When I board the ferry in Port d’Evissa early in the morning, Ibiza hasn’t gone to sleep yet. I turn my face towards the sun that has just come up and close my eyes. The sea breeze flows through my hair. I glance at the silhouette of the party island once more, marked by a cathedral and green mountains. What a contrast compared with the flat, sleepy looking Formentera that appears in my view fifteen minutes later. The Spanish building anger was soon squashed by environmental activists on the island: an airport and angular resort hotels like you find at the Costa are conspicuous in its absence. I drive onto the PM-820 heading east. Flamingos parade through the pink salt lakes of Ses Salinas national park. The minimalistic landscape and the plain low-rise buildings on the small island, only 83km2, are striking. A palm tree here, a fortress and stone wall there. A few mills and on every tip a light tower. Not a single traffic light. In fishermen’s towns like Caló de Sant Agustí, the fish is hung to dry on branches on roofs of wooden shacks. Definitely hard to miss are the vast white sand beaches with a turquoise sea: the pride of the tiniest inhabited island of the Spanish Balearic Islands.

On Formentera.es you will find the complete travel guide on Formentera

With a belly full of wine and paella, I plonk down on my towel on Ses Illetes, a white sandy beach at the most northern tip of the island. It overlaps from both sides into a long, white point into the sea, and has been named most beautiful beach of Europe multiple times. I look out over the crystal-clear water. It’s sleek and still, like that of a pool. This morning’s dive and the conversations with Manu have made clear the seagrass is not only a refuge for endangered animals like seahorses, but is also responsible for the island’s idyllic coast. Pink stones in the surf shine in the brilliant white sand. Both originate from the millions of animals that hide in the grass.

I wiggle my toes in the powdery sand and watch how an aged lifeguard does push-ups in his wooden watchtower. Next to me is a naked elderly couple. A topless mother walks past, feeding her two-year-old breastmilk. ‘The nudity at Formentera is a leftover of the many German and American hippies that conquered Ibiza and Formentera in the sixties,’ explains young politician Alejandra Ferrer, who is closely involved in the posidonia project. ‘Like my mother, from Germany.’ She points towards the boats that float in the distance in the bright blue water. Not above seagrass, a good sign. ‘There is an app for skippers to reserve a buoy that makes sure they won’t do any damage.’ Measures like this one have been taken to hopefully restore the posidonia to its original state in 2030. And that means that for now, you don’t have to travel to the Caribbean for tropical beaches.

The island officially has 21 beaches: from tiny rocky bays to vast sandy beaches. Take the extensive, free map from the ferry, in which you will find a description of all beaches.