I can’t think of a better way to unwind from London’s grind than a weekend away on an island that’s better known for its hedonism than it’s history. But there’s a lot more to Ibiza than simply Spare Terrace or the West End. It’s rich history of worship (pagan, catholic, you name it) and social tapestry make it a place full of surprises and steeped in folklore. From the caves in Saint Miquel to the mystery of Es Vedra, and the impressive D’Alt Villa to the fantastic beaches at Sa Caleta and Calla San Vicente there’s more than enough to relax the mind as much as there’s temptation enough to expand it.
But having the ability to hole myself for 2 days in the north of the island (I wish it were a week) was the best option I had to unwind from the stresses and strains of financial meltdown and the bustle of the City. While the irony of having flu when you’re in 20 degrees isn’t lost on me, there’s no better place to recover. I just wish I was here longer. The clubs may be on the wane and the government seemingly willing to tread on and crush its hedonistic element, but it’s still a place of magic and majesty.