7Pines Resort Ibiza

Call me crazy, but with a name like 7Pines, I really expected to be greeted with, well, at least seven pine trees upon arriving at 7Pines Resort Ibiza. I was imagining the entrance to a Norwegian estate or possibly a Canadian mansion; a dense, fragrant forest composed of picture-perfect Christmas trees (never mind that those are generally fir or spruce) opening up to a grand, circular driveway dotted with seven of the most magnificent pines you’d ever seen, leading to a double-height, double-wide door. A Hans Christian Andersen masterpiece, if you will. 

Clearly, I was forgetting that we were in Ibiza, where pines tend to grow more umbrella-shaped, not triangular. And while 7Pines is on top of a cliff covered in pine groves, there aren’t very many pines near the property at all: no thick forests, no shrubs to thwack your way through, no tree-lined paths to ramble along. Forgive me for being so literal. 

Instead, there are sweeping views of the Med, with the fabled magical island, Es Vedrà, right in front of you. There are also two restaurants with the same vistas, the vibey Pershing Yacht Terrace, a cool adults-only pool (as well as a more family-friendly one, tucked far enough away that kids can splash freely without being constantly hushed), plus a maze of pristine suites and villas, each with their own terrace or balcony, and some with their very own pool. My (unrealistic, uninformed, unhinged) expectations of a Norwegian forest aside, 7Pines Resort Ibiza is gorgeous. 

It helps that you can really lean into laziness here. The minute we turn up, a golf buggy is loaded up with our things — 'Don’t lift a finger,' we are instructed — and our hire car is whisked away while we sip on icy lemon- and mint-infused water at reception. Another buggy later takes us to our suite, where our car has been parked in the shade, all the junk unloaded from the boot and tucked tidily into our wardrobe. If we’d asked them to unpack our luggage, they probably would have happily obliged.  

There’s a heat wave outside, so we bask in the 17-degree air-conditioning of our suite, slowly coming back to life enough to properly check it out. Lovely terrace (and eventual home for all our wet swimwear, sandals and towels): check. Sal de Ibiza crisps and complimentary salted Spanish almonds: check. There’s also a bar with full-size bottles of wine, spirits and bubbles, and a mini kitchenette, should you feel like cooking (er, no thanks). View of the pool: check. View of the sea: check. The only thing missing during our stay is a sea breeze — just stifling-hot Spanish air — so we head down to the pool for a quick dip before dinner.  

Anyone who’s been to Ibiza knows that there’s no shortage of brilliant bars and restaurants on the island. In fact, asking for friends’ recommendations can feel more stressful than helpful, as you usually end up with a list that’s longer than you’ll ever have time for. That said, having been to the island dozens of times, we know the places we love most: La Paloma for its long, laidback lunches (helped by the fact that there’s a small playground on-site to help occupy young ones); Macao Café for some of the best Italian food you’ll ever have; Fish Shack for that fleeting, fresh-seafood-on-card-tables, summers-only feeling; and Can Can Alimentación for orange wines and moreish charcuterie boards.

Nela, 7Pines’s pop-up dinner spot, and Cone Club, the year-round restaurant, never quite make it onto our round-up of all-time faves. But, as Mr Smith points out, most of that list has gone unchanged for years, and some of Ibiza’s objectively excellent spots (such as Omakase by Walt, which is incredible and holds a much-deserved Michelin star) are places we adore but, for one reason or another, also haven't made the cut.  

And make no mistake, Cone Club delivers great food. An amusing highlight of our time in the restaurant comes the next morning, when a fellow guest flashes Mr Smith at breakfast. There we were, minding our own business (well, truthfully, I was slurping a bowl of Asian rice noodles in broth; I can never resist when a hotel breakfast includes options such as pho, ramen, dumplings or congee). Mr Smith had ventured over to the egg station when it happened. Her boob simply popped out. I’m told it was an accident, and by his account, it was less of a wardrobe malfunction than a case of being, perhaps, too well-endowed for her top. Either way, Mr Smith enjoyed the show, and she didn’t seem overly concerned. Let’s be honest: head to any beach in Spain and you’re likely to see a fair few bare pairs anyway.  

Incident over, we resumed the routine we happily adopted during our stay: breakfast, air-conditioning break, pool, swim, lunch, swim, air-conditioning break, small excursion, back to 7Pines Resort for more air-conditioning, drinks, dinner, air-conditioned sleep. Pines or no pines, topless incidents or not, it’s pure bliss.