition: 978-3-7116-0404-0

ISBN e-book: 978-3-7116-0405-7

Editor: Charlotte Middleton

Cover photo & internal images: Christian Braun

Cover design, layout & typesetting: novum publishing

www.novum-publishing.co.uk

Dedication

Sailing is one of the purest and most natural forms of transportation. We use the elements, wind, and water,

but we do not consume them.

For all the dreamers in this world

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For a deeper insight and for those whose imagination

can be supported, we recommend scanning the QR code

after each chapter:

Foreword by Christian

My fascination with boats started when I was very young. Back then, it was still a childlike amazement when I saw large ships in the harbor. When I was about thirteen, this fascination developed into a conscious passion. I devoured books about seafaring and adventures on the high seas and was preoccupied with boats from morning to night. In the middle of puberty, I defined my lifelong dream – to sail around the world.

As with life’s dreams, they are the most significant goals you set for yourself, and the road to achieving them often proves to be long and full of challenges. That’s probably where the name comes from – life dream.

In this book, I share with you how my path to this dream unfolded and how I never lost sight of it. The book is an inspiring story about passion, perseverance, and the power of dreams, with which I would like to encourage you as a reader to pursue your dreams, no matter how big, unattainable, or crazy they may seem. A lifelong dream can give anyone incredible energy and carry them through even the most difficult times. Pursuing something with passion also means experiencing suffering. I am convinced that every goal is achievable if you stick to it. The more ambitious the goal the more willing you should be to make sacrifices, maintain discipline, and always keep your life’s dream in mind with every decision, no matter how trivial.

It is advisable to enjoy the journey itself in order not to become too dogged and frustrated on the way. Personally, a lot has happened to me along the way, and I have often had to redefine and adapt my life’s dream due to the craziest of circumstances, sometimes because of external factors, sometimes because I got in my own way. In any case, remaining flexible and never giving up is essential.

I dedicate this book to my two sons, Noah and Cosmo. It should remind them of the extraordinary years of their youth and give them the courage to pursue their own dreams in their own way, but above all, to live them.

People Directory

For a better understanding of the stories of my life, I will give a brief explanation of the following people:

Mucki Braun: I owe my life and upbringing to my wonderfully crazy mother. She has always inspired me to realize my dreams, no matter how crazy they are. She motivated me to challenge life at every moment and not be influenced by what others say or think.

Jochen Braun: My father, who, thanks to his connections, always strengthened my love for boats and made it possible for me to sail on great yachts in my youth.

Sil: My dear Sil is a remarkable woman who deeply shaped an important chapter of my life. We met when I was twenty-three, built a family, and shared twenty-one years of marriage. Together, we created a life for dreamers.

Noah: My first-born son was twelve years old at the beginning of the story in 2018.

Cosmo: My second-born son was ten years old at the beginning of the story in 2018.

Dani: My best friend from childhood. We grew up in Ibiza together, and his family moved to a Balearic island like ours. After an argument about business matters, our friendship ended about fourteen years ago.

Cristobal: My right hand in all Nassau Group matters – the Nassau Beach Club General Manager.

Ship names

NIU Tribe – Natural International Union: Our first catamaran

Paz: Our second catamaran, with which we started our ship life as a family

Contigo: Our tender that accompanied us on all Paz tours

Pazito: The more petite tender of the children

Christian

How it all began

On a boat, I often ask myself from where my endless passion for ships and the sea originated or when it started. Wildly, I can still remember some key moments very clearly. Of course, I grew up on an island with boats, but I was already a boat enthusiast before my family moved to Ibiza.

My father was undoubtedly the main driving force and an excellent boat inspiration. He was an enthusiastic boat lover and owned a boat on Lake Garda during our time in Munich. So, even as a small child, I was used to spending almost every weekend on the water. My father fondly remembers the early days of my passion for boats. He says I must have made quite a happy impression on the water, as far as a small child can tell.

Since childhood, I have had only one passion: boats. Nothing was more apparent in my young life than my desire to become a captain. No matter who asked me, the answer was always the same.

I studied the subject from morning till night. My free time was spent reading magazines and books about sailing trips and technical tricks for different boat types.

My father often tried to make my view of the captain’s profession realistic by showing me that it was not as shiny as I always imagined it to be.After all, a captain had overall responsibility for the ship and had to watch when the guests went swimming and partied on the yacht.

My father always advised me to become a boat owner one day so that I could fully enjoy boat trips. Sometimes, I can’t honestly believe I am truly a boat owner now.

My family never had much money, so this possibility seemed almost unreal as a child. But even then, my parents must have had incredible faith in my abilities, for which I am immensely grateful. I wasn’t shown the limits of life but the possibilities. From an early age, I learned to fight and work hard for my dreams to come true.

If you believe the stories told by my parents and their friends, I used to talk about boats nonstop as a child. Every free minute, I rode my bike into the harbor and searched for newly arrived ships. I was fascinated by the details of the boats, the technical tricks, and who the owners were, a habit that I still cultivate today. Every free minute – unfortunately, there aren’t many of them these days – I walk around the marina and inspect new ship equipment and designs with great interest. I then assess which details are advantageous and memorize everything to implement the information I have gathered when building my boat at a later time.

I was interested in more than just the harbors in Ibiza. No matter where my family went, my parents had to take me to the port if it was within a reasonable distance.

I remember my father and I traveling to France. A large one-hundred-and-twenty-seven-meter-long yacht named Savarona, with a Turkish flag, was moored at the quay wall. I counted fifty-three brass portholes and was convinced that the crew must have been swearing daily at how much brass they had to polish.

At that moment, I decided never to use brass portholes on my boat, because the daily cleaning would make keeping the ship clean even more difficult.

Boat trips

My parents’ pension guests were well aware of my great passion. As a result, it was not uncommon for them to invite me to a charter boat day trip.

When I could join them out on the waters, I was always happy as a lark, as the guests often had children of their own with whom I could play. Even today, people still like to tell me that compared to the other children, I was incredibly interested and eager to learn and run around on the boats. The adults were happy to answer my many technical questions with a smile.

When I was young, I dreamed of sailing around the world. Of course, even though I knew this would not be easy to achieve, I started small and enjoyed every minute on the water.

A friend of my parents, originally from Berlin, wanted to leave Ibiza and sold his house, including everything that went with it. He left his jet ski to my family, making me the happiest boy ever.

Toys for the water?Perfect!

I remember that my father was the first to try to ride the jet ski to ensure my safety. The jet ski model we were given as a gift differed from today’s models. To get around, two long bars had to be moved up and down manually while standing. To my amusement, Dad managed to stay on the jet ski for just a few seconds before falling into the water. I laughed my head off on the shore and whooped joyfully when it was my turn. Like so many sports, jet skiing suited me, and I plowed through the bay as if I had never done anything else but that.

The driving pleasure didn’t last long, because just as the theme of “boats” ran through my life, so did the curse of broken means of transportation.

Unfortunately, the jet ski was constantly broken, so we had to take it out of the water all the time. This fate is still with our family today. My children seem to spend only one day on the water with our jet ski before something breaks.

My first boat

I owned my first boat when I was about eleven years old. With my buddy, Dani, I found a ship sunken in the sand on the beach in Playa den Bossa. We were playing on the beach and discovered a tip sticking out of the sand. We thought it must be a boat and immediately started digging. It was more difficult than we thought, as the sand kept pulling the ship down. When we finally got to the point where we could see a boat shell, my father helped us and pulled the boat home on a trailer. My parents lovingly helped me get the boat ready with the means available. I was incredibly touched that they were once again behind my dream.

Together, we built planks into the boat to serve as seats and attached an old 20hp outboard motor to the stern. When I finally got the boat up and running, I drove to Formentera once before the first damage occurred. What can you do? The curse struck …

My first sailing trip

My first sailing experience was on a large sailing ship with my father, who took me on a trip from Ibiza to France. The cook on the boat was a good friend of my father’s, who asked the captain for permission.

After approval was given, we were allowed on board the thirty-two-meter sailing yacht Garuda. At the time, it was the largest that Swan ever built.

What an experience!

Unfortunately, after casting off, a storm arose behind Menorca, and the strong swell caused almost everyone on board to become seasick. I, on the other hand, didn’t mind the storm. I walked across the ship as if I didn’t notice anything about the slant. (My father likes to say that I probably looked like a Klabautermann jumping all over the boat.)

Unlike the others on board, I enjoyed experiencing the forces of nature and didn’t get seasick. At that moment, I realized that I was made to sail around the world. After this epiphany, I was encouraged to become a captain.

My most cherished memory of this trip is the first sunset at sea. With the sails fully set and the salty air playing around my nose, I watched the golden sun disappear into the water and felt a deep sense of happiness and peace. From that moment on my love for the sea was unstoppable.

The next day, another highlight was catching a fantastic tuna that bit while we were sailing. It was unique – in the middle of nature, driven by the wind, the fish was suddenly hooked.

When we arrived off the coast of France, we were told that our berth was still occupied, so we anchored near the harbor entrance, as the mistral storm was still raging.

When the harbor master informed us that our berth was free, the crew discovered that the anchor winch, needed to haul in the anchor, was broken. Everyone had to move in the chain manually, one after the other, using a lever and pure physical effort. About twenty centimeters of the ninety-meter-long anchor chain came out of the water with each pull. After the work, we all knew what we had achieved that day.

Dad and I packed our things and were taken ashore by tender. We took a cab to our hotel, where we planned to stay for the night. When we got into the car, I was surprised when the driver held the door open for me with the words, “Madame, s’il vous plaît.” My hair was down to my shoulders then, but I hadn’t been considered a woman before. Moreover, I usually felt like one of the coolest kids, as the girls seemed to be all over me. Once we arrived at the hotel, however, the game continued.

While checking in at reception, the hotel employee discreetly put my passport aside. After my father had enough of this, he explained that I was his underage son and not his mistress.

Once the inconvenience was over, we could devote ourselves to my favorite part of the day. Dad and I drove around all the marinas in the area and marveled at one yacht after another while I imagined what it would be like to work on one of the ships.

Due to the difficulties of this crossing, I decided that I didn’t want to have a monohull sailing boat myself in the future but a catamaran. The inclined position was unusual, as I had only driven on motorboats before.

However, I liked sailing, so a Dutch friend of my parents, a world champion sailor, taught me how to sail on a hobby catamaran in Playa den Bossa after we returned to Ibiza. I was thrilled to get out on the water daily and master the element with a new technique. Once, we even went out in a storm. The storm raged so much that the ports of Ibiza and Formentera were closed. However, I particularly loved the atmosphere of the big waves and the roaring spray.

Jochen (my father)

Boats have accompanied me for many years. I enjoyed spending my free time on the water with friends and family and simply letting my mind wander. The time I spent on boats increased enormously after we moved to Ibiza. – How could it have been otherwise …

Whenever I could, I would take the boat to Formentera at the weekend or go on little tours along the coast. Of course, I always took the boy with me if nothing was in the way. In the morning, he would often beg, when we would finally set off. I loved turning Chrissi’s passion for boats into reality, at least in small part, whether with me or through our guests.

I could not express my gratitude often enough for our dear friends and acquaintances who supported Chrissi’s blazing enthusiasm for everything with engines and anything that moves on the water. After all, it was not a given that he was taken on boat trips, often and with such pleasure.

The first boat I bought in Ibiza in 1988 was a second-hand Coronet 24 (a Norwegian boat). Like many boats after it, it was broken most of the time.

-Who would have thought?-

When I finally got the boat up and running correctly, it burned down on January 6 due to the fireworks on Three Kings’ Day.

A rocket fell into the boat while it was lying in the jetty, which immediately caught fire and burned down to the waterline. The neighboring boats were also affected. That was truly something unusual.

To this day, I still remember the thick file with data from the weather office and the insurance company.

Luckily, everything turned out well: it wasn’t our fault. After all, the insurance paid, so our second boat followed, an Abbate, Sea Cobb, twenty-nine feet long.

I installed new engines and chartered out the boat on the days we didn’t use it ourselves as a family. Our friend, a boat broker, mediated between customers and boats.

One day, I was told that some well-known people, who always turned up wearing considerable sunglasses to avoid being recognized, often booked the inconspicuous boat. Although I was not officially allowed to be present when the keys to the boat were handed over, I was too curious to be satisfied with the inaccurate information.

One day, I crept up to the jetty at a reasonable distance to see who the charter guest was. Who was hiding behind such oversized sunglasses? In my opinion, it only attracted more attention anyway.

I was delighted to see that it was a well-known Formula 1 racing driver who wanted to go on an undisturbed trip to Formentera with his family on an inconspicuous boat.

Transfer of ships

It wasn’t enough for me to simply spend the day on my boat out on the water – I was thrilled that one of my friends on the island sold powerboats, including the then-popular Cigarette models. As there was no boat service for boats of this type in Ibiza, I was happy to do him a favor and drove the ships to Mallorca to the service point. I often took Chrissi with me on the trips to Porto Andratx, as I did on the day we wanted to drive the sixty miles that typically took two hours.

Chrissi had to fly back to boarding school in Munich and had the idea of flying from Mallorca to be there for the crossing. Nothing spoke against it, so we set off in promising-looking weather.

However, as is often the case in life, things turned out differently than expected. About halfway through the crossing, dark weather set in, and the wind and waves increased considerably. Despite the circumstances, we got through reasonably well until shortly before Porto Andratx. Here, it suddenly turned pitch black around us before dusk set in. At first, only a few isolated drops of water fell, but then a torrential downpour erupted from the sky, causing the drops to leap twenty centimeters into the air on impact. Within seconds, we were soaked to the bone.

Unfortunately, going below deck was not an option for us, as the crossing had taken longer than planned due to the strong waves. We were in a hurry, as the boy had to get his plane.

So we drove on to the harbor and moored the boat. When we tried to get a cab afterward, two drivers left us standing in the rain, because they didn’t want to spoil their seats with our wet clothes.

Fortunately, a driver took pity on us and took us into her cab. However, she turned the air conditioning up so high – presumably to prevent the windows from misting – that we sat in the back seat shivering from the cold.

I looked in my bag to see if I could find anything dry for the boy, who had to go to the airport.

As you can see, not all days at sea are as rosy as some people imagine.

The Braun family emigrates to Ibiza

Mucki (my mother)

Even when he was eighteen, I liked sending Christian into the world. My son was already very independent due to his maturation and apprenticeship. Still, he was missing the impressions gained from faraway countries that would make him even more open-minded in his thinking.

This time, however, there was a sad reason behind my many suggestions. As his father and I were separating, I hoped we could spare Christian a few unpleasant months on the small island by spending time abroad.

Life in Ibiza has many advantages, but the disadvantages outweigh the benefits when breaking up a long-term relationship. The island is small, and word travels fast. To keep Christian out of the argument as much as possible, the best option was to distance him locally from the quarrels.

I tried to move the world to make it possible for Christian to attend Berkley University in America. Money was tight for us then, so I used my connections with friends and guests and worked around the clock to raise the necessary cash.

I wanted Christian to be better off than me one day, which meant an excellent education. That Christian was extremely intelligent was never a question for me, but his targeted support also proved on paper that he had much to offer.

Looking back today, I still find it remarkable that Christian precisely knew at a young age, that he wanted to sail around the world as a captain one day. His highly structured way of thinking has led him along many paths to his destination without taking a turn. His motto is: Always forward, Never backward.

I have to get out of here

As far back as I can remember, I was always a free bird who found it difficult to stay in conservative Germany for any time.

At seventeen, I asked my parents for the first time if I could travel to England to improve my language skills – of course, only if they had a bit of money to spare. I was overjoyed when they gave me a few pennies, to spend the summer in England. This summer opened the door to other cultures, strengthening my desire for freedom even more.

When I was twenty years old, I trained as a stewardess and was hired by TWA Airlines. The airline’s European base was in Paris, where I lived for two years. During my travels, I fell head over heels in love with a German who was working in Tokyo as an investigative doctor. I moved to Tokyo in 1973, where I lived for a year. I loved exploring Japanese culture, but at some point, it became clear that this German man was not the right man for me.

I moved back to Germany for a few months to prepare for my new destination, South Africa, where I received a new job offer. Four days before my latest attempt to emigrate, I met Jochen, Christian’s father, and stayed in Germany, as Jochen was less keen to explore abroad than I was.

We spent the next few years in Munich until Christian was four months old, at which point we took a vacation to the Seychelles.

Here, my heart’s desire to emigrate became so strong that I finally decided to make it a reality. However, after returning to Munich, it ultimately took another nine years. Life doesn’t always go as planned. Nine years later, I reached my breaking point – it was clear: “I have to get out!” Otherwise, I would have likely gone crazy in the confines of the German lifestyle.

Ibiza was only our destination by chance at the time. Friends advised us to try out the island as a place to live, as the close connection to Munich would be ideal for quickly solving logistical problems. In 1986 Jochen and I drove to Ibiza in our old Mercedes during Christmas. Suitcases and a Christmas tree were strapped to the roof, as we took the ferry from Barcelona to the Balearic island.

The destination was now set, but we urgently needed accommodation and then to find a way to earn money.

Would our mission to emigrate succeed or fail due to a lack of opportunities?

Once we arrived on the island of hopes, we asked every passer-by if they knew of any potential residential properties for rent. We couldn’t do much with apartments – after all, we needed a property from which we could also draw profit and work.

How lucky I was to speak a little Spanish, to communicate with the locals. The will to speak in the local language was there, and the islanders always joyfully welcomed it. Who knows how the search would have gone otherwise?

When we visited the property of today’s Casa Munich in Salinas because of a tip, we were greeted by a man with a large dog. There was nothing on the property, just trees, a foundation for apartments, and the four-hundred-year-old finca needing renovation with a goat pen. Everything was supposed to be for rent and therefore suitable for our family. We stayed for a few nights as a test, sitting in front of the house in the sun and playing endless rounds of backgammon. Everyone seemed to feel at home there.

To generate income, we decided to open a guesthouse on the property. At the same time, my parents were selling their hotel back home, which meant I had to help and couldn’t be present during the renovation work on the island.

Would it work out?

At least I had years of experience in the hospitality industry, thanks to my time as a stewardess and working parents’ hotel.

Jochen

Ever since I met Mucki, she had had the desire and urge to leave Germany. After I realized that we would probably emigrate sooner or later, we thought about which destination could become our new home.

Destinations such as Australia, South Africa, and America were often the subject of our conversations. They were places that had one thing in common: they were far away.

Initially, Ibiza didn’t even cross our minds, as its proximity to Munich felt like something other than emigrating. However, friends recommended that we consider this place to live and try it out at least once.

I had only known Ibiza from sailing vacations, during which my knowledge of the island did not extend beyond the harbor. In December 1986, we decided to explore the island by car. We drove every path and road, covering almost three thousand kilometers in fourteen days.

After taking advice and meeting the property owner in the Salinas (salt pans), Mucki and I walked into a casino. Although we never usually gambled, we placed a small bet at a gambling table. The winnings from the game were small but a symbolic victory for our new venture on the island.

We interpreted the profit as a good omen and decided that day, to negotiate the Casa Munich rental contract. We also transferred the rent for the property to the owner. At the end of the day, the landlord had contractually promised to finish the guest house, the tennis court, and the main house by May 1st. We placed advertisements in Germany and were expecting the first guests at the time.

Goodbye, Germany

Back in Germany at the end of April, I bought an old Hanomag truck, loaded it with fifty-three moving boxes, a washing machine, and a television, and set off. Any pedestrian would have made faster progress than me uphill, but I didn’t mind. The goal was clear: head toward the sun and a new life.

On my way to Barcelona, I was struck by a hepatitis infection. My whole body, including my eyes, turned yellow. It must have been quite a sight! The incubation period for hepatitis is around six months, which is why I concluded that the trigger must have been the oysters I couldn’t resist eating at Christmas.

When I arrived at the port in Barcelona, I parked the truck at the ferry terminal, which wasn’t scheduled to depart until the next day. As my body felt exhausted, I wanted to rest a little and asked a couple from Berlin, who were waiting for the ferry in their caravan, if they would look after my truck overnight.

An acquaintance from Munich had kindly driven my private car all the way, following the truck. Together, we went to a guesthouse to recover from the journey.

Unfortunately, when we returned to the ferry the next day, there was no sign of the Berlin couple, and our truck had been ransacked from top to bottom. When I think about this situation today, I realize I had no idea just how dangerous Barcelona could be at that time.

Luckily, the most essential things were still there, especially the truck itself. When I finally arrived in Ibiza, I was horrified to see our Casa Munich. Nothing was finished! What a disaster.

Panic set in as we were fully booked from May 1st. A German couple had planned to get married in Ibiza and wanted all their family and friends to stay with us.

Health is standing up for itself

On the island, I decided to see a doctor because of my poor physical condition. The problem: I spoke neither Spanish nor good English.

Fortunately, I found a doctor who spoke French, which I could at least partially understand. He told me, as far as I could understand, that I should avoid going out in the sun or working. There was no medicine for hepatitis, so I had to follow these guidelines.

However, since absolutely nothing was finished at Casa Munich, I didn’t comply. Instead, I worked sixteen-hour days, doing whatever I could to make things more or less comfortable for our guests.

I felt very uncomfortable when the first guests arrived, as the construction noise disturbed them daily. By September, I had finally managed to make the property more or less habitable.

At that time, Mucki also came to the island and became my savior. She spoke Spanish from her childhood experience abroad and fluent English from her work as a stewardess. As I didn’t look well at all – in fact I was yellow – we revisited the French doctor, who told her I had a severe liver tumor and would soon die. There was nothing that could be done.

This was a big shock for both of us, but giving up was not an option.

Fortunately, Mucki had a friend who was a doctor at the Erlangen University Hospital in Germany. Thank God we still had our German ADAC international health insurance, which allowed me to be flown from Ibiza to the hospital in an ADAC Learjet on the same day.

It turned out that I had no liver damage, but my hepatitis was highly dangerous, and at that point I was completely isolated. I could not leave my room and had no contact with Ibiza except through letters. A twist of fate was probably the gift of a friend who constantly complained about my terrible handwriting. He gifted me a travel typewriter, a seemingly simple gesture that would profoundly shape our story. Why? You’ll find out later.

After about four to six weeks in isolation, I received some extremely worrying news. Acquaintances in Ibiza told me that my “buddy” up to that point, who had managed the crossing of the truck with me, had taken up residence at Casa Munich. He told the landlord that I was dying, that Mucki no longer wanted to work on the project and that he would be in charge of the renovation, the guesthouse and would have been given all the authority from now on.

That was all a lie.

Mucki’s absence was due to work at her parents’ hotel, which was being sold, and I wanted to return to Ibiza as soon as I recovered.

You are messing with the wrong person, I thought to myself and asked my attending doctor if I could at least get out of the room and into the courtyard in the evening to get some fresh air. No other patients were present at that time, so there would be no risk of infection. Gladly I got permission from the doctor. Of course, I didn’t just want to walk in the fresh air; I wanted to run away to save our project.

In the evening, I wrote a note with the information that I would leave the hospital at my own risk for the doctor and left it in my room. I got up and started my escape. I tied my bag to the cord of the traveling typewriter package (a-ha) and lowered it from the window of the mezzanine floor into the garden. I rushed outside, grabbed the bag, and headed straight to the train station.

When I arrived at the station, I looked at the display to see which train would take me closer to my destination. Luckily, five minutes later, a train to Augsburg departed, and I boarded without a second thought.

Arriving in Augsburg the following day, I was relieved to discover a used car market. With our modest budget, I managed to buy a car – a blue, slightly rusty Simca Talbot. Despite its appearance, the engine ran smoothly.

The next day, I drove to the registration office and went straight to Ibiza after registering.

When I got there, I only weighed fifty kilograms. What was I thinking? How could I assume that I could do anything in this condition? My former friend and his girlfriend told me they wanted to take me out of the Casa Munich business, claiming I no longer had any place here.

Thank God that Mucki, as always, knew a way out. She was in Munich when I told her about the situation in Ibiza and was horrified. She immediately contacted a friend, who turned up in Ibiza in no time at all. How the two made this possible is still a mystery to me today. With a knife in his pocket, the friend said to me, “I’ll chase them away.”

Fortunately, it didn’t get out of hand and turn into a fight, but from that day on, we had Casa Munich back in our hands.

A short time later, Chrissi and Mucki also moved to Ibiza. How nice to finally have the family back together again. As money was tight, the first thing I did at the beginning of the month was to ensure we had enough food and that the car had a full gas tank. After all, I had to drive Chrissi one hundred kilometers daily to the German school – four trips of twenty-five kilometers each.

Mucki

The beginning of Casa Munich

I remember the early days of Casa Munich very well. Back then, there was no direct telephone line to the houses on the island. The only connection to the surrounding area and abroad was a telephone booth located down by the church. When the payphone was out of order and stopped accepting coins, calls were suddenly free – a highly anticipated treat. On such days, a thirty-meter-long queue often formed behind the telephone booth.

Postboxes were also a rarity in Ibiza at the time. The widely scattered houses were often inaccessible to the postman. On the island, renting a letterbox in a bar or supermarket was common practice. Here, the boxes hung close together. However, there werent enough to cover all households. At Casa Munich, our mail was delivered to a nearby kiosk. There, we would sift through a cardboard box filled with letters addressed to all the residents of the Salinas area, picking out our telegrams and mail by name. It often happened that guests arrived before the telegrams with their reservation requests even reached us.

To create a familiar atmosphere, I was on first-name terms with the guests at Casa Munich from the day they arrived. I also loved asking the new arrivals about their professions. I was particularly interested in electricians and plumbers because, unfortunately, it was not uncommon for the electricity to fail or the water pump to be faulty.

I’m especially proud that many of our guests have become not only regulars but also friends over the years. This enduring connection is a testament to the warmth and indomitable humanity of our family, which played a key role in making our guests feel welcome and at home. People want to feel they belong, and the personal touch we offered was something they truly appreciated. Sadly, this kind of genuine hospitality has become less common, particularly in large hotels, where the family-oriented aspect is much harder to maintain. Today, it’s not uncommon for families to come to Casa Munich, with some now visiting for the third generation, enjoying the same welcoming atmosphere and personal connection that has always been a cornerstone of our family’s approach.

Every summer, our guests formed a tight-knit community, often inseparable. We shared countless experiences, like the daily “sex concert“ that echoed across the estate. This, of course, was the direct result of the lack of air conditioning at the time. With no AC in the rooms, everyone either slept with the doors and windows open or spend the time differently …

Socializing with the guests was always a priority for me. I loved the long backgammon sessions around the pool, which often turned into full-fledged tournaments. As the evening wore on, we’d sip on Hierbas, the local Ibizan herbal schnapps, which often added an emotional and humorous touch to the whole experience.

Compared to other places in the world, Ibiza has changed quite little. For this reason, I still feel at home on the island after all this time, especially because of the free spirit that is lived and accepted everywhere.

Apart from the island’s indispensable modernization, the island government, fortunately, decided that mass tourism was highly damaging to the islandeight years ago. Since then, cheap tourism has been declared a no-go, with the fortunate consequence that the number of tourists is not horrendously increasing every summer.

I enjoy the fact that I can find small Ibizan grocery stores all over the island. Of course, big supermarkets, like Eroski and Mercadona, have also been built in Ibiza, but there is hardly a street without a local shop selling its products. You decide where to shop – Ibiza’s omnipresent freedom of choice.

“Ibiza is a small, beautiful, cosmopolitan

and international spot on our planet” – Mucki Braun

Christian

When I was nine years old, my parents moved to Ibiza with me. I wasthrilled, as I had always loved the sun and the sea. From then on, I would see boats every day, and the close proximity to the water shaped my life, with my days spent on and around the sea.

Pension Casa Munich became my new home and personal playground, where I could let off steam as much as my heart desired. The area Salinas, where Casa Munich is located, is a large area of salt fields right by the sea. I loved playing here with my friends and the children of our guests.

I remember fondly that my father made me a short polo stick that I could use on my bike, as I was a considerable polo enthusiast.

Guest stories

I enjoyed the variety of guests, especially because I loved listening to older people share stories, preferably stories from their lives – fascinating adventures and valuable advice they’d gained over the years. This allowed me to meet captains or people who worked on the private yachts of the rich and famous. I was immediately glued to the storytellers’ lips, soaking up every detail of their exciting sea adventures.

One of these stories has stayed with me to this day. The wealthy sheik at the story’s center had chartered a yacht to sail along the Côte d’Azur. His chauffeur drove a classic Rolls-Royce parallel along the coast and came on board every few days to provide suitcases of money for the sheik’s nightly escapades. The number one rule for the captain and crew was never to say “no” to the sheik.

One day, the yacht sailed past Monaco, and the sheik expressed his wish to go ashore. The crew informed him that this would be difficult. The problem was that it was the Formula 1 weekend, and berths for this event were booked out years in advance. The sheik wasn’t even familiar with Formula 1 and had never heard of this event before. However, a sheik cannot simply be slowed down when he has set his mind to something.

After being relieved of a suitcase of money, the yacht was allowed to dock in the harbor an hour later. Unfortunately, the sheik usually slept during the day, so the crew enjoyed the race while he lay in his bunk. In the evening, the sheik came out of his luxury cabin and asked what was happening with the races. The captain told him that the race was already over, after which the sheik demanded, “They should start again; the captain should ask how much it costs.”

Another sailor told me about a charter guest who wanted loads of lobster on the ship’s table daily. That said, the main reason for the request was merely the luxurious appearance of the crustacean, not its consumption, as one might have thought. As hardly any guests could manage to eat that many lobsters, the crew was more than happy to enjoy the special meal. After a week, it was not only the crew who could no longer eat any lobster. The neighboring ships swore they never wanted to see another lobster again.

Jochen

Casa Munich

That Casa Munich would still be standing today was unthinkable at many times. Our guesthouse was listed for auction in the newspaper three times, but each time, Mucki managed to come up with new plans to keep it going.

How grateful I was to her.

Among other things, we took out a loan from the bank at a sixteen percent rate and bought the land on which the guesthouse stood. We saw Casa Munich as a great opportunity and wanted to build more guest apartments on the property.

The plans for the extensions were drawn up by a German architect who happened to be acquianted with one of our good friends. At the time, he had been a guest at Casa Munich himself and was enthusiastic about expanding. He told us that he could sell the apartments in Frankfurt to friends and acquaintances, as many had expressed their interest in such a property for some time.

Our idea was to open a share company. We would sell the apartments, and the owners would then receive a share of the rental income from the vacation guests.

Mucki and the architect flew to our friend in Frankfurt, where the impossible happened. Within a single night, ten apartments were sold. What made this so remarkable was that the architect sketched each buyer’s wishes directly onto the plans. As nothing had been built yet, ten custom-designed apartments were created. That evening, the buyers made their down payments, and soon after, we began building two new houses. Initially, we had only planned for one, but given the overwhelming success, we decided we needed another one.

We made the impossible possible in Ibiza by building two houses in three months, thanks to the fantastic builder and Mucki. She delegated the construction workers like no other and kept order on the building site.

When the first guests arrived, I usually stood at the bar until three a.m. every night to generate sales. Breakfast was always served directly at the table, as I could never stand the hustle and bustle at a buffet.

Nowadays, I am particularly proud that breakfast service is still handled in this way. The guests can relax in the quiet atmosphere as breakfast is beeing served.

Dani (childhood friend)

Childhood pranks

Christian and I spent our childhood together in Ibiza, causing all sorts of mischief.

We met at the German school my parents enrolled me in after we moved to the island in 1985. Christian joined the school a little later when he arrived in Ibiza with his parents. The school was housed in an old Spanish finca, the founders’ home. Classes Two, Three, and Four were taught in a converted pigsty. At that time, the classes were combined due to the small number of children. Christian and I got on well immediately and shared the fate of being sent to the Spanish school after the German school.

I was thrilled to have found such a great playmate to spend my days with. As usual, for boys our age, we became inseparable and got up to one silly thing after another.

Christian

girl alert

I was the first of us to transfer to the Spanish school. I still remember the day I told my father that I wanted to leave the German school. Our class consisted of four boys and twelve girls, which became exhausting as we got older. I constantly received love letters and realized I could no longer concentrate on the lessons.

The goal of becoming a captain was clearly in front of me, and even at the age of eleven or twelve, I was aware that I would need a decent school-leaving certificate to achieve this.

My parents made it possible for me to transfer to the Spanish school.

Dani

wheeled vehicles

The freedom that Ibiza offered us in our childhood was unbelievable. We raced around the island like there was no tomorrow, using any means of transportation.

We rode down the steep, winding roads near Es Cubells on our skateboards. Jochen, Christian’s father, drove behind us in the car to make sure we didn’t get run over from behind. What nobody thought of was that the cars were also coming towards us from the oncoming traffic on the tight bends. I still get goosebumps today at the thought that I shot past the tire of an oncoming car at approximately 50 km/h, as I couldn’t brake at the given downhill speed.

That was a shock.

Jochen immediately loaded us into the car, and we drove back home.

At age twelve, we rode Christian’s eighty-cubic-centimeter scooter through the salt basins to the then-existing Club Med. Of course, we underage boys were not allowed to enter, just like riding the scooter. But that’s what made it so exciting.

When security spotted us youngsters and informed the police, we fled on our scooters across the salt fields. The police chased us in an off-road vehicle but couldn’t get around the tight, narrow bends of the sandy paths. Luckily, the salt fields had been drained, so we could ride over the uneven ground by jumping. To be on the safe side, Christian and I hid in the bushes for a few minutes, laughing, to make sure we had beaten the officers before we drove home.

As we grew, so did the vehicles that were the object of our jokes. The Braun family owned an old Toyota FJ Jeep from the 1980s, which Christian and I took for a spin across the salt fields one day without a driver’s license.

It didn’t take long for karma to strike. After less than five minutes, the Jeep was stuck in the mud. We called Christian’s dad, who came to help but couldn’t free the car either. Embarrassingly, the towing service had to be called, followed by a big lecture from our parents.

But we, two little motor enthusiasts, couldn’t be stopped. We took the Jeep out again whenever Christian’s parents weren’t around. Our favorite game was driving the Jeep down the stairs at Casa Munich, around the pool, and back up again.

We called it “Parcour.”

As we wanted to maintain the family’s reputation, we only played this game during winter, since the guesthouse had no guests. Luckily, this time, we managed to get away without being caught.

Rebels on a class trip

When we were eleven, we went on a school trip to London to see the musical ‘Starlight Express’ with our class. Of course, boys and girls had to sleep separately in the accommodation, the girls on the first floor and the boys on the second.

On the first evening, Christian and I crept down the fire escape from the window into one of the girls’ rooms. When the teacher knocked on the door, we quickly tried to hide under one of the beds. Unfortunately, we didn’t fit underneath, so one of the girls promptly threw a blanket over our legs before the teacher opened the door.

There was also a heater under the bed, which made Christian and me sweat down our backs in addition to the blanket over our legs. The teacher asked if the girls were alone, as she had heard voices. The girls assured her they had just been chatting a little too loudly and that no one else was in the room. The door was closed, and we emerged from our hiding place, drenched in sweat.

Less than two minutes later, the door handle was pushed down again from the outside. It was a miracle that we rascals weren’t caught again. There was only enough time to cover ourselves with a blanket on the girls’ beds this time.

I whispered to Christian, “We must go upstairs; she’s coming to us now.” I am trying to remember why we didn’t just climb back up the fire escape.

In any case, we planned to go through the main building to our room. We wanted to let the staff at the reception know, that one of us had lost his Swatch watch and was out in the corridors because of it. Thank goodness we had made up a story, because we ran straight into the teacher’s arms on the way to reception.

Surprisingly, the teacher believed us and escorted us back to our room.

Christian

boarding school

My time at the Spanish school was anything but easy for me. At the time, I was the only non-Hispanic at the school, which was particularly noticeable in the playground. None of the other children wanted to play with me, and I was often teased in class because of my imperfect pronunciation.

I knew I wouldn’t last long there. After two and a half years, I finally shared my concerns with my parents. Unfortunately, there weren’t any other options in Ibiza at the time. Life on a small island back then meant you had to make do with what was available. In the end, we all agreed that I should transfer to a boarding school in Germany.

It was logical for my parents to place me near Munich, as we had most of our family members and friends there. However, I begged my parents to sent me somewhere near the sea. I simply couldn’t imagine suddenly not living surrounded by it. A day without seeing ships? Unimaginable!

Thank God my parents fulfilled my wish, and I was allowed to attend a boarding school in Sant Peter Ording (Northsea). I was delighted to be able to walk along the beach every day, but unfortunately you couldn’t see any boats from there. I hadn’t expected the vast mudflats, something I should have thought about beforehand.

As no distance was too far for me to admire boats, I often cycled to the nearest small harbor. There were only fishing boats there, but I always found something interesting about them. Sadly, the joy of the boarding school’s proximity to the sea did not last long.

It turned out that the boarding school was struggling with a lot of criminality among the students. My parents were uncomfortable leaving me alone in this environment, so they wanted to enroll me in a boarding school near Munich. With protests on my part, we agreed on a boarding school near Lake Starnberg. Me without any water nearby? No thanks!

In Starnberg, I was at least surrounded by the lake, where small boats dotted the water. I stayed there until the end of my school years.

My first job

As soon as the vacation started, I took the first possible flight back to Ibiza and enjoyed soaking up the sunshine and sea air at every moment. Every time I was delighted to be back at Casa Munich and was happy to help my parents with the guests during these times, giving them a hand where needed. During one of these vacation stays I got my first job outside our pension. It should be no surprise that the job included boats.

Looking back, I had always been practical and wanted to get out and about. Experiencing things with my own hands was the force that drove me.

At fourteen, I took a few charter trips to Formentera as captain on my parents’ boats (without an official license). It all started when my father was ill one day, and I offered myself as a replacement. The guests were highly impressed with my skills afterward that my parents decided to take me on more and more.

Vacation job number two

In one of the summers of my youth, a restaurant (the owners my parents’ friends) opened right on the beach in Cala Jondal. Today the restaurant is called Blue Marlin.

The restaurant was relatively unknown when it opened, so my father was happy to help spread the word about the new opening. From then on, more and more guests quickly arrived.

The restaurant’s unique feature was that the sun loungers and chairs were placed directly on the sand, and a service was offered that took guests from their yachts to the beach by tender.

I started helping out and was responsible for picking up guests from their boats with a outboard motor tender. I assisted them on and off their yachts, all while having fun pretending I could only speak Spanish. The comments from the guests, most of whom spoke German or English, were hilarious. They often talked about how cute I was or that they had always wanted such a hot skipper. As a fourteen-year-old, this was, of course, an extreme ego boost.

In the mornings, I was responsible for smoothing the sand and setting up the sunbeds on the beach. On days when there weren’t enough waiters, I would also served food and drinks. Although the work was physically demanding, I learned a great deal, especially during the tender trips, – and I was well paid for my efforts.

This ultimately became my downfall. After all, I was only fourteen years old and couldn’t handle so much money rationally. At that age, I wasn’t used to having that kind of money and bought myself an expensive watch, among other things. My parents still tell me today that the night I sat on my bed and threw the money over my head, they decided to take me out of business. Fortunately, my parents protected me and didn’t let me go mad.

Dani

The beginnings of the party

Growing up on the “Wild Island”, party life was as much a part of it as the lid to the pot.

The first time Christian and I experienced the party scene was probably when we were fourteen, when we went to a carnival event at the famous Pacha Club with his father. It was the Teeny Edition, which always took place on Sundays from seven p.m. to eleven p.m.

As entry was officially only from age sixteen, we wore carnival costume masks to hide our boyish faces. However, the enormous heat in the club made us sweat so much under our masks that we couldn’t stand it for long.

After about half an hour, Christian wanted to leave. The party had yet to be our thing. Moreover, the reality could not have lived up to our high expectations. After all, we had heard about Pacha so many times before.

In the same year, I was sent to a boarding school in Madrid, and Christian was sent to a boarding school in Germany a year later, after he had been very unhappy at school in Spain. In the summer months, we were always back together at home with our parents in Ibiza, and, at the age of seventeen, we had the summer of our lives.

Finally, ready to party, we made use of our parents’ connections to the club owners like no one else. We often partied and danced the night away at Pacha and then had breakfast at the Croissant Show in Ibiza’s old town.

Gradually, we became familiar faces at the club entrance, and the doorman, Michael, always welcomed us warmly. He waved us to the entrance when he saw us both standing in the queue. This was the quickest way to get to the dance floor – without paying admission. Over time, we brats became bolder and took advantage of thedoorman’s good nature.

It was common for us to arrive with ten people in tow. But as soon as Michael caught sight of us, the familiar, “There’s Chris and his friends – they’re coming through!” rang out. The Pacha kind of became our second living room. Also, because my father knew the owner of KU, the biggest disco in the world (now named Privilege), very well, we were given our own key to the back entrance of KU, which got us to the dance floor even quicker than at Pacha. On many nights, we alternated between the two clubs.

This was also the case when I sat on one of the sofas in Pacha’s VIP area and waited for Christian. I could hardly wait to hit the dance floor with him. After a few minutes, Christian strutted toward me through the legendary kitchen entrance, holding a three-liter bottle of Veuve Clicquot champagne in his arms. When asked where he got it, he replied with a mischievous grin, “I just found it at the back.” Unfortunately, the attempt to open the bottle was unsuccessful. The cork was too tight. Of course, giving up was out of the question, so we ran to the bar and asked for a pair of tongs. We tried again, but the cork broke off, because it was quite old.

At that moment, the VIP boss walked past us and couldn’t believe her eyes. She shouted in horror, “What are you two fools doing! That costs one hundred and sixty thousand pesetas!” (That equates to one thousand euros today.) Luckily, she quickly hid the bottle, because the fun would have been quite expensive for us rascals. The price of the bottle exceeded the average monthly salary at the time.

New Year’s Eve cab

The legendary Millennium New Year’s Eve remains vivid in my memory. After Alex, a mutual friend, and his wife had to leave Pacha for the airport after a night of partying, Christian and I didn’t want to let the full and paid-for bottle of vodka on the table go to waste, so we took it with us to move on.

Alex let us out of the car at the traffic circle in the direction of San Antonio, as we wanted to go to Amnesia, where the party continued until noon. We walked along the main road, when we discovered an old Bonanza children’s bike lying in the ditch. Christian wanted to drive on immediately with what he had found, but I wanted to keep walking. So, as a compromise, we pushed the bike to Amnesia.

The sight offered to the bouncers must have been unique – two men dressed in suits and tails, surrounded by hoarfrost, holding a bottle of vodka and a children’s bicycle.