Ocean Drive Talamanca

Unsurprisingly, in Ibiza, it’s easy to forgo exercise in favour of sunning yourself on the beach. Which is why, when our stay at the Ocean Drive Talamanca turned into three days of rambling – usually undertaken in 35-degree heat – we were as surprised as if you’d said we’d come home paler than when we left (not a chance, basically).

Our 50,000-step weekend started innocently enough. As Ibiza regulars, we’d developed a routine for our trips to the island: Mr Smith (who used to live here) would get in touch with old friends, filling every spare moment with brunches, coffees, lunches, and dinners; I’d pick and choose which friends I knew well enough (read: could be bothered) to socialise with and plant myself on a beach the rest of the time.

On checking in to Ocean Drive Talamanca, we expected this trip to be like the others. First impressions were good: there was a smiley valet who took our hire car – a dusty Fiat 500 rather than a Range Rover (the other guests, it seems, had splashed out more than we did on rentals). Once inside, we were handed a refreshing welcome cocktail before being whisked to our room for that glorious feeling: we threw open the terrace doors, breathed in the Mediterranean air, and promptly played ‘If I had a spare £20 million’ with the boats bobbing in the bay.

We decided to take a closer look at those boats – a decision, perhaps, that laid the groundwork for what would ultimately become our walking vacation. Ocean Drive Talamanca isn’t right on the beachfront but, at just a block or two back, feeling the sand between your toes is easy enough. And Playa de Talamanca is a long beach, with a lovely boardwalk that stretches nearly all the way to the Marina Botafoch area. There didn’t seem any point in stopping at the beach, so Mr Smith and I, well, we just kept on walking… What was meant to be a short sunset wander ended up being an hour’s tour, past beach bars, hotels, and the marina’s tiny boutiques, cafés and restaurants, all the way to Ibiza Town. Impressed by our efforts, we rewarded ourselves with tapas (and a bottle or two of Rioja) at delightful, unpretentious La Bodega (well, when in Spain).

The next morning, feeling gloriously sluggish, we headed down for breakfast, telling ourselves we’d be feeling a lot worse had it not been for the fact that after our boozy dinner we’d stumbled home along the same path, ‘sobering up’ in the process. Regardless, we definitely weren’t too hungover to appreciate the incredible spread: every kind of ham, cheese, bread, and muesli you can imagine – plus caviar, cake (not a spongy Spanish flan, but a proper, tiered number with fluffy icing and strawberries) and eggs cooked to order. We were in hangover heaven.

Breakfast is served in the restaurant, which I soon realised is a place to see and be seen. Personally, I much prefer gorging at a buffet in relative anonymity, but then Ocean Drive Talamanca is a pretty scene-y place, any time of day. The staff are all models (or may as well be), interiors sparkle, and the rooms are tastefully appointed, with walnut and teak furniture, pebble-floored patios, and a colour palette of navy, white and tan, with orange accents. Inconspicuousness is not high on the list of priorities at this hotel, at least when it comes to aesthetics.

After breakfast, we lounge around one of three pools – all pristine, all inviting; just as a hotel pool should be – before I decide (much to Mr Smith’s chagrin) I need to visit one of my favourite vintage stores, Vicente Ganesha. It’s one of Mr Smith’s least favourite places in Ibiza, but I convince him to join me by suggesting we walk into town – and so begins our third ‘stroll’ in two days. This confounds the valet who is amazed that we haven’t used our hire car once – a rarity in Ibiza.

We’re peckish by the time we get back to the hotel (also on foot), so we decide to give the hotel restaurant a try. Much to our surprise, all the hustle and bustle of breakfast has disappeared, and we’re one of only a handful of guests dining in the hotel. We can’t figure out what we’ve done wrong: it’s normal Spanish dinnertime (10pm), and there are people at the Coricancha ceviche bar outside – so why is the restaurant itself virtually empty? Luckily, what it lacks in ambience, it more than makes up for in tastiness: Mr. Smith has a steak (‘yum’ is his verdict), and I have a Wagyu burger. Both would be perfect via room service, too.

Satisfied and slightly tipsy, it was time for us to head out. Our destination: the iconic Pacha nightclub, conveniently close to the hotel. But this time I’m in heels, so I question whether it’d be wise to make the journey on foot. Mr Smith, though, seems to have developed a taste for footwork, and in the end, of course, we ramble over.

At Pacha, it’s all about footwork of a different variety, and it’s here that the night gets fuzzy – and where this rambling tale ends. But, with Ocean Drive Talamanca so beautifully located, experiencing the island without wheels turned out to be an utter joy. Maybe it’s because the island is so easy on the eye? Or maybe because we knew what was at the end of each and every stroll: our sophisticated home-from-home…