I Took My Kids To Ibiza
The precarious balance of partying and parenting on the iconic Balearic Island.
Ee-bee-tha—the island where native hippies and the gypset collide on club floors. A place where the sun sets to the sound of Benirrás bongos and rises in the faces of zombies exiting the discotecas on their way to the afters.
A barrage of folks we know have long sworn Ibiza is a perfect summer haven for kids and party-inclined parents alike. So, two summers ago, we followed suit and rented a house for a month near the island’s center but not quite in it.
Our logic? With three under five, all of our usual traipsing around takes its toll on our aging backs. Staying put in a home base for a bit eases the literal, physical pain of travel with littles. And by way of being Ibiza, the many European friends we don’t see during the year would happily pop in for a visit. Or to pop a pill. To each his own.
Our gated compound tucked away in the industrial neighborhood known as Jesús positioned us closer to DC-10, a music institution we love, than to the beaches in the north we adore. This was a strategic move. Our days were spent splashing around with the kids at the beach. But when darkness crept in with its DJs, we traded in parenting for some partying. So, there was a little solace taken in our being relatively close should we find the littles suddenly in need.
The critical piece to any Ibiza parent puzzle is a competent nanny. We imported one from Milan that we had found on an Italian nanny website and brought on an earlier ski trip to Cervinia, the Italian side of the famed Matterhorn. A mom of three herself, she was super competent and had the loveliest demeanor and so, she put me enough at ease that I was able to indulge in some mischief.
We are not of the elk that can spend without thinking and so, our days weren’t spent at Chiringuitos for $500/chair and a minimum spend in the thousands. After all, the majority of our crew is underage and despite a propensity for eating I’ve yet to see rivaled, food of the ice cream and french fry variety is what really gets them going. So, the exorbitant spending sort of felt pointless. Instead, we bought umbrellas and towels and spent most days exploring the far more beautiful and wild beaches of the north.
In our northern tour, we stumbled upon a number of what have become my favorite beaches and restaurants. We swam charming little bays with “batman caves” for exploring. We dines at tiny shacks with rickety chairs situated up from the shoreline that surprise and delight with unexpectedly masterful dishes presented beautifully.
The gems of the north were enough to fill most of our days. When we weren’t there, we filled our time with other mini adventures. We joined friends for a couple of days in nearby Formentera, overrun by Italians and known for its notably bluer water and slower pace. We rented boats from Portinax, packed lunch and took our own little aquatic tour of the island visiting Es Canaret, a beautiful cove you can only reach by boat. We visited the Las Dalias market both during the day (which I’d skip on account of the heat) and night when it comes alive with a solid restaurant and DJ creating a nice vibe outside of Akasha, a more local club with a strange mix of people and noticeable lack of air conditioning.
We made a Tuesday habit of setting our alarms to allow for around five hours of restless sleep following Circoloco, DC-10’s Monday night affair we religiously attend when on the island. A number of friends have criticized DC-10 for becoming too packed, too commercial. They’re not wrong but we still manage to regularly have too much fun on its premises. We’d then drag ourselves downstairs to find our three little loves in the pool (supervised of course), round them up and head to Benirrás to cold-sweat our way through the sea on pedalos before seaside dinner and a salute to the sun with the famed Benirrás bongos (they used to be a Sunday thing but by some strange Covid logic, they’re now apparently there every day except for Sunday). The market on the beach’s edge is also home to my favorite stall of all Ibiza markets, provider of half my wardrobe.
We spent one day at the waterpark which the boys enjoyed, the 46 year old boy most of all. We snuck the littles on the big boy slides as many times as we could before the authorities caught wind and banished us to the kiddie pool. At that point, me and the boys watched as Papà ran towards a giant purple toilet bowl-like slide yelling “just two more” before galloping back toward us with glee and a piece of flesh hanging off his elbow. Boys will be boys. We returned this year with friends and Dani spent hours being whipped around the big boy slides while Rafa protested, reminding us that while he’s giant, he is only three.
On another beautiful afternoon, we left the kids to hang at the pool while we joined some friends on a hike which provided fantastic views and a nice refreshing leap into the ocean in our undies to cool off. We realized no one had remembered water about an hour in but apart from a brutal thirst setting in, it was a beautiful way to enjoy the island’s splendor.
We tucked the kids in and ventured to the various clubs on the island like Hï, Pacha and Amnesia, only to remember that, for us, DC-10 is the only one worth the effort. There are plenty of other locales to enjoy some music and movement but I’m talking straight up clubs. To be fair, DC-10 is an acquired taste. Fancy, it is not. It’s basically a box with a good sound system, two small outdoor spaces and planes passing frighteningly low overhead but it’s an institution where legends can be heard and made. I remember chatting with Peggy Gou years ago in the bathroom when, fast forward to this summer, I watched her escorted by multiple bodyguards up to the console. At DC-10, you have to be willing to stand in a stream of stranger sweat as you’re whisked away into the beat and down the rabbit hole. VIP is a must as without it, you have essentially nowhere to rest your legs. I’m no princess but I am 40, I’ve paid my dues and have earned my spot on the VIP bench.
We dined at a number of lovely establishments, avoiding any we could find in Miami because frankly, I’ve never understood the purpose of traveling thousands of miles for a familiar experience. And those who know me know I’d choose dining barefoot in the sand over heels every time. Two summers ago, I discovered one of my favorite eateries perhaps in the whole world, Chiringuito Cala Xuclar. This summer, in addition to revisiting it multiple times, I found a handful of new favorites to add to “the list” (if interested, you can scroll all the way down to access it).
The water in Ibiza isn’t potable which presented a challenge given my mischievous minis think drinking bathwater is entertaining, especially when I tell them not to (Rafa, I’m looking at you). During our time on the island in summer 2023, there was an allegedly high presence of fecal matter in the water of a handful of beaches. That’s right, human poop. I don’t know what the true cause was but we definitely experienced a couple of rough days and downed a lot of probiotics. Diarrhea and diapers is decidedly not my favorite combination.
As our month on Ibiza came to a close last summer, I was exhausted. In addition to the aforementioned tummy trauma, I’d spent multiple nights trembling in bed due to what I believe was the island’s unique, fortified strain of Covid and was left in a fairly fragile state for two weeks of the total four. We’d spent much of our time dedicated to truly getting to know Ibiza and all she had to offer and so, we were never idle. We were the kids’ only entertainment and so sleep was hard to come by between going out at night and keeping them busy and happy during the day.
All in all, I’d summed it up to a marathon of epic proportions on a daily basis. Up and at em’ around 8:00am for breakfast with the kids. Then beach day bag prep before making our way to the water. Diapers, wipes and snacks aside, Nala was still in the formula phase so prep was pretty involved. We aimed for in-transit car and beach naps where possible with the occasional evening adventure squeezed in before cooking dinner and making bedtime happen. Then, the nocturnal affairs would begin and often go on until the sun was already high in the sky.
I’ve spoken of Gabri’s TOMO (terror of missing out) which meant no saying no to anything. I waver between JOMO (joy of missing out) and some standard FOMO but I will say, my FOMO rears its rhinestone tattoo-adorned head a bit more aggressively when in Ibiza. So we said yes to everything, including exhaustion.
I came home calling bullshit on party parent’s proclamation that Ibiza is a kid’s paradise, the perfect place for littles. I saw it as an island with it’s limits that didn’t claim fame for its ability to provide minis with the time of their lives. Instead, legal age partiers became parents that didn’t want the party to end, and so they began finding ways to ensure it didn’t have to. And I was on board with that but unconvinced. And yet, I let Gabri persuade me to go for round two. Despite the bags under my eyes, Ibiza still called to me and I wasn’t ready to do away with her. So we signed up for Summer 2024.
As I write this, I’m still on the island where round two is at its close. Our bags are packed and I’m lying by our pool which looks lovingly out over Ibiza’s old port into the sea beyond. I’m still full from our dinner last night, a poetic salute to summer (and belated anniversary celebration) where the sun set in favor of a full moon that rose triumphantly into the sky in the same way it did just a month ago when it welcomed us. Our departure time is breathing down my neck, hot as the summer sun. I’ve sunk down into my chair in a minor depression, unready to let go of what our time in Ibiza consisted of but fully aware I can point to nothing that warrants complaining. Between this year’s set up and my more intimate relationship with Ibiza, I’ve fallen in love. Not the superficial spell one might fall under after a hedonistic, nocturnal stay. Real love — with her feminine energy, countless corners off the beaten track and the option of dipping in and out of her waters and dance floors with the shifting of my mood.
This summer, endless days where the sun kept us company til 9:30pm were filled with Hippie markets full of handmade bohemian threads, pool days filled with pasta and kids (my own and those of friends), new sandy and dance-y discoveries and visits to old favorites. We admired unbeatable sunsets from stunning settings, danced the night away at DC-10, Pike’s and at parties in obnoxiously gorgeous villas, and we did it all in unhurried fashion knowing we finally understood Ibiza.
Gabri found a fantastic house this year with the sweetest, most accommodating owners, an unbeatable view and a contract closed at a price only he could manage. We shared the house with bestie and biz partner, Franci, and his daughter Lea which provided the boys with a built-in, all day playmate for Dani in particular. As perhaps the only flaw in our plan, Rafa has settled into being odd man out this summer but he is a resilient gentle giant and while the winter brought his complete rejection of me, summer has brought something more like obsession and I’m enjoying his constant bearlike embrace.
Franci came by boat with his car full of products from Italia (I’ve never seen so much pasta in my life) and we had two fantastic Italian nannies at home so the kids and our tummies were well cared for with spaghetti alla vongole or bottarga, parmigiana, caponata, pesce, caprese, crostate and so on. (I will say I went home skinnier than I arrived last year while the opposite is true this year.) We’ve revisited our favorite destinations and have discovered new, more authentic secrets and spots, enjoyed at a slower pace. We investigated camp-esque options for kids and narrowed down from what I believe are the huge rip offs to the real deals. There have been visits from dear friends from Miami and friendships formed with locals so the scene in and out of home was super social for both us and the kids. We danced into the wee hours as favorite DJs like Blondish, Keinemusik, Peggy Gou, Dixon, Crazy P, Black Coffee and countless others spun us into the fervor.
My heart is heavy as we bid adieu to Ibiza but we’ve already put our deposit down on our house for next year. So as home and work and school and routine come closer into view, the allure of Ibiza will hang in the air. And the promise she and I have made to rekindle our love affair in just a year’s time will bring me solace as I navigate what the next 12 months have in store.
Looking for recos on where to eat, beach, sleep, play, dance, shop, take the kids, go for sunset or even where to dine in Formentera?
Become a paid subscriber to get them all!
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Tyme To Fly to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.