Living in Menorca is a privilege that is not accessible to all. For some, it’s a place to establish oneself. For others, a dream postponed. For too many, a forced farewell. And that – in a land so rich in beauty, history, and community – should trouble us far more than it does.
Menorca is more than just a picturesque postcard – it represents a way of life, a different rhythm. It is an island that invites you to slow down, to feel deeply, and to reconnect with what truly matters. Here, people still greet one another in the street. There is still time for silence. And yet, a growing tension is beginning to take hold – a growing unease among young people who can’t find where to stay, families facing financial pressures, and newcomers eager to contribute but do not know how.
I’ve spent years in the property sector. I’ve seen how the island changes — how it transforms, how it resists, and how it adapts. And above all, I’ve seen how, through inaction, we are gradually losing things that should never be lost: talent, life in the winter months, and the hope of those who still believe in a balanced model.
Because it’s not about building more. Nor is it about banning everything. It’s about thinking more wisely. About planning with purpose. About understanding that true sustainability is not only environmental, but also social and economic. That the most unsustainable act is not building a home – it’s forcing out those who are part of this island.
Menorca has something that cannot be manufactured: authenticity. That unique blend of land, sea, and character. A place many admire, but few truly understand. And to understand it is, of course, to care of it. But it also means opening it up — with thoughtfulness, with respect, and with a long-term vision.
Today, the island is at a standstill — caught between promises that sound good but solves nothing, Trapped between rigid regulations and urgent realities. Meanwhile, the trains keep passing by: the train of innovation, of affordable housing, of the young people who could lead tomorrow, but to whom we are closing the door today.
At Bonnin Sanso, we’ve spent years trying to open new paths — through projects, partnerships, and proposals. With both mistakes and successes, but always with the intention of moving forward. Because to love this land is not to admire it from a distance. It means getting involved. Rolling up your sleeves. Saying what no one wants to hear, if it’s what needs to be said.
Menorca can be a benchmark — an island where people truly live, where coexistence is not a problem, and where staying is not a privilege. But it needs courage: political, technical, and emotional courage. Courage to act. To decide. To acknowledge that protecting is not about hiding, and that living is not a crime.
This text is not a complaint but a commitment. A solemn reminder that beauty alone, without courage, is not sufficient. And that much is at stake. Not the market. Not the numbers. What is at stake is the soul of the island.
And more than defending it, we must earn it.
