In search of the perfect blue (II): Formentera

I’m back in Madrid after an Easter trip to Ibiza and Formentera. I close my eyes and see blue, turquoise blue – the fluorescent greenish blue of Caló d’Es Ram in Formentera. I had been there, we had swam in it, no matter how chilly the water was.

There’s no choice – you just have to dip in, I told K. Like you want to dissolve in so much beauty.

She nodded. K., of Ibizan ancestors, connoisseur of sunsets and turquoise waters. You’ll be amazed in Formentera, she’d promised.

And I was. Formentera felt, a bit, like a small island in Southeast Asia. Small, manageable, idyllic for carefree beach hopping. Yet, at the beginning, it also felt barren, overly windy. Frankly, I almost missed the cosy Ibizan coves protected by pine-trees.

So we dropped the initial idea of renting a motorbike, and went for a car instead. God bless Fiat Panda.

K. and I walked a lot in Formentera. The first day, we hiked a couple of kilometers in flip flops to Pas de S’Espalmador, the Nortern tip of the island. The views were not post-card perfect, but had an untamed sort beauty, as if we were walking toward the end of the world. Mind the dragon, K. could have warned me.

The walk back felt longer. We were quiet, each of us brooding our own thoughts. By the time we got to the car, our calves were sore.

We were wiser the day after, wearing running shores in our long hike from Copinyar beach to Calo d’Es Ram, a cove I’d read about on the Internet, oh love-it-while-you-hate-it Internet. The walk was long, but that turned out to be a blessing, as during the hike the skies had time to clear.

And there it was – the blue K. had promised: shiny, fluorescent. My mind raced for comparisons. Siquijor? Palawan? Stop – who cares. We’re here, and it’s never been more beautiful. Salamat po to life.