Formentera: A Small Paradise

It's the day of departure, a departure, as usual for us, rather troubled: to tell the truth all of us participants in the trip are well, it's the grandparents who aren't quite in shape, the only grandparents left at home, since the others are on vacation in Poland. Federico stayed all week with grandma at Lido di Classe and, more sporadically with grandpa: the first was struck by an unpleasant bout of bronchitis, the second by a devastating shingles, and it's precisely for this reason that we're worried, not so much about grandpa's state of health, who will surely recover, but about the danger of a possible contagion of Federico: the virus in fact belongs to the same strain as chickenpox and the illness could strike the little one right during the trip. Let's say a little prayer, do the necessary superstitious gestures and try to enjoy the day of departure.

In the late morning we return from Lido di Classe in order to sort out the last things, Federico is already over the moon, moreover, when he opens the door of his little room, he finds himself facing a surprise: a new bed, a desk, a bookcase and a nightstand all for him, he's overjoyed and, after lunch, he runs to bed without a care. He enjoys a long sleep and, above all, doesn't fall out of bed. Meanwhile Sabrina and I finish the packing, load it into the car and when Federico wakes up everything is ready... at 17:15 we're already on the road headed to Bologna, at 17:30 on the highway at Faenza and shortly after... stopped in traffic!... The traffic is definitely heavy, it takes us a good half hour to get to Imola: Federico, lucky him... sings! When I'm now intending to exit the highway the traffic starts moving again at an acceptable pace, thank goodness...

around 18:30 we reach Bologna's Marconi airport. We leave the car in a parking lot and arrive at the Going desk perfectly on time: a few minutes before seven. Everything proceeds at best, except for the departure time which, unfortunately, slips by an hour and a half: we let out a few curses but deep down we know it could have been worse, if it weren't for Federico we wouldn't have worried at all. We kill time watching a few planes take off and regretting seeing one take off at nine o'clock sharp, exactly the time scheduled for what was supposed to be our departure. Finally it's our turn, with Federico super excited and with a rather unauspicious soundtrack from the film "Titanic" in the background, Spanair flight Jk 6158 lifts off at 22:28: no more than an hour and a half of flight and we'll be in Ibiza.

On our right, in the distance, big black clouds, lightning and thunderbolts let us know that the most classic of summer storms is raging. Federico is enchanted watching the lights of the cities from above and for a good ten minutes he's literally hypnotized by them, while below us the Ligurian Sea and the city of La Spezia are perfectly recognizable. Just enough time to gain altitude and we're already beginning to descend toward Ibiza, it's almost midnight and Federico shows the first signs of tiredness, Sabrina is no different and, now near arrival, mistakes the blinking light positioned on the plane's wing for the light of a nightclub (she's already in dreamland!).

We touch down in Ibiza at four minutes past midnight, we wait for the luggage, while Federico, seeing the presence of other children, perks up: he's livelier than ever! We get on the bus that will take us to the port, where we arrive in no more than ten minutes: our boat, or rather our tub, is moored, wouldn't you know it, at the point farthest possible from where the bus parked. We struggle along the way with backpacks and suitcases, fortunately the little one, very good, walks the whole way by himself and when he's on board he immediately asks to be able to go on a reconnaissance of the vessel, I accompany him and show him the cockpit, he, overjoyed, in turn, shows me a lifebuoy, explains to me that the lifeguard uses it and that by spinning it it makes the moscone go forward (compliments for the imagination).

We set sail for Formentera when the clock hands mark half past one, at least another hour of sailing will be needed... the odyssey continues, Sabrina is exhausted from sleep, Federico leans on her and gently closes his eyes: he's reached the end of the line. It's a mild and pleasant night, I go out to the bow to let myself be caressed by the breeze that smells of salt, I fill my lungs with it, while the moon peeks out from among the clouds and in the distance the lights of La Savina, the port of Formentera, are already visible. When we arrive I pick up Federico and carry him all the way onto the vehicle that will take us to the residence, for a moment he opens his eyes and asks where we are.

A few more minutes and here we are at Mar i Sal, we're immediately assigned the apartment, the child opens his eyes and wakes up, he lets himself be put into his pajamas without the slightest crying, good little one... ten and praise!... shortly after he's sleeping between the two of us: it's just past three. The sunlight filters through the curtains, it's not yet nine and Federico is already jumping on the bed asking to leave, I struggle to get out of bed, Sabrina, rather sleepy, does the same against her will. We have a meager breakfast and at ten we're at reception for a quick briefing, we get the necessary information and go do an essential shopping trip in order to buy, at least, the basic necessities. On the way back, rather overheated, we dive, without hesitation, into the residence pool and stay there for a long time.

At a certain point a well-known entertainment personality makes his appearance at the bar, we struggle a bit to believe it but what appears before our eyes is indeed Luca Laurenti, host of numerous programs on the Mediaset circuit: it seems he's courting a girl and for a moment the idea of a scoop for "Novella 2000" flashes through my head, then I rein in my science-fiction profitable schemes and focus on the pool, which Federico doesn't seem at all inclined to leave... I convince him when noon has already struck and lunchtime is now near. Sabrina and Federico have recovered much of their backlog of sleep... so in the afternoon we go to the beach, the nearest and therefore reachable on foot, considering that, at least for today, we won't have any kind of vehicle at our disposal to move around the island.

So we reach the beach of Cavall d'en Borràs, located near the port of La Savina and nonetheless very beautiful, with blue and transparent water. We don't resist long at the water's edge and almost immediately we're basking among the waves, the only problem is convincing Federico to get out of the water: all excuses are good to manage it, first of all the usual old story of the wrinkles on the hands, which fortunately has the desired effect, but which triggers a series of little questions among which, besides why this happens, one, in particular, makes us smile and concerns whether or not such wrinkles are also present on fish and toads, to us it all seems so obvious but it isn't for a three-year-old child, and it's normal but also funny.

Around us, along the beach, many nudists calmly sunbathe, fortunately they don't trigger in our son another as ever embarrassing series of little questions. Formentera, located several kilometers west of Italy, adopts, like all of Spain, of which it's part, the same time zone and offers, especially at this time of year, very long days: at eight in the evening the sun is still high on the horizon, and on the beach it's magnificent, we head back to the residence more out of hunger-related necessity than anything else, in the coming days we'll try to organize ourselves so as to enjoy these moments longer. The only problem related to returning from the sea at a late hour is that from the table and therefore from the shower you don't get out before ten and there isn't much time left for the evening: just a couple of steps to the port and back.

A hot night, the one just past, with Federico already awake at five in the morning and with some trouble managing to get him back to sleep. The fact is that at nine we all get up rather dazed and moreover outside the window there's no beautiful sun shining. A few minutes, not even time to have breakfast, and the intercom rings: at reception the agent from the rental agency is waiting for me to hand over the car. Still sleepy I sign a pile of papers containing the contract conditions and pick up the car (license plate PM 8474 CM): a Punto, blue, five doors... two hours by plane and one by ferry to get to an island in the middle of the Mediterranean and find myself handed a car practically identical to the one I have at home!... nothing wrong, mind you, but the twists of life are sometimes truly strange.

After breakfast we get on board our "new" car and reach the nearby Sant Francesc Xavier, the island's capital with its twelve hundred inhabitants, dominated by the church of the same name, with a fortified appearance to cope with the numerous invasions and raids by pirates, very frequent in this place a few centuries ago. The island, given its strategic position in the middle of the Mediterranean, has always been subject to invasions: starting with the Phoenicians then moving on to the Greeks and Carthaginians, then to the Romans who transformed it into one of the many granaries of the empire, from which the name of the island: Frumentaria, later becoming Formentera.

We spend the whole morning strolling around Sant Francesc Xavier, doing some essential shopping and praying for the return of the sun: Federico is restless and wants to go to the beach, let's hope we can satisfy him in the afternoon. We are granted it and a few hours later a beautiful sun is shining, so we load the luggage into the car and reach the only beach present on the west coast of the island: Cala Saona, whose homonymy with the little island of Santo Domingo is curious at least as much as the rental of the blue Punto, strange coincidence, although in this case I don't think Saona has anything to do with Savona. One thing the two places have in common, even though divided by an ocean: a beautiful sea, with an undeniably clear handful of points in favor of the Caribbean Saona.

We reach the beach and plant the beach umbrella bought in the morning in Sant Francesc Xavier, a small patch of shade won't hurt, indeed what slightly spoils the party is Federico's bag of toys, left, to our regret, in the apartment, fortunately the little one doesn't make a drama of it and only requests a few extra swims. We return and have dinner with a rotisserie chicken bought at a delicatessen across from the residence, then we go out for a walk in Es Pujols, the most touristy center of the island, with a pleasant seafront dotted with hippy stalls. Federico is spellbound by a painter and is enchanted watching him, then we stop at a bar and it's already eleven. We face the road back and on one of the last curves we see two headlights coming toward us: everything happens in an instant, I put a good half car off the road and avoid the head-on collision...

it went well, tremendously well... the adrenaline rises and invades my whole body, arms and legs are weak, I sweat cold: it was a close call, really close! On the terrace just outside the apartment, as every evening, a nice gecko awaits us, we bid it good night, who knows... maybe it's our

Federico calls mummy and demands breakfast, outside, beyond the curtains, the sun shines on a beautiful day, a day we intend to spend entirely on the beach, trying out the baby's nap under the beach umbrella, with that in mind we get organised preparing the bare minimum for lunch. The beach chosen for the experiment is that of Ses Illetas, the most famous and perhaps also the most beautiful of Formentera, as well as one of the closest to the residence, in case the experiment should fail. From the main road a dirt track branches off heading north, towards that narrow strip of land that stretches out towards the island of Ibiza. At a certain point, near a bar, the road ends and gives way to a large car park where we leave the car.

We walk towards the sea located to the west of the very narrow peninsula, and therefore towards the main beach of Ses Illetas, at the sight of which you are literally astounded: a natural pool appears before our eyes, a pool with a thousand shades of blue, in a rising escalation, up to the intense blue that stands out against the sky on the horizon and against the stern mountain profile of nearby Ibiza. A few hundred metres from the shore an endless line of boats sits swaying first to the right and then to the left, all day long, and there's no need to ask why they've come here of all places... they'll stay, like us, until sunset. We fill our eyes with the magnificent colours that surround us, while Federico plays with the sand between one swim and another, until midday, the hour X.

For lunch there's no problem, the novelty of eating on the beach is enticing and the little one devours anything offered to him, it's a bit more complicated to get him to sleep, luckily he makes an effort, he tosses and turns on the towel for a good half hour and, despite everything, falls asleep... good... experiment successful! While he sleeps I take the opportunity to have a swim in complete solitude, accompanied only by the rustle of the waves... idyllic! Then Federico wakes up, very happy to already be at the beach, devours an ice cream (or rather we devour an ice cream), then plays with the little tubs that contained it, and so for a long time, not disdaining a nice swim as an interlude.

At 7.30 pm we leave the beach, but you'd want to stay there some more, not bad at all, because we'll come back, that's for sure, in fact we'll hardly find a more beautiful place than this on the island. We spend the evening in the apartment, apart from a brief outing to a small playground nearby, where Federico falls and grazes an elbow: a brief and utterly predictable cry and it's all over, just as a pleasant day is over.

Federico is as punctual as a Swiss clock: at ten to nine he wakes us... another beautiful day at the seaside awaits us, outside there's not a breath of wind and the sky is completely clear of clouds, the right occasion to visit one of the beaches located on the east coast of the island, normally more exposed to the fury of Aeolus. Before reaching the chosen beach we make a detour to the shores of the Estany Pudent, a small saltwater lake inland of Formentera, where, on a tiny promontory, is found the oldest evidence of human presence on the island: Ca Na Costa, a megalithic tomb dating back to 1600-1900 BC, nothing extraordinarily beautiful, on the face of it a big pile of enormous stones, but more particularly meticulously arranged to form a sort of circular chamber, presumably the burial chamber.

Megalithic monuments stir strong emotions in me, I'm attracted by their enigmatic appearance, the millennial stones seem to emanate strange energies and even this one, in its own small way, manages to captivate me, perhaps even just on an unconscious level. It's not the same for Federico, who appears, above all, sorry that the site is fenced off and it's not possible to run all over it to give it the final climb. It's just after ten when we follow a sign reading "playa", we go in, along a dirt track, into the pine wood and after a short stretch this widens to form a sort of car park. We leave the car and walk towards the beach of Sa Roqueta, so called probably because of the presence of a small rock a few dozen metres from the shore.

The sun is almost in front of us and the view isn't the best, but you just have to get closer to see that the water is the same, transparent and blue as the day before. We plant the beach umbrella and play, I dive into the water and catch a couple of hermit crabs for Federico... meanwhile the sun slowly changes position and the sea takes on its wonderful colours: this beach too is a beautiful pearl of Formentera. After lunch I have another unforgettable swim all alone: forgive me little one, it's lovely to swim together with you, but certain sensations are better grasped in complete solitude and contemplation, in a sea with indescribable reflections and with the dark and stern silhouette of Ibiza on the horizon. Later I'm back in the water, this time with Federico... it's divine.

Together we build a castle and destroy it, we build another and the afternoon slips away calmly, then a German child stops and plays with Federico: together they destroy the second castle too, they don't speak the same language but incredibly they understand each other, perhaps deep down in their innocence there exists a channel and therefore a frequency unknown to us adults, together they swim and have a whale of a time, we literally have to tear them away from the sea when it's evening by now, and in the water only they are left. The German child leaves, Federico waves his little hand goodbye then asks us what his name is... we look at each other a bit questioningly and rather banally reply: "Franz, that child's name is Franz"... who knows, maybe it's true! We gather up all our things and go back to the apartment.

Later the sun, perhaps piqued by the spectacle that the sea has offered us so far, lets us know that it's no less and with the help of a few clouds and the body of water of a salt pan creates a sunset of rare beauty, to be immortalised in memories, thus worthily closing another beautiful day.

Federico's fussing opens the new day rather ingloriously; we have to call repeatedly for the arrival of the gentleman from upstairs to intimidate him and invite him to behave better. When we finally manage to load everything into the car, baby included, at last the music changes and we can set off to discover the central-eastern part of Formentera. Our first target is the Playa de Tramuntana, whose name makes its exposure abundantly clear; in fact, after driving down a narrow, rough road and reaching the vicinity of the sea, we can only acknowledge the very evident effects of the tramontana on that tormented stretch of coast... and not a trace of the playa. We turn back at practically a walking pace onto the paved road and continue following it southward; on the map another beach is marked on the same stretch of coast.

Some dunes brush against the strip of asphalt, and beyond the dunes lies Ses Platgetes: the diminutive, even though in Spanish, makes it quite clear that we won't find any large stretches of sand. We try to park the car along the road where some scooters are already parked, and just as we're doing so we notice a family from Dovadola whom we had met at Bologna airport; we call out to them and greet them. They too have a child (Davide) a little older than Federico, and like us they are looking for a sandy beach where he can play. Together with them we go to Ses Platgetes, but only to acknowledge the fact that yes, the beach is sandy, but the water's edge and therefore the seabed are made up of large slabs of rock, which really doesn't suit our needs.

We turn back, cross the place off the list of possible swimming stops and set off again in the company of our friends: we change sides of the island, and at this point that means moving two or three kilometres at most. We reach the Playa de Es Arenals, and this time at least the name bodes well; indeed the sandy beach is there, and so is a beautiful sea, the usual magnificent sea that thanks to the sun's rays looks like an immense crystal with infinite facets: it almost seems that if you threw a stone into it, it would shatter into a thousand pieces. Just enough time to settle in and Federico is already in the water with Davide... I have no choice but to follow him, and Sabrina follows too, so that we're all in the water... and we stay there for quite a while, letting ourselves be cradled by the waves, waves that, by the way, are bigger than usual on this beach.

Before long it's midday, and therefore lunchtime, if a snack can be called lunch... nothing serious, we're happy like this and that's what counts, after all. In the afternoon we have moments of great fun; the water is very warm and inviting. Federico, copying Davide, learns the first rudiments of swimming: he looks funny with those chubby armbands and that smile always stamped on his lips. He looks like a little duckling still a bit scared, and more than anything he kicks up great quantities of water, but he's on the right track. He plays steadily with Davide the whole time: he's gained confidence and feels at ease, as the loud laughter coming from the water's edge testifies, where the two of them chase each other until nearly evening.

The surprises never end; after Luca Laurenti we meet another well-known figure, one inseparably linked to him, as it happens: it's Paolo Bonolis, who passes by in front of us, strolling along the shore, coincidentally in the company of a beautiful blonde. Some paparazzo will surely be lurking nearby. A little later Davide leaves. We say goodbye to him and his whole family, hoping to see them again; after all, the island is small and it shouldn't be that hard... we stay instead: Federico wants one last swim and we indulge him. In the evening we'd like to go out a bit after dinner, but of course it gets late: I'm the last to shower and I emerge when the clock hands are already well past ten, so there's nothing left but to dawdle a bit around the house before going to bed.

According to fresh and reliable news, it's raining in Italy, and unfortunately it will do so all weekend long. Luckily we're in Formentera, where, looking at the sky on another clear morning, the rain seems light years away. We head once again toward the narrow peninsula that juts out toward Ibiza, parking near the Playa de Ses Illetas and continuing on foot beyond it. Further on the peninsula narrows so much that it has two beaches practically mirroring each other: on the left, what is the continuation of the Playa de Ses Illetas, and on the right, the Playa del Levant. On the latter the sea looks rather rough and the wind is blowing, so we settle on the first one.

It's incredible how homogeneous the colour of the sand is on all the beaches of Formentera, a rather plain, greyish colour, seemingly similar to that of the Adriatic Sea, and yet the water takes on, in this place, as in all the others seen so far, those magnificent colours and that extraordinary transparency that usually require a whiter seabed. A bothersome tramontana wind is blowing and the place, practically in the middle of the sea, is not sheltered at all; after a swim and lunch, eaten early given Federico's insistence on doing so, we move to the calmer and most beautiful main beach of Ses Illetas, where we spend the rest of the day. Sabrina, struck by sunburn on various parts of her body, is quite angry and unsociable because of it: she spends the whole time under the umbrella, taking great care not to expose herself to the sun's rays.

We leave the beach a little earlier than usual: it's Saturday evening and we want to go out for a pizza. We go back to the apartment for a shower while from one of the adjacent rooms come, clearer than ever, strange "joyful screams"... have fun!... Federico asks us what it is... they're playing, we answer. We go to Es Pujols and stop at the first pizzeria we come across; it's called Chez Fred but it hardly matters, before you try them they're all the same... The pizza is so-so... neither good nor bad; we fill our bellies before throwing ourselves into the tide of people along the streets of the town until, at eleven, by now about to head back, we run into Davide and his family. We stop for a chat and the kids start playing: they seem to be having fun, and no one can tear them away until nearly midnight.

We have breakfast while on television, instead of the usual cartoons, they're showing the warm-up for the Formula One British Grand Prix; I follow it rather indifferently. Today, despite being an enthusiast, I don't intend to force anyone in the house to watch the race, especially since Silverstone is not traditionally a favourable circuit for Ferrari (who will win for sure, though!). We leave the house and set off: today we'll have to cover "a lot" of road (no more than about twenty kilometres), until we reach the most remote tip of the island, where the faro de La Mola stands. Before long we come in sight of the most classic of maritime structures, situated at the top of a dizzying cliff which we follow on foot for a short stretch, taking numerous photographs.

Sabrina and Federico walk prudently several metres from the edge of the precipice: the sea's waves, a deep blue, are no less than a hundred metres below our feet and the view is truly imposing. The place, incidentally, was also mentioned by Jules Verne in one of his many science fiction novels... and science fiction it undoubtedly had to be, since in the context of the story the lighthouse and the whole island were in a polar climate, at minus twenty degrees, and the sea was completely frozen. On the way back we stop at the characteristic Molí Vell de La Mola, an old windmill, perfectly preserved, built as far back as 1778. Federico, very interested, gets out of the car and asks if he can walk around it.

Windmills, in their most varied forms, are a constant feature of all the Mediterranean islands, testifying to the nearly continuous action of the winds in these places, and Formentera is certainly no exception. In the late morning we finally arrive at the beach, a beautiful beach situated between the Caló des Mort and the Mariland tourist complex, in the south-western part of the island. Praise goes once again to our son, who has evidently appreciated the alternative visits to the beach, not disdaining, however, by now near midday, the building of a castle and a long swim, in which... hear ye, hear ye... for the first time he covered a short stretch of sea, in deep water, completely on his own...

bravo, little "frog"! While he sleeps I go on a scouting walk as far as the Caló des Mort, a small cove with no more than twenty or thirty metres of beach, very sheltered, with calm and perfectly flat water forming a small natural pool, the best you could ask for for a child taking his first "steps" in swimming. After snack time we fill our backpacks, put the umbrella back in its sheath and, "shoulder arms", head toward the little beach. Meanwhile, from a gentleman I learn that Schumacher has had a bad accident... season over: the Formula One Grand Prix couldn't have gone worse. I console myself in the water with Federico, who has taken a liking to it, and in the tranquil "pool" of Caló des Mort he really looks like a little duckling, increasingly sure of himself. The place has a strange peculiarity: cliffs at least ten metres high and above the cliffs...

the dunes, which usually lie at the water's edge, and not ten metres above it! Later an almost continuous parade of clouds comes between us and the sun, spoiling our afternoon a bit. An afternoon that we go on to end at El Pilar de La Mola, a small village situated on the plateau, at the south-eastern end of the island, where a characteristic hippy market is held. It was precisely the hippies who somehow discovered the island, touristically speaking, in the seventies, elevating it to their own little kingdom. Since then many things have changed: tourism has become mass tourism, the hippy movement has gone out of fashion and its last representatives, in most cases no longer young, try to make a living while somehow remaining faithful to their ideals, and the market of El Pilar de La Mola is its best expression.

We get back to the apartment when it's already eight thirty; I hurriedly turn on the television: Schumacher has suffered a fracture of the tibia and fibula and will be out for several months... we have dinner, take a shower, and it's already eleven... we can't deny Federico a bit of play, and it's already midnight...

The day starts rather sluggishly; we get up later than usual and we also have to do the grocery shopping. We reach the Playa des Salines, situated in the north-east of the island, not far from the salt flats, as the name suggests, around eleven, only to find that on that side of the island the sea is too rough and not very inviting. We therefore move further south and to the other side of Formentera, where we follow a hand-written sign that says: "Playa Strand": the name is completely made up; in reality it's a small stretch of coast forming part of the long Playa de Migjorn, certainly not one of the best beaches on the island, but we have to make do, it's already midday and Federico needs to have a swim.

Here too the sea can't be called calm: there must have been a storm somewhere around and these are the consequences, even though the transparency and colours of the water remain inviting as always. The "swims" among the waves nonetheless seem to amuse the little one, and moreover Sabrina seems to have solved her sunburn problem and plays with us all afternoon. We leave the beach around 6:30 pm: we have plans for the evening and we intend to keep them. We take a quick shower, have dinner and we're back on the road: destination Cap de Barbaria, the extreme tip of a peninsula that extends to the south-west of Formentera, a strip of land that seems forgotten by God and men, a bare and rocky landscape, with no trees and no houses: the only building is the lighthouse, which dominates a dizzying cliff; the only sounds are the rustle of the wind and the gurgling of the sea several metres below.

The "piercing screech" of some seagull greets the sun as it sets behind the clouds and then beyond the horizon. Dusk begins to fall and the landscape almost instils fear in its heartrending desolation; you feel almost at one with the stones you walk among, you feel like a daredevil like the sparse thorny little plants that manage to grow there... then everything ends as if by magic when you find yourself back inside the car, inside that little piece of technology and therefore of civilization; you leave the lighthouse's light behind and you're almost sorry to leave the place. It was a beautiful experience, even if not the best sunset, dimmed by too many clouds. A few more kilometres and we're at Sant Francesc Xavier.

We visit the little village, half-deserted, and once again admire its little square with the illuminated church, creating a pleasant atmosphere, where you can slowly savour an ice cream, sitting on a bench, until the right time to head back... lovely evening!

It looks like a scorching day, one of those dead-calm days, with the sea flat as oil. We have breakfast in a hurry and dash off toward the Playa de Ses Illetas: it seems like the right day to reach the extreme northern tip of the island, the one most exposed to the action of the wind. Once we get there, however, we realise that the wind is blowing rather strongly from the west and that our residence was probably sheltered. The sea is rough on the most beautiful beach in Formentera and there's no point in continuing on foot; better to change our target. We head toward Es Pujols and then toward its beach, situated on the east coast, where of course the sea is very calm, sheltered also by a little island opposite, hardly more than a rock. Between the water's edge and that little island a splendid stretch of sea forms, flat and transparent, a pool in which Federico can have fun all day long.

Indeed he's immediately playing in the water, then he helps me build a castle, then he's back in the water, and finally it's lunchtime and time for a nap. While he sleeps I go and buy him an inflatable cushion so he can further refine his swimming concepts. When he wakes up I give it to him and, overjoyed, he immediately rushes into the water; I follow him and together we go to the little island opposite. We feel good in Formentera, in a certain sense we feel at home; it's a place so... made to human scale, where everything is within easy reach. We go back home and get ready to go out. We run into Davide with his whole family and together we go to dinner at the S'Avaradero restaurant, where we eat excellent fish, even though it takes a while to arrive.

We leave the table when it's already midnight, and Federico is livelier than ever, so we take a walk and it's nearly one o'clock, perhaps the right time to head back.

We head for the umpteenth time toward the Playa de Ses Illetas; we're determined to reach the tip at all costs, and perhaps today is the right day to do it. The sea is calm, there's no strong wind, and we set off. We trudge with difficulty along the path with backpacks and Federico on our shoulders: it takes almost forty-five minutes of hard walking, we're dripping with sweat, but in the end we arrive at our destination... only to find the greatest disappointment of the trip: there's no beach, or rather: there is a beach, but it's on the other shore of Es Pas, the very narrow arm of sea that separates Formentera from the islet of Espalmador, and it really doesn't seem like a good idea to try to ford it, discouraged also by a sign, let alone with a child. We take a photo, drink a mouthful of water and prepare to retrace our steps.

Along the way we stop at the northernmost of the little Ses Illetas beaches: beautiful. We set down our burden and let ourselves go among the waves; we gradually lower our body temperature so we can better appreciate the colours surrounding us. The long walk has tired us out and Federico is tired too: he's short on sleep and now he's paying the consequences; he's very cranky and we struggle to get him to eat something before he conks out. The view is sublime: facing north, on our left is the azure sea of the Playa de Ses Illetas, beyond it the island of Espalmador and even further in the distance Ibiza; in front of us the chaotic profile of the peninsula; and on the right the equally azure sea of the Playa del Levant with, on the horizon, the flat outline of the island of Espardell, and all of this with a single turn of the head.

Completely absorbed by the sea, in the blink of an eye evening arrives; we gather all our things and go back to the car, eat a few crackers along the way and head toward El Pilar de La Mola for a quick foray to its little market. Along the road we notice a dust devil (not the woodland kind), one of those strange air whirlwinds that form under particular weather conditions, practically a miniature tornado: it crosses the road in front of us; we let it pass and continue on. At the market Sabrina notices some earrings in an atelier; she likes them and would like a little pendant in the same style but there isn't one; they'll make one to measure for Friday and we'll come back to buy it. When we get home it's already late; there's only time for dinner and a few chores before closing the curtains and therefore the curtain on another day.

Our intention is not to go straight to the beach; we'd first like to visit the Torre di Gavina, positioned on a rocky spur in the western part of the island. To that end we take a road that soon turns into a dirt track, and, following the coast, we soon approach the site, until two posts with a chain prevent us from going any further. A sign indicates the path leading to the tower, which is still far away and doesn't seem worth it, especially given yesterday's experience. And yet on the map we have, a road seems to reach it; we try to follow another route and amid countless dirt tracks we soon lose our bearings; the only signs lead to the beach of Saona; we follow them and there we arrive.

We drive along the paved road to Sant Francesc and then try our luck once more; we pass by the beautiful windmills of Sa Mirada and for the umpteenth time approach the tower: at a walking pace we follow a road full of potholes, but it turns out to be another dead end. Unfortunately we have to give up on the tower; it was supposed to be a little detour of no more than half an hour and we ended up devoting at least an hour and a half to it without getting anywhere; at least we experienced some of the island's roughest roads, characterised by high dry-stone walls... and as for the heat... thank goodness for air conditioning! It's now half past eleven; we don't want to pick the wrong beach and we go to Ses Illetas. At the entrance to the little road that leads there we run into Davide with his parents (Carlo and Patrizia); if we had arranged to meet we couldn't have been more precise.

With them we go to one of the few coves that had so far been missing our presence; we take a long, refreshing swim, we stop to look at the sea, that sea that in a few days we'll miss so much, that sea about which it's no longer worth wasting any more adjectives. Meanwhile the hands of the clock race on; it's already one o'clock and we still have to have lunch; they keep racing all afternoon and in the blink of an eye, between one swim and another, it's already evening: when you're having fun, who knows why, the hours and minutes are shorter! We go out after dinner for a stroll in Es Pujols; it's by now certain, the only place on the island where you find a bit of a crowd in the evening. While Federico devours an ice cream bigger than he is, together with Carlo, Patrizia and two girls from Bologna, I drink a pleasant sangria at the Tennis Bar, Sabrina keeps us company with a Coca-Cola...

and we go on until nearly midnight.

Through the gaps in the curtains not much light seems to come in; we pull them aside fearfully... outside there's no beautiful sun shining and grey clouds cover the whole sky. We won't be intimidated; it's not raining, and confidently we pack our backpacks as on all other days: we'll try to spend the morning differently, hoping that later the clouds will open up and let the sun's rays through. We go to Sant Francesc Xavier for some shopping, then to the Cuevas d'en Xeroni, a small cave with stalactites and stalagmites. Federico is very excited before going in; he's never been in a cave and this one, though small, almost as if proportioned to the island, thrills him quite a bit and he talks non-stop, almost more than the guide.

The guide explains that the little hollow is no less than three million years old, that inside it's constantly, in summer and winter, twenty-two degrees Celsius, and that its ceiling reaches barely a metre in thickness: no wonder that from the centre of the rocky vault, besides the stalactites, hang the roots of the bamboo canes planted in the ground above. It's not a very beautiful cave; after all, you couldn't ask for more; it's pleasant, and perhaps when they've connected it to the new one, discovered a few metres away, who knows... only one thing is really strange: they let you take photos even with flash... I do it too, but maybe it's not a good thing. We return to the open air, while the clouds give way to the blue of the sky, and we run into Davide about to enter the cave.

With him we arrange to meet at the end of the visit to go to the beach; meanwhile we dash to El Pilar de La Mola to pick up Sabrina's pendant... it's not ready yet and I'll come back in the early afternoon. It's midday and we head toward the beach following a dirt road near the Ca Marí residential complex, as far as the Playa de Migjorn: the sun is out but a strong wind is blowing and the sea is rough; we decide to have lunch and set off toward other shores. To that end we choose the Playa del Levant; the wind is blowing there too, but we find a more sheltered little spot of sea: there's a storm in the air all around, and given how it was a few hours ago you can't ask for better. We plant the umbrella and shortly afterwards Federico is asleep, so I head off for the umpteenth time toward El Pilar de La Mola; I pick up the pendant and earrings and less than an hour later I'm back.

Federico has trouble waking up. When he does, he goes wild with Davide and it's practically non-stop swimming until evening. The day, though windy, is now decidedly pleasant, as is the evening, spent in a bar in Es Pujols, with the same company as the previous evening. The children don't sit still for a moment; my head almost spins from following them with my eyes, but it's also so lovely to see them having fun. Too bad they're already asleep when, at nearly one in the morning, in La Savina, as part of a village festival, numerous colourful fireworks burst forth, which Sabrina and I, already in our pyjamas, watch from the Mar i Sal car park.

On the morning of the last real day in Formentera, too, a beautiful sun is shining, the best sun you could wish for. We want to end our trip in style, and how to do that if not at the beautiful beach of Ses Illetas? We stop at the only cove that had been missing from our visit: the southernmost one. We park the car and cross the dunes. Immediately yet another marvel appears before our eyes, perhaps one of the most sublime: a wide bay protected by some islets, mostly covered by a thin veil of water, forming a veritable blue lagoon. We set out our things and stop to gaze at the spectacle in front of us. There are no people yet: we let ourselves be caressed by the light breeze blowing at our backs, we let ourselves, without presumption, be kissed by the first warm rays of the sun, and we look at the sea, in its infinite shades, placidly breaking in tiny waves on the water's edge...

if paradise exists it can't be very different from this. We let ourselves go into the water and fly with our imagination; we get caught up in the moment and we're happy, even though a certain amount of bitterness shows through at the thought that tomorrow all this will be just a memory. Federico runs, has fun and plays: run, run little one, have fun and play, fill yourself up with so much wonder, never stop, the world is full of wonderful places, you just have to look for them, and you can be sure, we will look for them... now sleep, take a good nap, rest; this afternoon, still this afternoon, we'll play in the sea of Formentera...

and we play, we play until evening, until the last minute, until with a touch of sadness and with so much, so much joy at having experienced an unforgettable holiday, we must, against our will, lower the curtain on the beautiful sea of this tiny Mediterranean island. We head off rather ruefully toward the car and go back home, then we go for the last time to Es Pujols, where we eat a pizza at the Maritim restaurant. We end the evening with a walk and a stop at one of the best-known spots in Formentera: Bananas & Co., habitually frequented by famous people... and it gets late amid chats and laughter.

The alarm goes off earlier than usual; I have to return the car and above all we have to pack our bags for departure. I go to the port, where the car rental company, Betacar, is located; I leave the vehicle in the car park and hand over the key: it would have been just like them to have a desk where they wouldn't have noticed. They have me sign another form and give me back the deposit. I walk back, stopping to buy bread; meanwhile Sabrina has almost finished packing the suitcases... so shortly after ten we're already at the pool for one last cool-down. Before long it's eleven o'clock and we have lunch early, since we have to vacate the room by midday. Later Federico sleeps at the edge of the pool... good, very good, you wouldn't have had, on this hectic day, other chances to do it.

The bus that takes us to the port is very punctual; the plane seems less punctual: they're already talking about a delay of about two hours. We board a fast ferry that in about half an hour reaches Ibiza and by means of another bus we soon arrive at the airport. We prepare to check in while there's talk of a three-and-a-half-hour delay, though nothing is official yet and on the departure board the Spanair flight Jk 6157 is listed as departing at 18:20 and for a long time no change is made. Then, finally, the presumed departure time appears: 21:45... it could have been worse, given the rumours going around... and after a while it gets even better: 20:46. But it's not over: a new update comes for 20:51. The wait is long but finally the departure time arrives, or rather, it's nearly here, very nearly... and the flight slips to 21:10. We board the plane and...

we don't take off; we have to wait until 22:31 to finally lift off from Ibiza... another hour and a half and we'll be in Bologna.

We touch down a few seconds after midnight and half an hour later we're outside picking up the car, while Federico, thank goodness, is still awake. He crashes on the Bologna ring road... a few minutes later, Sabrina does too. I think I crash too, if only mentally: near Imola I manage to get caught up in a strange play on words and, by now all alone, I think: in Formentera there was La Mola; here we're no less, we have I Mola... it's now pure dementia; I give myself a little slap on the cheek and carry on. At the Faenza exit it's 1:11, and twenty-five minutes later, at 1:26, we're finally home; it was hard but we made it. We lay Federico on the bed and go to sleep, concluding a wonderful holiday, all the more so since the child didn't get sick and our fears turned out to be unfounded, and however the next few days go, we managed to get through the holidays unscathed.

We're happy, much more than happy with the trip; we expected a lot and got so much more, both from Formentera and from Federico!!