Formentera, Spain—a tiny island in the Balearics that feels like a world unto itself. It’s a place where the edges of time blur, and the noise of life dissolves into the gentle rhythm of waves and wind.
Last summer, I found myself on this enchanting island, seeking a pause between a deeply personal journey of self-discovery and the relentless pace of work. A dear friend, French artist Jane Pulygarde, opened her beautiful home to me on the island, a sanctuary where creativity and serenity intertwined. Together, with her playful dog Linda leading the way, we explored every inch of Formentera—a place that is as much a story as it is a destination.
For those of us from the South Asian diaspora, accustomed to bustling cities, vibrant chaos, and the warmth of our cultural heritage, Formentera offered something deeply unexpected: stillness. Yet, in its quiet beauty, it held a resonance that felt familiar, like a connection to our roots through the universal language of simplicity and authenticity. Here, the salt pans of Ses Salines shimmered like vast mirrors under the golden sun, much like the salt fields of Gujarat back home—both reminders of how landscapes hold history, labour, and life within them.
The island’s history is woven into its landscapes. The Phoenicians were the first settlers, drawn to its salt riches, followed by the Romans and Moors, who left their marks on its culture. Walking through these ancient salt pans, I reflected on the importance of such natural resources, not just as commodities but as carriers of stories—stories of resilience, of survival, of a time when the world moved slower. Formentera’s salt, once known as “white gold,” echoes the value we place on the salt of the earth in South Asia—a symbol of sustenance, purity, and the essence of life.
Jane and I spent mornings wandering these landscapes, often ending up at La Mola Lighthouse, perched dramatically on cliffs overlooking the sea. Known as the “Lighthouse at the End of the World,” it inspired Jules Verne’s novel "Hector Servadac." Standing there, staring at the horizon where the Mediterranean seemed to stretch endlessly, I thought of explorers—those who charted the unknown not just in search of land but of themselves. Formentera has that pull, much like the vast Rann of Kutch or the rolling dunes of Rajasthan back home—it demands introspection and leaves you with a sense of awe.
The island’s beaches, though celebrated for their ethereal beauty, held an understated charm that felt more profound than postcard perfection. While Platja de Ses Illetes is renowned as one of the most beautiful beaches in the world, it was the quieter coves, like Cala Saona and the rocky shores of Es Caló, that spoke to me. There, the translucent waters seemed to whisper ancient secrets; their serenity offering a kind of healing I didn’t know I needed. Formentera’s landscapes reminded me of South Asia’s natural treasures—the backwaters of Kerala or the unspoiled beaches of the Andamans—places where nature holds sway and time feels irrelevant.
Back at Jane’s home, we found joy in the simplest of rituals. Cooking meals together felt like a celebration of the island’s bounty: fresh octopus, sun-ripened tomatoes, and olive oil that tasted of earth and sunlight. There was a quiet reverence in these shared acts, much like preparing meals in a South Asian kitchen, where every ingredient carries meaning and tradition. In the evenings, we danced—a spontaneous decision that became a cherished memory. Learning Spanish dance under the stars, with the sea breeze in our hair, felt like embracing the island’s spirit: passionate, unrestrained, and deeply connected to its roots.
Formentera’s cultural richness extended to its artisan heritage. At the La Mola Artisan Market, local crafts—handwoven textiles, intricate ceramics, and jewellery—reminded me of the vibrant markets in Jaipur or Goa, where every piece tells a story of place and person. Here, too, the parallel was unmistakable: the universal human desire to create, to preserve, to share.
Formentera isn’t just a destination; it’s a state of being. It’s a place that invites you to slow down, to shed the weight of expectations, and to reconnect with what truly matters. For the South Asian diaspora, accustomed to lives filled with movement and colour, it offers a different kind of richness: the quiet luxury of simplicity, the depth of introspection, and the beauty of stillness.
This time on, Formentera was more than a vacation—it was a spiritual awakening, a fresh breath between the chapters of my life. The island reminded me of the importance of presence, of finding beauty in the unnoticed, and of carrying a piece of its tranquillity back with me. Formentera is not just a story to be read; it’s a story to be lived, one step, one wave, one soft breeze at a time. And I'm glad I could form my own chapter there.