It's early June. The sun rises over the Serra de Tramuntana, but there is no beauty in this moment. The air, dense and grey, hangs over an unrecognisable island. “A long time ago, sunrises in Mallorca were a natural spectacle,” recalls Christian Sünderwald, author of this unsettling essay about the future. “Today, sunrise is a warning.”
It's just gone eight in the morning, and all phones — mandatory now, as ID cards once were — emit an alarm signal. A yellow heat alert appears on the screen: the thermometer already reads over 40°C, and peaks above 50 are expected later in the day.
Access to the sea is limited to one hour per person, due to the risk of overcrowding. The sand, now covered with huge plastic thermal sails, scorches under the sun. Walkways are air-conditioned to prevent burns. The water remains crystal clear, but it gives off a chemical smell — of chlorine and decay. “A cocktail of substances that stops it from smelling or looking like the Mediterranean of old.”
Along the coast, restaurants no longer have real terraces, but climate-controlled glass domes. Waiters have been replaced by AI-powered robots, capable of instantly recognising a customer's language, tastes, and habits. Traditional dishes remain on the menu — trampó, pa amb oli, ensaimada — but they’re lab-generated, made from insect proteins and genetically modified vegetables.
Classic hotels have disappeared. In their place, self-sufficient, sealed, and air-conditioned resorts dominate the coastline. The sound of the sea and seagulls is artificial; the palm trees, holograms. Palma has become an exclusive, gated theme park — accessible only with a digital ticket and a minimum social credit score.
Daily life is divided into “usage units”: from showering to visiting an attraction, everything must be booked in advance and is subject to availability. Spontaneity is frowned upon; desire is antisocial. Those without a good score are denied access. Even children are barred from parks like Aqualand if their parents don’t meet the social criteria.
“Tourism still exists,” writes Sünderwald, “but only for those who can afford it… and behave.”
Water has become so scarce that it’s rationed even in the shower. Only the wealthiest can purchase the “BlueRain package” — a flat-rate water plan with a surcharge for CO₂ emissions. Meanwhile, the Mallorcans have left the island, and the authentic villages have emptied. Valldemossa and Soller survive as tourist sets, rented by the hour for an “authentic” photo.
For now, all this is a work of imagination. But the message is clear: “We’re closer to this scenario than we think. Only a deep transformation in how we live, travel, and consume can prevent it. The question is: will we do it in time?”
Like on the Titanic, Sünderwald concludes: “Who would give up their luxury cabin for a lifeboat… while the orchestra is still playing?”