A guide to Formentera in March
Halfway through Dutch winter, our vitamin D at its all-time low, completely worn out by rain, wind, and gray skies — we decided to book a one-week stay in Formentera in early March. We were looking for an easy-to-reach, close-enough-but-warm destination. We’d never been to the Baleares islands, so we figured this could be an interesting adventure.
We packed our bags and in less than 6 hours (door-to-door from our Haarlem home) we were in our Airbnb in Es Pujols, Formentera. That alone is a perk our number one destination of choice, the Greek islands, can’t quite boast. Logistically speaking, Formentera is a dream to reach from Amsterdam. Flight to Ibiza, taxi, ferry, boom. You’re there, likely already looking at some of the dreamiest beaches in the Mediterranean.
However, we were in for quite a few surprises. Turns out, visiting Formentera in March isn’t just visiting a seaside location in the off-season — the experience is worthy of a hermit, and will stay ingrained in our minds as an extremely surreal week.
Surprise n.1 — The weather
Don’t expect the weather to be perfect. In early March, it likely won’t be.
Good weather was our number one driver in booking this workation. Well, our first harsh reality check was the ferry ride between Ibiza and Formentera. All I can say is — if you plan on taking that ferry in the off-season, particularly in winter-time, do not forget your preferred over-the-counter motion sickness medication. While the ride was just over 40 minutes long, the sea was incredibly rough. Before you say anything, I wouldn’t say my stomach is usually very sensitive. But boy did this ferry put my resistance to a test.
We would soon understand why. The morning after, the sky was overcast, it was drizzling, and the wind was blowing strong. While the skies cleared out within a day, the wind was our constant companion for the whole week. Coming from the Netherlands, this was no big problem for us, but the wind blew so strong at times that we felt like we desperately needed a break to better enjoy the scenery without the constant howling.
The best couple of days, weather-wise, came at the end of the week. Finally, the wind died down, the sun shone hot, and we could finally enjoy some beach life —but always with long sleeves and jeans on.
Surprise n.2 — The beauty
As long-time admirers of Mediterranean beaches — specifically Greek ones—Formentera beaches left us speechless. The beauty is otherworldly, reminiscing of Caribbean colors.
We already knew Formentera had a reputation for its amazing beaches, but we were still blown away. I think what makes these beaches especially beautiful is their swimming pool-like look. The sand is thin and white, and the terrain slopes gently into the sea, creating a turquoise color that we’ve only seen a couple of times in Greece—possibly only in Koufonissi. Where Greece has crystal-clear, deep blue waters, with coarser sand and frequently pebbled beaches, Formentera has turquoise, slightly warmer hues, and fine sand everywhere.
And unlike most tourists, we got to enjoy this beauty completely alone.
Surprise n.3 — The ghost island
It took us a couple of hours on the island to realize we were two of the very few tourists on the entire island. The feeling was almost eerie. In our little town of Es Pujols, all of the restaurants, hotels, car rentals, and bars were closed for the off-season—with only two or three exceptions. Most doors and windows were nailed shut, their signs covered in black plastic and tape.
When we sat down at one of the two restaurants that were open for business, our only companions were seasonal workers—tanned men in their forties and fifties flocking in from construction sites in town. With Easter coming up early this year, the streets and buildings were buzzing with work, in preparation for an early seasonal opening happening in just a few weeks. Walls were being painted, holes covered in the ground—the town was getting ready for the promise of April crowds.
Our week in Es Pujols was lonely for us, but so extremely peaceful. We ended up befriending a waiter at our go-to place for evening meals. Over a delicious plate of Serrano ham and Manchego cheese, she shared her life choice with us. Argentinian-born, after moving to Berlin for a year and a half, she ran away from cold and gray weather to live in Es Caló, an even smaller and emptier village here on the island, in the South East. We had visited it earlier in the week— it’s close to yet more dreamy beaches but far removed from any hint of “urban” life. It was completely silent, except for the howling of the wind and the hammering of construction workers fixing iron rails on a terrace. Landing there from Berlin must have been a complete, but welcome, culture shock for our friend.
“In the high season, you wouldn’t even recognize this restaurant or this street,” she said, pointing to the empty room around us and the empty sidewalk outside. “It’s packed with people.”
We could hardly believe it. In our minds, Formentera is inevitably bound to a sense of emptiness, unlike what most people experience. It was wild to hear stories of queues, crowds, noise, music, when all we could hear was silence. I didn’t mind the emptiness at all — on the contrary, I felt incredibly privileged to have the island and the kindness of people to myself. For the entirety of the week, I almost felt as if I was seeing something I wasn’t supposed to see—something only locals get to experience.
Surprise n.4 — Sounds like Milan, but with palm trees
In the days leading up to the trip, I realized nobody in the world shares quite the same fascination for Formentera as the average Italian — many of my colleagues, Europeans, Americans, and Africans alike, needed me to spell out F-o-r-m-e-n-t-e-r-a so they could do a quick Google Maps search to see where I was headed. That baffled me. Italian VIPs as well as any Italian passer-by would agree — Formentera is the place to be.
Our last surprise was precisely just how Italian Formentera is.
Sant Francesc Xavier is the capital of Formentera and by far the most lively village we came across during our week-long stay. There, while sunbathing on a bench in the deserted main square, we couldn’t help but notice that all the locals around us were speaking Italian. People in cafes were speaking Italian. Mostly with a northern accent, so weirdly, we ended up feeling very much at home in a scenery that was extremely exotic to us. These were not tourists — they were people like us who, unlike us, had decided a quiet, slow life on a small island was what they needed.
A drastically different life choice that fascinates me and still haunts me—the possibility of giving it all up and adapting the pace of life to the stillness and loneliness of winter on a small island.
While waiting for our bus back to the port, suitcases packed, we met Laura. Italian-born, she lived 28 years in Formentera. Now she lives in Amsterdam (quite the coincidence), but goes back regularly to visit her daughter, who still lives and works on the island. Laura is a manager in a bakery in Amsterdam and has a wonderful calm and happiness about her.
We will surely meet up for a coffee up North, miles away from the beaches of Formentera, and I fully intend to ask more about her experience. What stories does someone have to tell after calling Formentera her home for almost 30 years?
Should you consider Formentera in March?
All in all, our experience was spectacular, but it’s not for everyone. Formentera in March is for people who don’t mind being hermits for a while. If you value silence, empty streets, rugged scenery, and don’t mind the weather being a bit of an unknown, do it. The experience will open a unique window over island life in one of the most popular tourist destinations in the Mediterranean—when nobody’s there.
Here are some pieces of advice.
When to go
Laura complimented us for choosing to visit in March (“best period in the year”), but she advised we should go back in October when the water is warmer and more restaurants are open. We’ll likely do that next time; our goal is to still avoid crowds, but catch more “life” on the island. If you too don’t like crowds, avoid June, July, and August like the plague.
Where to stay
We stayed in Es Pujols, a quintessentially touristic, small village close to the most beautiful of beaches. In the off-season, it’s nothing short of a ghost town. Initially, we questioned whether we should switch it up and stay a few nights in beautiful Sant Francesc Xavier, the capital, where most cafes, supermarkets and restaurants were indeed open.
Both are excellent choices. But going back, I’d probably choose Es Pujols all over again. You just can’t beat being that close to that beautiful of a beach.
Where to eat
We’re not in the best position to advise here as most places were closed. Here’s where we did eat wonderful meals:
- El Gioviale, Sant Francesc Xavier. Some excellent pasta was eaten here, and I’m (of course) picky when it comes to eating pasta in restaurants. Great service.
- Sa Panxa, Sant Ferran de Ses Roques. We spent our first day here, waiting for the rain and wind to pass. Amazing atmosphere, great quality food and local ingredients.
- Pinatar, Es Pujols. This place saved our lives in Es Pujols. Had most of our dinners here, and I highly recommend their tabla with cold cuts and cheese. Great wine too, and overall quality/price.
Honorable mention, Sa Palmera, Es Pujols. Food might be just ok, but it has one of the best views I’ve ever had while eating lunch—in my entire life.
Getting around
You do need some sort of independent way to get around the island. If you do decide to go in March, most rentals will be closed. However, after asking around, we ended up calling the phone number for one of the rentals in Es Pujols and the owner opened up the shop just for us.
Electric bikes are a cheaper, wonderful, eco-friendly way to tour the island. Distances are short enough and roads are safe. We were extremely happy with our choice and would do it again.
