IBIZA These pages: Houses perched on rocks in Ibiza town 38 worldtravellermagazine.com
‘ WE LOVED THE ISLAND’S RELAXED EASTERN SIDE SO MUCH THAT WE BUSTED AMELIE OUT OF THE KIDS’ CLUB ’ Daddy’s turn,’ Nat asserted. ‘We’re going to a beach club.’ It was a brave move. Any recent excursions in that direction had involved travel potties, panic over eating unsavoury sand, and no clubs whatsoever. Fortuitously, it turned out that one of Ibiza’s best was a stroll from the hotel, so we could always run back if anyone erupted. Cotton Beach Club is among a handful of restaurants at Cala Tarida, and a favourite with the yachting crowd. A glance at Instagram suggested it was a place where pneumatic blonde beauties came to pose with the sea in the background. Lord knows what they’d make of us. Slightly sweaty from ascending the hundreds of steps from the beach, we stumbled into the all-white interior to find it staffed by model types in minimalist black outfits. Spa music played softly as we looked out over the wide terrace, facing the glimmering sea. It was so glacially beautiful that, for a moment, we considered legging it. Then we spotted a sprinkling of families — even one or two with children worse-behaved than ours. In the end, we devoted three languid hours to lunch, something we hadn’t achieved since Amelie was born. Nat and I nibbled fresh prawn curry and polished off a bottle of decent white; Amelie and Sonny befriended some Dutch children and dashed around a terrace meant for sunset contemplation. Below, boats skimmed across the bay as the sun cast millions of glinting diamonds over the sea. We had finally hit our Ibizan stride. We returned to Cotton Beach later in the holiday, for sushi on its sunloungers. The kids dipped in and out of the water and, when boredom threatened, the jolly bartenders were on hand with banter and mocktails. At dusk we swaddled ourselves in towels for an Ibizan classic — watching a flaming sun drip like syrup into the opalescent sea. Only two things threatened our island adventures: Karl and Koral. The pesky Sensatori’s kids’ entertainers were so damn perky that Amelie instantly loved them more than she did us. How could my day-trips compete with mornings of messy science experiments? Frantically scouring the internet, I found an evening out that would pry her from the kids’ club: Babylon Beach, a restaurant on a forested spit of sand at the opposite end of the island, with children’s entertainment and a Tarzanstyle rope playground. Bingo. We arrived to find a kind of crossgenerational paradise. Nat and I settled down for drinks under a straw umbrella, while Amelie had her face painted as a unicorn, chatting to sixyear-old boys with press-on Pacha tattoos. Sonny scribbled in a dragonthemed colouring book he’d been gifted before dropping off to the lilt of the sea and the persistent throb of background dubstep. With the kids occupied, we met the owner, Vaughan, a dreadlocked giant clad in bright African prints, who first came to Ibiza in the '80s to dance at Pacha and ended up running the club’s Funky Room. Now, he watches over this place alongside business partner, Angie (not to be outdone, she was rocking vintage Pucci). Vaughan told us that Babylon Beach was reminiscent of Ibiza before the social-media age and police crackdowns. We agreed: the whole place radiated a refreshing hippy permissiveness. And there were kids — including the owners’. Perhaps when you’ve seen it all, there’s not much a kid can do to shock you. We loved the island’s relaxed eastern side so much that we busted Amelie out of the kids’ club again the following day, making for the crescent of yellow sand at Cala San Vicente. We went via the whitewashed hilltop village of Sant Joan (brightly painted shutters and empty lanes instead of noisy clubs and tourist-trap restaurants) and found ourselves sharing the beach with just two people, a pair of bohemian types with a bongo. Thankfully, it remained unplayed, and we whiled away the afternoon tucking into just-caught fish amid the unreconstructed ’60s charm of Restaurant Es Caló, the children building sandcastles between courses. It was the perfect day, unmarred by the pressures of fitting in with a designer-clad crowd at a posh hangout. In fact, the whole holiday had hit the spot, packed with low-key places that appealed to all of us (on other less successful trips, we’ve alternated soft-play days and disgruntled adults with museum days and bored kids). It was even a relief, eventually, to have Karl and Koral on call, should Nat and I want to visit a spa or have a drink on our own. Nevertheless, as I joined the kids in scooping up seashells in the afternoon sun, I prayed that Amelie had forgotten the evening disco. Inspired to travel? To book a trip, call +971 4 316 6666 or visit dnatatravel.com worldtravellermagazine.com 39