The Respite and Reflection starring the pristine and remote Isle of FORMENTERA

Crispy and overloaded by stimulation, we concluded that the best wrap up for our journey of wanderings would be someplace without culture. Jenny and I have a tendency to be busy little brains and chatters, so relaxation must sometimes be undertook like a job. Embracing just a tad more debt, we scoured the islands we could putt putt over to- namely Mallorca, Menorca, Ibiza or Formentera. Ibiza forged dated and wonderous images of Bardot and Jagger circa 1967 in bleached villas and lazy sex-laden styles. It turns out that a high percentage of the island is only on pleasure drugs and dancing to incredibly horrific techno music until dawn now. Damn. We managed to eke out the last available room on the popular Formentera and practically the last ferry spots. Once arrived, we succumbed quickly to the ample warm embrace of its simplicity. Seriously. If you had put your ear to one of ours and listened, the sound in our skulls was akin to a conch shell, whistling, hollow and at peace. Lighthouses, cacti, farms, tapas and fish shacks, salt ponds, pine trees, white boxy villas, bicycles, cliffs, caves and most of all, BEACH. The whole coastline is dotted with free beaches facing the Mediterranean and ranging from rage filled grassy whirlpools to clear bath tempered sandy calm bays with million dollar yachts at anchor for days in the outer waters. Unbelievable? Stunning? Lucky.