Yoga Press Articles
Our Press to date
Below are some of the articles in which Ibiza Yoga Ltd has appeared over the years. Established for 20 years, the oldest most established retreat on the island - a lot has been written please read for yourself the wonderful things journalists have said about us.
The Times Saturday June 6th 2015
The Times Travel Section page 37
Mirror Lifestyle: Yoga retreats in Ibiza
January 2013 Yoga retreats on Ibiza: Save or splurge on your karma
EasyJetTraveller Inflight Magazine
June 2012 http://traveller.easyjet.com/features/2012/06/yoga-retreats-in-ibiza
Yoga Magazine 'What's Hot'
April 2012 www.yogamagazine.co.uk
Travel Bloggers Post August 2012
THE TRAVEL BLOGGING WORK/LIFE BALANCING ACT – HOW TO AVOID A MELTDOWN
Norwegian 'Feelgood magazine'
"Hi Ibiza Yoga!
I am very well thank you:)
I had a great stay at Ibiza Yoga.
Here is the Article"
Julie Kristoffersen: Feelgood Reiser journalist
OM Yoga & Lifestyle Magazine
May 2012 www.ommagazine.com
Ibiza Yoga The Bouche Diary
LevaPS! magazine 'yogaresor' Mar 2012
January 2012 Soul & Spirit magazine
note from the editor to Ibiza Yoga:
"P.S. The place was so highly recommended by my reviewer that I'm tempted to visit too this year! sounds lovely"
Editor - Soul&Spirit
Yoga auf Ibiza
6 of the hottest yoga retreat destinations
Plan Your Yoga Escape | 6 of the hottest yoga retreat destinations around the world
Lichter leven op Ibiza - YogaOnline
Think you know Ibiza | The Gaily Mail
Think you know Ibiza (Gaily Mail 2011)
By Raymund McManus
Financial Times 2011
Fashionistas flock to hip, hippy Ibiza
By Lucie Muir
Flick through the pages of any glossy fashion magazine at this time of year and it's hard to escape the inevitable reference to the "Ibiza Look". By now we all know roughly what that means and you can bet it is far from over. Indeed, elements of it will be around next summer, too.
Over the years, Ibiza has picked up a bad reputation. With its rowdy Club 18-30 holidays, package tours and chavs, the Med's most popular party destination can be decidedly déclassé.
But ask any fashionista why Ibiza continues to be a source of summer inspiration, with twirly skirts and peasant tops à la Miller (Sienna) and Moss (Kate, of course), and they will tell you there is more to the island than easyJet and drug-fuelled euphoria.
Ibiza's "hip" factor hits you shortly after landing. Once past the low-cost carrier brigade at arrivals, you can't miss the eye-catching cherry print T-shirts at Pasha's airport boutique - (Pasha being one of the island's largest clubs, whose cherry blossom motifs are uncannily in tune with those used by Marc Jacobs as a print on his Louis Vuitton luggage line).
From here, the fashion trail heads north to Benirras beach. Jade Jagger has a house in the vicinity, while Sadie Frost and Ms Moss rent summer villas and can be spotted among the crowds who gather to watch the Sunday night sunset. This weekly event draws in bongo players, flame-throwers and the beautiful people from across the island.
It is this part of Ibiza where any designer with a touch of boho chic about them, from Daniella Helayel (Issa dresses) to Georgina Goodman and model-turned-designer Gail Eliot, looks first for inspiration.
Take Goodman, for example. The footwear designer is just back from a recent research trip to the island. As a result, her spring/summer 2006 collection will feature touches of fluorescent colours that stem from the early Ibizan club scene.
Like other designers, Goodman likes to make a quick stop at the "Hippy Market", which runs every Saturday at Las Dalias, near the town of San Carlos. Here designers from across the island show their latest frocks, jewellery and hand-crafted leather goods. It is a well-known spot among international design teams, who can be found rooting through Brigitte Axel's Missoni-esque knits, printed kaftans by Jane Naeke and sexy wrap-around dresses by Anami. The latter also sell at London's Spitalfields Market on Sundays.
"I see a lot of foreign designers here," says Brigitte Axel, a German designer who lives and works on the island.
For something more authentic, the Saturday
flea market at the Hippodrome in Sant Jordi has it all. From the open race track, Ibizan locals sell their wares from car boots or from rugs covering the ground. It's the grungey vibe that attracts fashion folk in the know.
"It's so much cheaper here than in Portobello," enthuses Goodman, who recently picked up an original 1960s beaded necklace for a song.
Hot on Goodman's heels, Michela Wenkert, head of footwear design for Hobbs, is also just back from a sourcing trip. "I had heard about this amazing espadrille shop in Ibiza Old Town and made a bee-line for it," says Wenkert.
"Espadrilles have made a big come back over the past few seasons but it is the original, flat-soled versions that I'll probably weave into next summer's collection."
S'Espardenya, the espadrille store mentioned by Wenkert, carries the simple summer shoe synonymous with European beach holidays, in just about every shade imaginable. From a tiny side-street store in Ibiza's romantic old town, children's espadrilles are made by hand on the premises. Add to that a ridiculously affordable price tag, just €5 a pair (£3.40), and it is hard to believe it has been kept an insider secret for so long.
When they are not trawling markets and craft stores, designers are more likely to be searching for inner peace. This is, after all, the island of chill.
Take Sadie Frost, half of design duo Frost French, who is no stranger to the island's carefree scene. As a child, she was taken out of school to follow the hippy trail with her parents, living first in Morocco and then on the deserted island of Formentera, which lies to the south-west of Ibiza.
"I see Ibiza more as a place to reflect," says Frost, who has stayed at the exclusive "Ibiza Yoga" retreat.
Classes are held at the Villa Palmas, which sits in the hills above Benirras beach. Not only does the retreat attract designers, stylists and photographers but Dan Harte and Sarah Robbie, the husband and wife team who own it,
are also behind the Ordinary People model agency in
Sarah Jane Clarke, the business brains behind the Sass and Bide label she co-runs with Heidi Middleton, also looks to Ibiza for peace of mind. "I crave thebohemian life of Ibiza," says Clarke, who has also stayed at the Ibiza Yoga retreat.
But there are some girls who can't help partying. Helayel, the Brazilian designer behind the Issa label, has been spending her summers on the island since 1997. "Ibiza is the best place to spot upcoming trends," she says.
"I get really inspired by all those great Ibizancolours."
Star Magazine Article June 2011
Metro Magazine 5th Feb 2010 -Travel
The ‘I forgot Valentine’s Day and need to make it up to her’ break
Ibiza Yoga, Benirras
After you’ve forgotten the big day, she’ll no doubt want to bend you into all sorts of peculiar shapes. Tone those muscles and let her simmer down on the quiet side of Ibiza at the stunning retreat of Benirras, an area renowned for its natural powers of fertility, to put her back in the mood after your Valentine’s Day own goal. Try midnight pony rides, stroll along the near-deserted beach and, if you really want to spend some quality time away from the madding crowd, stay in a pagoda or teepee.
Treats for her: A week-long session of invigorating Ashtanga yoga taught by expert yoga masters on a roof terrace overlooking the Mediterranean. What more could your yoga- loving girlfriend want? While it may be just too cold for sunbathing (average temperatures are around 16°C in February) there’s not another hotel resort or pasty Brit in sight.
Treats for him: Discover your inner boy scout. The pagodas and teepees offer rugged yet peaceful sleeping quarters (private villas with pools are also available if you can’t convince her). Go mountain biking in the nearby mountains, try scuba diving or, if you get too chilled out, head for the bars of nearby San Antonio.
From £250 per person for a seven-night stay and six days of yoga classes (beginners and advanced level) and half-board, breakfast and lunch plus self-serving food and drinks during the day. www.ibizayoga.com
Reveal Magazine October 2009
RyanAir Article July 2008
RyanAir July 2008
Luton/Dunstable on Sunday Sept 2008
Evening Standard - 19th August 2008
London Paper July 07
Stern Magazine April 07
Stern Magazine 1
Stern Magazine 2
Stern Magazine 3
Stern Magazine 4
Marie Claire May 06
Slimming Magazine Aug 2005
Yoga Retreat in Ibiza
The Tester Emma Simkin
Yoga retreats can have a reputation for being a bit worthy, but this wasn’t the case when I spent a week at the seriously chilled-out Ibiza Yoga, near Benirras beach in the unspoilt north of the island. The schedule is so laid back, you don’t even have to join in with the yoga everyday, but the teaching is so amazing, you’d be missing out if you didn’t.
There were three hours of classes each day, starting at 9am to beat the heat. I soon settled into my morning routine of getting up early to eat a light breakfast of muesli and fresh fruit on the balcony before heading for my workout. The views from the yoga platforms were stunning – my inner calm was definitely helped by gazing out across the Med! After class, all the guests ate lunch together, prepared by the on-site chef. All the meals were vegetarian, so we enjoyed lots of beans, pulses, crisp salads and, of course, fresh veggies. I loved it, as it was my kind of food – lentil dhal, veggie lasagne, couscous – although I don’t think everyone was used to such a whole food diet.
After lunch, the rest of the day was our own. I filled my time by going to the beach, sunbathing, reading and generally chilling out. In the evenings, some of the other guests and I made the half-hour drive to Ibiza Town. The atmosphere was very sociable, so it was easy to meet people, especially as most guests came on their own.
The accommodation varies to suit your budget, ranging from tepees to the beautiful, private Villa Palmas. But much of it is shared, so if you like your space, snap up a private room or bring a buddy to share with. Benirras is a very secluded and quiet – the perfect place for a retreat – and I’m already planning my next trip there!
The Result I lost 3Ib and feel much stronger and more toned. I liked having a purpose on my holiday, and thanks to yoga’s positive effects on my wellbeing, I came back refreshed and relaxed.
The Details A seven-night stay costs from £395 per person in August, based on two sharing in a Pagoda on the Villa Roca garden. The price includes three hours of yoga per day Sunday to Friday, accommodation, breakfast and lunch on yoga days. For more information or to book, call 020 7419 0999 or visit www.ibizayoga.com
Emma flew to Ibiza from Gatwick with easyJet. Prices start from £40.98 for a return flight in August.
Telegraph Travel 3rd January 2004
If you loathe long-haul flights or are simply short on time, head for Ibiza where Ibizayoga (www.ibizayoga.com) gives courses in a bijou five-room Bauhaus villa tucked away in the spoilt north of the island next to Benirras beach. Make the most of the spiritual energies and ley lines that supposedly bless this Balearic Island.
Evening Standard 24th September 04
The Guardian 26th July 2003
For those who don't wish to extricate themselves entirely from society, Ibiza Yoga might have the right slant. Accommodation is in the Bauhausian Villa Roca or the fancy Villa Palma, situated on Benirras beach in the island's beautiful north. And if you're lucky, you will be adjusted by the world-famous Danny Paradise (he taught Sting, you know). Alternatively, just book on to an 18-30 in San An, stay off the lager, and sign up for a week's practice pass at £125.
020-7419 0999, (ibiza yoga.com); full week from £395 to £1,150 (price does not include all meals).
Conde Nast Magazine - June 2003
On Ibiza, Spain’s perennial hot spot, revelers can now find a bit of down (-ward dog) time: Tucked into the hills above Benirras Beach, Ibiza Yoga has opened for its second season with the new Moorish-style Villa Palmas, comprising four guest rooms. Room rates include daily ashtanga yoga classes and a vegetarian lunch (44-20-7419-0999; ibizayoga.com; $865 - $1,650 per person per week).
Medlife Magazine 2004
Dubbed the new Yoga capital of Europe, Ibiza is no long reserved just for the clubbing fraternity. Jane Knight attempts to master the intricacies of Ashtanga during a week-long course there.
I take a long, slow breath, waiting for the rainbow of colours that is supposed to fill up different parts of my body. Starting with yellow in the lower back, I try to add mental layers of red, green and blue, ending with indigo in the forehead and a golden glow around the skull. But somewhere in the middle of yellow, my body starts screaming as I cross-legged, my pelvis painful and the outside of my ankle digging into mat. Meditation after a three-hour yoga stint is proving elusive. I shouldn’t be surprised. When I can count on one hand the number of time I’ve sat cross-legged since primary school.
Strange though it may seem, this is a yoga holiday in the clubbers’ paradise of Ibiza. A whole clutch of rereats now stretch across the rolling pie-clad hills of the Balearic island, firmly establishing it as the yoga capital of Europe. This year, you can even do bikram yoga there – carried out in high temperatures to help the muscles work better – at Yoga College of India. Or you can get a spot of chakra balancing along with your yoga at the Ibiza Healing Retreat.
This great form of keeping fit and supple has come a long way since the days, of wrinkly leotards, chanting and tree hugging, spurred on by the glamour lent it by celebrities such as Madonna and Gwyneth Paltrow. Ibiza Yoga, where I’m booked in , has Sadie Frost visiting later this year. It’s pretty much the cream of the island’s crop and is constantly upgrading , this year launching its new Pagoda Village.
It is here, before my first class, that Kahti, the tanned and incredibly lithe yoga teacher, tells me that the reason Ibiza has become such a yoga hotspot is the same one behind its Bohemian roots and success as a clubbing capital. “Ibiza has a loads of energy because it has so many lei lines running beneath it and it is Scorpio,” she says. “That’s why people don’t sleep here, why it\s known for clubbing and why it’s great for yoga too.”
Strangely enough, most of the people on the course with me suffer from more than one sleepless night. My own insomnia could perhaps be put down o the fact that my body was in purgatory. Not only does it turn out that I have plumbed for the most strenuous of all yoga – Ashtanga - but I have also inadvertently signed up for the advanced class. With some trepidation I lie down my mat for the first time in the back row of class, hoping no one will notice my twisted concortions. On Kahti’s advice I haven’t eaten breakfast and prepare to commence three hours of exercise . There are just over a dozen of us on the rooftop of the whitewashed villa in Benirras on the northern coast of Ibiza. Above, a canopy flaps gently in the breeze as we gaze out a rolling pine-clad hills and tune into the sound of a million cicadas chirping away.
I gain confidence with every exercise we do, from one where we look like silently roaring lions to another which ends with us lobbing a roll of a loo paper to each other to clear our suddenly active nostrils.
It almost feels easy. Until, that is, we move into the salutations, a series of movements that flow into each other so rapidly my mind s a muddle of postures and their names. My “upward dog” gets confused with my “downward dog” and I’m not sure where the ‘crocodile’fits into the equation. Which doesn’t leave a whole lot of time to focus on my breathing.
When we sit with our leg stretched out and bend forward, my back feels like it’s moved all of two centimetres, while some people are resting their heads on the floor. “You are spiritual warriors. Spirtiual warriors don’t give in. Cruise with the breath,” Kahti repeats over and over, constantly wandering among the ranks to readjust the position of her troops. After what seems and age of twisting, stretching and impossible position, I sneak a glance at my match. We still have two more hours of jelly-wobbling legs to go, now accompanied by delicious cooking smells wafting up from bellow, making me painfully aware of my empty stomach.
I am starving by the time we finish and willing to eat anything, although the vegetarian food proves to be delicious. My fellow yoga-ites turn out to be a mixed bunch, with professions ranging from architect to social worker, our ages sandwiched between the early twenties and mid-forties. Some have years of experience while others have been lured by the combination of developing a hobby on holiday with the beach only five-minutes away. We quickly settle into a routine, after a morning of yoga followed by brunch, we drift to the busy Benirras beach or a little further afield, waking in the hills during the heat of the day. In the evenings there is general move to the beach bars for alcohol, chat and games of pool. Some of the group even hit the club one night, though you can tell they regret it the next day when they can’t manage even the most basic yoga postures.
Every morning, we congregate on the rooftop, a little more bronzed and a little more supple than the day before, our lesson following the same general structure but with enough daily changes to keep us interested.
By the end of my stay, I am far from an expert, but come away fully intending to sign up for yoga classes at home. Though some postures still elude me, I have found a series of bendy forward movements ,which I feel particularly comfortable with. My favourite posture – savasana, known as the corpse posture – comes at the end of every session. It is so relaxing that at the end of a particularly gruelling last day, one of our group breaks out into a series of noisy snores. He, at least, has no difficulty sleeping, despite the lei lines. And though the snoring intrudes slightly on my last meditation, I can finally see that elusive rainbow of colours arching its way through my body.
Bella Magazine - June 2003
You too can be as lithe as Madonna or Geri Halliwell. They're just two of the celebrities who rave about Ashtanga yoga - that's the more energetic and aerobic kind.
Ibiza Yoga is run at two villas near Benirras beach on the Balearic island. You don't have to know anything about the subject, as there are courses for beginners.
Three-hour classes are held each morning either on the terrace or on the beach. Then, after a vegetarian brunch, you've got the afternoon to swim, sunbathe or sightsee. There are lovely beaches all over the island and you must visit the buzzing Ibiza town.
Prices start at £395 per person for one week. This includes accommodation, six yoga classes, six buffet meals, fruit and teas. Flights, which take two-and-a-half hours, cost extra. (Expect to pay around £120.) The villas are a 30-minute taxi ride from the airport.
Contact Ibiza Yoga (020 7419 0999); www.ibizayoga.com).
Telegraph Travel - 7th August 04
From well – oiled to well - heeled
It is a demanding itinerary: on Sunday, I’m partying on a beachside terrace with the beautiful people, come Monday. I’ll be sunning myself on a million-pound yacht, Tuesday quaffing Champagne in the VIP Lounge at an expensive nightclub, and on Wednesday, after some “centering” at a hillside yoga retreat, I will start all over again.
It could be Monaco or St Tropez, but this playground of the rich and pleasure –seeking is neither – I am, in fact, in Ibiza (or perhaps you know it better by its former name,Ibeefa). but don’t know recoil: there are no beer boys in Union Jack shorts here. The teenage ravers have moved to Zakinthos, where a night out still costs less than £100. There is an entirely different clientele on this 24 hour party island now: well heeled, thirtysomething professionals enjoying some upmarket indulgence.
The glamorisation of Ibiza is not an easy concept to grasp. Since it was packaged as a cheap and cheerful resort destination in the late 1990s (when Channel 4 and Sky first screened Ibiza Uncovered), the island has been inextricably linked with sex and sick. But that was before. This year, Tatler magazine declared it was “med” about Ibiza, extolling the virtues of its “chic hedonism that don’t exist anywhere else in world”. Meanwhile, Vogue was waxing lyrical about its “beautiful Beaches, legendary nightlife and bohemian jet-set vibe”.
Indeed, VIP travel companies are reporting record interest in the island. “Ibiza is the new St Tropez,” said Serena Cook of the tour agent Deliciously Sorted Ibiza. “These are the kind of people who spend thousands of pound hiring a yacht for the day but don’t use it because they’ve been out the night before.”
Nor is it just wealthy professionals who have started coming to these shores. Big names are arriving in their droves: this year Jemina Khan, Elle McPherson, Sadie Frost, Kate Moss, Valentino Garavani, Jean-Paul Gaultier, Zinedine Zidane and Jean Todt (leader of the Ferrari Formula team) are rumoured to be heading out to the White Isle.
It’s a far cry from 2000, when I visited Ibiza for the first time on a last-minute £150 package deal. Leaving a week later, I was a broken woman. Cooped up in a room inside a 10-storey aparment block in the West End of San Antonio, I spent night burryingmy head under a pillow in a bid to muffle out thumping basslines and the electronic noodling of tinny trance music. Days were spent tiptoeing around remnats of the night before, and I have never been able look to look at a plate of chips in the same way again. This time, I wasn’t taking any chances.
Before I went, I found out many things about the New Ibiza: to cater for the wealthy fashion-conscious market, two minimalist hotels havee opened in the past year: two fivestar hotels are scheduled for completion in the next couple of years: new bars, restaurants and luxurious rustic fincas are opening all over the island, and a new port has been built in Ibiza Town. I also discovered that there are yoga retreats – lots of them – and where there is yoga, there are celebrities, and where there are celebrities, there aren’t , on the whole, pudles of regurgitated carbohydrates.
And so it is tht at 10am on a Sunday morning, while the rest of binge-drinking Europe is reaching for the aspirin. I find myself dancing in a bikini to a funky Balearic beat on the sunny roof terrace of Space, along with a few hundred of my newest, closest friends. I am surrounded by women wearing dental floss around their bodies and diamonds in their belly buttons, and by gorgeous, gym-toned men in Gucci sunglasses. The atmosphere is carnivalesque, people are sipping Champagne, and the air is filled
With exotic languages. It is fashionable, but not intimidating. I don’t know, for example, feel I have to hold my tummy in. It is hedonism at its headiest.
I have come to Ibiza with three friends and a “model” rock’n ‘roll itinerary designed by VIP tour company Quintessentially.
The island’s makeover is obvious the second we arrive. At the airport, there are more private jets tan EasyJets. Posters tht once advertised superclubs with a capacity of 10.000 now promote luxury cars and designer clothes. In Ibiza Town, the cars are faster, bigger and cleaner than I remember them and the shops are more upmarket. Near our villa at Sant Carles, in the north of the island, roads are being laid like new carpet, and from our rooftop we can catch tantalising glimpses of secluded whitewashed villas high up among the pine forests and olive groves.
Ibiza has, of course, never lacked the attentions of the wealthy. You need only wander through the cobbled streets of Ibiza’s old town or flick through coffee-table books about the Franco years to see that it has always attracted a jet set. But it has been a long time since the island has been compared to St Tropez or Monaco. “People have more options here than in those suffy resorts, “said Danny Whittle, brand manager of the nightclub Pacha in Ibiza Town. “Here you get the best nightclubs, the best DJs, the best beaches.”
Selflessly following our itinerary, my friends and I hire a sleek Italian yacht and joyurney to the island of Formentera, where we arrive at the maritime equivalent of Millionaires’ Row. Super yachts are banked up near the beach, where dinghies are loaded with Champagne and seafood platters ready to be whisked off to pyblicity-shy seafarers. “Every year there are more and more yachts here,” said Adam Johnstone, our skipper. “Many of them are British but it’s at saturation point now.”
Having lunch at the Juan y Andrea restaurant on Platja Illetes beach, I spot the travel broadcaster Alan Whicker. It is his first time in Ibiza. “So far, so good”, he tells me. The following evening we visit Pacha club in Ibiza Town. In the roped-off VIP area, I meet 30-year old Scott Vincent, and investment banker in London. He is perhaps typical of the new breed of holidaymaker: staying in the new, ultra-white El Hotel opposite the club, he eats out every day and parties every night. He is halfway through his 10-day holiday and has already spent £1700. “At home I work a 60-hour week,” he said. “Ibiza is a release for me. There is no other place in the world like it.”
My friends and I spend the rest of the week in the new, true Ibiza style – exploring beaches and being conveyed between them in our red, open top Jeep. We visit two bars, KM5 and the recently opened Underground. We dine at L’Elephant, El Clodenis andd Cana Juana, and take a hot-air balloon ride to peer down at almond and orange groves, ancient stone terraces, traditional fincas and bougainvillae-clad villas. And when this too much, we take a yoga class at the hilltop retreat of Villa Palmas overlooking Benirras beach in the far north of the island.
On my final day I finally confront my phobia of San Antonio – but walking through the streets is a pleasant surprise. Hotels are being refurbished, restaurants and bars are being done up. The Brits that are here changed, too : they are slimmer, they wear less hair gel, show less cleavage and have smaller tattoos.
Later we watch the sunset at the town’s legendary Café del Mar. The last time I was here, the boys behind me were discussing where in Ibiza find the best fish and chips. Now, people debate which private villa is most hip. My, how things have changed.
Saturday, august 7 2004
SHE magazine - May 2003
FIND SERENITY IN IBIZA
Forget its reputation for hedonism: the Balearic island of Ibiza is actually the ideal spot for those looking for some serious R&R. It's been a hippie colony since the 60s and the northern part offers beautifully unspoilt hillside locations, perfect for a thigh-toning yoga break and relaxed beach holiday in one.
Ibiza Yoga offers butt-busting benefits without the pressure - after your three-hour daily session you're free to chill out with your fellow guests (Finley Quaye is just one celeb who frequents this tranquil getaway) or take in the island's other delights. Do try one of the many great restaurants, which have fantastically fresh seafood and equally stimulating cocktails - the perfect accompaniment to Ibiza's famous sunsets.
The course costs from £395 per person per week, including villa accommodation (built in the traditional style with flat roofs), one class a day for six days and one meal a day. Visit www.ibizayoga.com or call 020 7419 0999. Return flights from Heathrow with Iberia start at £164 per person.
Brigitte Magazine - April 2005
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Daily Express 20.12.03
GETAWAYS THAT FIND YOUR TRUE POTENTIAL
Ibiza isn’t just for clubbers, it’s also the yoga capital of Europe. Balance your body and mind on a yoga retreat on the more tranquil side of the Balearic Island. Ibiza Yoga’s retreats are not about getting up at the crack of dawn and contorting your body into strange positions but building confidence and busting stress in an idyllic environment. Stay in Villa Palmas overlooking Benirras beach or a pagoda in the pine-clad gardens of Villa Roca it’s up to you.
The Week Magazine - Saturday 28th September 2002
Yoga in Balearics
As a destination for a yoga retreat, Ibiza might not be top of your list, says Jane Knight in The Observer. The balearic island is far better known for its clubbing than its karma. But Ibiza is ‘fast becoming the yoga capital of Europe’, with new centres opening up every year in the pine-clad hills of the north. One of the best retreats is Ibiza Yoga near Benirras beach. A week long regime of thrice–daily rooftop yoga classes will give guests a flexibility and stength they didn’t know they had. Classes are punctuated by delicious vegetarian meals and there’s a beautiful beach within walking distance.
Contact: 020-7419 0999. The trip costs £325 a week, excluding flights.
Escape Magazine (The Observer) January 2003
“It gave us space and time”
Choreographer and dance teacher Tamara Cater, 34, met spice trader Andrew Barker, 43, on a yoga holiday in Ibiza last summer. They fell in love and are now moving together in Bristol.
I went on the yoga holiday to recharge my batteries, as well as to do research for a big choreographic project called 'The Embodied Guide to Dating and Relating’. Because I was thinking about relationships when I was there, I was looking at people in a different way. The fact that we were on holiday meant we could get to know each other in a calm, beautiful setting. And because it was a yoga holiday we had a joint challenge, and I knew we had similar interests. The space and time we had on the holiday gave us a rich foundation for our relationship. If I had met Andrew in London where he lived or Bristol where I lived, I would have probably passed him by. When we got back we went through the interesting process of meeting each other in our home contexts, and it was a bit like starting all over again. He’s now moving to Bristol to be with me. Ironically, we have practically stopped the yoga but we do have good resolutions to start doing it again.
Ibiza Yoga (0207 419 0999; www.ibizayoga.com) has one week’s yoga from May to October from £395 excluding flights but including seven night’s shared accommodation, three hours of yoga a day and vegetarian brunch.
Spa Magazine - August 2003
It may seem incongruous that on and island most famous for all-night techno parties there’s also a first-rate relaxing retreat, but that is exactly Ibiza Yoga has established. The brainchild of a fun-loving, yoga-dedicatedcouple from England, Ibiza Yoga may be only in its second year, but thishidden excape has acquired such a large fan base (including some U.K.celebrities) that they have just added a second, more luxurious villa(called Villa Palmas) to the property, lending a more rarified retreatexperience to that of the original and more rustic Villa Rocas.
Located on the north of the island in the protected area of Benirras, thefirst thing one notices is the landscapes’ thick canopy of pine trees-and the air is even thicker with their fresh fragrance. One can also smell the sea, peaceful, palm-lined bay that looks out onto the King of Benirras, agigantic rock that juts out of the ocean (a 25-minute leisurely swim fromshore). Some say the rock is one of the most magnetic points in Europe,which may help explain the relaxed energy here. Regardless, taking it induring yet another spectacular sunset from one of the three beach cafesafter a rigorous day of yoga, one feels as if there is no other place to be.
A mixed crowd of, at most, 28 people (from actors to schoolteachers) arrives here each week for a six – day program of either beginner orintermediate dynamic Ashtanga-based yoga. The retreat has managed to bring in some of the world’s most respected names in the field: this year,visiting teachers will include Danny Paradise (who has taught everyone from Sting to Madonna) and Edward Clark. Except for the daily, three-hour,open-air yoga session on the roof of each villa and the vegetarian lunchafterward, guests are on their own, free to arrange an in–room massage,relax by the ocean, explore the surroundings, snorkel, read in a hammock, or snack on the dried fruits, nuts, and fresh yogurts served all day long. ”There are no gurus or silent tables here,” says owner Daniel Harte with a grin. “We don’t tell you how to eat your meals, we just provide a beautiful location, fantastic yoga teachers, and good food.”
The newly completed Moorish-inspired Villa Palmas gives a shot of modern luxury to this otherwise bohemian yoga camp. Although separated only by a small valley from the original Villa Rocas, the two are in many ways separate worlds. Each has its own instructor and dining room. Villa Palmas also has its own pool with incredible views of the Mediterranean and amaximum capacity of eight people. Villa Roca, on the other hand, resembles more of a dormitory or rustic private home and can fit up to 20 people.Those who simply need a roof over their head can rent of several Balinese-style pagodas to sleep in.
“We want to be avaible to the wholespectrum of budgets,” explained Sarah Robbie, Harte’s partner. But no matter the budget, all the guests seem to get along just fine, making friends over meals and laughing over drinks on the beach. On Sunday nights, when the sun goes down, the locals usually put on a drum circle with fire jugglers on the beach. “Even the most conservative of our guests have let their hair down here” Harte says.
Backpacker - May 2003
Ibiza is certified five star party zone, but not too far from the tangled mass of flesh and drugs is glorious paradise awaiting anyone willing to take a leap of faith. My leap, or should I say my stretch, was a week-long yoga retreat.
Located a short stroll from San Miguel, on the north of the island, is Stonewater – a private house that serves as home to anyone seeking a different type of vacation. The emphasis is on 'home'. Guests freely use the facilities of the house – but like 'home' don’t excpect laundry or room service! Bedrooms and bathrooms are shared; both are basic, but clean and functional. A comfortable lounge, leading onto a large patio that catches the evening sun, provides a relaxed space to mingle with other guests to discuss the benefits of deep tissue massage and the million dollar question of whether nirvana can be reached through meditation.
Yoga practice takes place early each morning. Agna Sari, or the ‘fire breath' , to this novice, seems to be possibly the most offensive method of expelling mucus from the nose at high velocity. Tissue paper at the ready, it involves breathing rapidly and with great force alternatively through each nostrill, volently inhaling and exhaling. Don’t worry about looking, or sounding, ridiculous. Everyone embraces the sprit of the class. On the shaded rooftop terrace we sit cross-legged and serene; eyes closed and nostils flaring. As the week progresses peoples' inhibitions are lost and replaced with an almost competitive desire to generate the most audible breathing and many people can be overheard asking worriedly ’ could you hear my agna sari?’
Just in case you want to indulge in the ‘other’ pleasures ibiza has to offer, your yoga instructor will kindly allow you to party hard on one night of your retreat and offer you an afternoon class the next day!
A substantial vegetarian brunch is served after classes and tastes all the more satisfying when you feel it has been earned. Mind, body and soul satiated, the remainder of the day is yours to enjoy as you wish and generally includes a trip to the local beach.
If you threw a stone, it would almost reach the white sands of Benirras – a beautiful sheltered cove, encircled by pine-covered cliffs. It is a collage of turquoise and green dominated by the 'King of Benirras' – a jutting rock standing guard of the entrance to the bay. The sea is a clear, warm pool inhabited by fish that swim right up to the water’s edge. Keep an eye out for the sunburned backsides of the naturist sun worshippers who cling like limpets to th rocks surrounding the bay.
In the sixties and seventies the island was a hippy-magnet. Today, Benirras retains a chilled out vibe that almost makes you feel like trading in your nine-to-five for a kaftan and belief that the world really could be a better place. Like church bells calling the faithful to worship, on Sunday evenings you can hear the distant thump of the drums calling you to the beach to dance to their rhythm and join the congregation which worships the sunset. As the last rays melt into the sea spontaneous applause and cheering erupts. Maybe it’s something in the air (like the scent of a dodgy Amsterdam café) but it really is a very special moment.
The Observer - Sunday 8th September 2002
On a bender in Ibiza
Do you fancy ending up flat on your back in the Balearics? Jane Knight discovers a new ways to chill out in one of the island’s thriving yoga centres.
I met with the same incredulity every time I told someone I was off on a yoga holiday in Ibiza. “Ibiza?” they’d echo. “It's not exactly a spiritual hideaway... shouldn’t you be clubbing instead?”
The only different reaction came from my mother. “Won’t you need a leotard, dear?” she asked. Er, no. Thanks mum, but yoga has moved on from the days of wrinkly leotards, chanting and tree hugging, spurred on in part by the glamour lent it by a gaggle of celebrities, with everyone from Sting to Madonna getting in on the act.
And strange though it may seem, Ibiza is the place to do it. Fast becoming the yoga capital of Europe, there are now a clutch of retreats established among the pine-clad hills far away from the throbbing all-night music in the island’s clubs.
As it turns out, the reason Ibiza is good for yoga is the same as that behind its success as a clubbing capital. At least, that’s what Kahti, the tanned, lithe and incredibly sinewy teacher at Ibiza Yoga told me when I checked in. “Ibiza has loads of energy because it has so many ley lines running beneath it and it is Scorpio’, said Kahti, who also teaches at London’s the Life Centre. "That’s why people don’t sleep here, why it’s known for clubbing and why it’s great for yoga, too."
Take it or leave it, but strangely enough, most people in Ibiza Yoga’s whitewashed villa - a cross between an upmarket youth hostel and someone’s home - had more than one sleepless night, and it couldn’t all be explained away by complaint of cramped sleeping conditions with slamming doors and – stress of all stress – shared bathrooms. My own insomnia could perhaps be put down to the fact that my body was in purgatory – by no means an unfit 36-year-old, I am not what you might call flexible. When you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve sat cross-legged since primary shool, and have never been able to touch your toes, it comes as a bit of a shock to be thrown into three hours of yoga classes a day. And they weren’t just any old classes either; not only had I plumped for the most strenuous of all yoga – Ashtanga – but I had also inadvertently signed up for the advanced course.
That, though, paled into insignificance when I found out we were expected to get through the morning class without eating first – a tall order when you’re convinced you’ll faint from starvation if you even think of leaving the house without breakfast.
So it was with an empty stomach, but a full head of worries that I strategically laid my mat down for the first time in the back row of class. There were just over a dozen of us on the villa rooftop in Benirras on the nortern coast of Ibiza. Above, a canopy flapped gently in the breeze as we tuned into the chirping of a million cicada. Lulled bu the surroundings and the breathing exercises – from one where we looked like silently roaring lions to another that ended in us lobbing a roll of loo paper around to use as tissue to clear out suddenly active nostrils – I almost felt this was easy.
Until, that is, we moved into the salutation, a series of movements flowing into each other with such rapidity that my mind became a muddle of postures and their names; my upward dog got confused with my downward dog and I never quite worked out where the crocodile fitted into the equation. Which didn’t leave a whole lot of time to focus on my breathing.
‘You are spiritual warriors. Spiritual wariors don’t give in. Cruise with the breath,’ Kahti repeated over and over, constantly wandering among our ranks to readjust the position of her troops.
After what seemed an age of twisting, stretching and impossible positions, I sneaked a glance at my watch. We still had two hours of jelly-wobbling legs and rumbly tummies to go.
By the time we’d finished, I was so hungry that any food would have been welcome, though vegetarian brunch was delicious. It seemed we had been to hell and back together, and with this newfound bond, conversation flowed over the large wooden table on the open terrace.
My fellow yoga-ites turned out to be a mixed bunch, with professions ranging from architect to social worker, four men, and our ages sandwiched between the early twenties and mid forties. Some had years of experience, like Priti, who practised yoga five times a week growing up in India, while others had been lured by the combination of developing a hobby on holiday with the beach only a five-minute stroll away.
It proved a perfect combination after a morning of yoga allowed by brunch, nothing seemed more appealing than a trip to the beach, though some of us did wander into the hill when we felt a bit more energetic. Much to my relief, in the evening there were no singalong or conversations about the meaning of life. Instead, we would gather on the terrace with its enourmous fruit bowl that miraculously filled up every day, before making a move to the beach bars.
Yoga aside, there was minimal organisation in the villa, so minimal in fact that the rumoured team outing to a restaurant nearly didn’t materialise – no one had thought to order any taxis. But left to our own devices, we drifted along quite happily. And every day, a little more bronzed and a little more supple, we congretad on the rooftop and I started to feel a bit like I knew what was going on – though not the whole time. "Put your hand on your sacrum" called Kahti one day. Then, seeing my hesitation, she added: “Jane, it’s the bit above your bum." Call it imagination, but I’m sure I could bend a fraction of an inch further toward my toes each day (though I never did manage to touch them), and the three hours of class no longer felt like such a marathon.
If some postures still proved elusive, there was one that came at the end of every class that I perfected – savasana. Known as the corpse posture, it was so relaxing that I was hardly surprised when at the end of a gruelling session, one of our group broke out into a series of noisy snores. He, at least, was having no difficulty sleeping, despite the ley lines.
Spain Magazine - September 2002
A rainbow of colours is supposed to be filling up different parts of my body as I breathe deeply, letting my mind wander. Starting with yellow in the lower back, I try to add mental layers of red, green and blue, ending with indigo in the forehead and golden glow around the skull. Except that somewhere in the middle of yellow, my body starts screaming as I sit cross-legged, my pelvis painful and the outside of my ankle digging into the mat. Meditation after a three-hour stint of yoga is proving a little elusive.
I should’t be surprised – when you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve sat cross-legged since primary shool, a yoga holiday in Ibiza seems and interesting choice. Especilly when you find that, as a yoga virgin, you have not only gone for the most strenuous of all yoga – Ashtanga – but have also inadvertently signed up for the advanced class.
Kahti, the tanned, lithe and incredibly sinewy teacher, is a little perturbed. ‘Oh dear, what are we going to do with you?’ she asks before class starts. 'The beginners’ course was last week – this group has people with a minimum of one year’s practise. I don’t want to kill you.”
It is with these comforting words ringing in my ears that I lie down my mat for the first time in the back row of class, hoping no-one will witness my twisted contortions. There are just over a dozen of us on the rooftop of a whitewashed villa in Benirras on the northern coast of Ibiza. Above, a canopy flaps gently in the breeze as we gaze out at rolling pine–clad hills and tune into the sound of a million cicadas chirping away. The tourist packed beaches and clubbers’ hotspots seem a million miles away.
It’s such a peaceful place that no–one - not even me – is phased when Kahti says we’ll end up hating her after a few days. I gain confidence with every exercise we do, from one where we look like silently roaring lions to another which ends up in us lobbing a roll of loo paper to each other for tissue to clear our suddenly active nostrils. It almost feels easy.
Until, that is, we move into the salutations, a series of movements flowing into each other with such rapidity that my mind becomes a muddle of postures and their names, my upward dog gets confused with my downward dog and I’m not sure where the crocodile fits into the equation. Which doesn’t leave a whole lot of time to focus on my breathing.
Though by no means unfit, I am not what you’d call a supple 36-year-old and have never been able to touch my toes. When we sit with our legs stretched out and bend forward, my back feels like it’s moved all of two centimetres, while some people are resting their heads on the floor.
‘You are spiritual warriors. Spiritual warriors don’t give in. Cruise with the breath,’ Kahti repeats over and over, constantly wandering
among the ranks to readjust the position of her troops. After what seems an age of twisting, stretching and impossible positions, I sneak a glance at my watch. We still have two more hours of jelly-wobbling legs to go, now accompanied by delicious cooking smells wafting up from below, making me painfully aware of my empty stomach.
By the time we reach the last posture, known as savasana, I have no energy, but find unexpectedly that I can give it 100 per cent, translated as the corpse posture, it is so relaxing that one of our group breaks out into a series of noisy snores.
When we dift downstairs for our first vegetarian meal, we are already giggling togerther and have a bond of shared experience, which means that conversation flows easily over the large wooden table on the open terrace. My fellow yoga-ites turn out to be a mixed bunch, with professions ranging from architect to social worker, four men, and our ages sandwiched between the early twenties and mid-forties. Some have years of experience, like Priti, who practised yoga five times a week growing up in India, while others have been lured by the combination of developing a hobby on holiday with the beach only five-minutes away.
Yoga, it seems, has come a long way since the days wrinkly leotards, chanting and tree hugging, spurred on by the glamour lent it by celebrities such as Madonna, Gwyneth Paltrow and Sting. Just a week earlier, the beginners’ course at Ibiza Yoga had included a couple of famous names among its guests: Melanie Hill of Big Brother fame, and Scottish actress Michelle Gomez. Everyone had laughed and partyed so much throughout the week that the tales of the fun they had had spilled over into our course. Even Kate Moss is getting in on the act – owners of Ibiza Yoga Daniel Hart and Sarah Robbie are friends of hers and say she’s coming out next year with Jude Law and Sadie Frost to stay at the more luxurious villa they’re opening up across the valley.
Our villa with its two idyllic pagodas serving as extra bedrooms on the rooftop is not in the luxury bracket, but falls somewhere between upmarket youth hostel and staying in someone’s house. So while there are thin camp beds and shared bathrooms, there is the advantage of having the run of sitting room, kitchen and the huge terrace.
Organisation is minimal, so it’s not clear if the rumour of weekly team outing to a restaurant will actually materialise. It almost doesn’t noone has thought to order any taxis. But left to our own devices, we quickly settle into a routine of yoga, brunch, then a trip to the busy Benirras beach or a longer walk into the hills. Much to my relief, in the evenings there are no singalongs with their guitar or deep conversations about the meaning of life but a general move to the beach bars for alcohol, chat and a game of pool.
Every morning, we congregate on the roof top, a little more bronzed and a little more supple than the day before for a lesson following the same general structure but with enough daily changes to keep us interested. And though day three proves to be a tough day three proves to be a tough one as our bodies adjust, nobody ends up hating Kahti – on the contrary, even the most experienced yoga-ites can’t stop singing her praises.
By the end of my stay, I still can’t touch my toes but I have found a series of bendy movements called the marichi postures which I feel particularly comfortable with. And as I slip into my last meditation, I can see that elusive rainbow of colours arching its way through my body.
Evening Standard - Monday 19th August 2002
The Independant 11.10.03
BEWARE KARMA KILLERS
A holiday offering yoga classes in an inspiring setting might sound tempting. But RHIANNON BATTEN's disappointing trip left her feeling far from spiritual.
I’m suffering from a new illness. It isn’t life-threatening, and it does not stop me from pounding the aisles at Tesco. But for the past few months, whenever I’ve heard the word I’ve started to shake wildly as waves of nausea pass through my body. Yoga making me stressed.
The ancient Eastern art is increasingly popular in the UK. Membership of the British Wheel of Yoga, an organisation which acts as a focus for yoga organisations, has risen by 9 per cent over the last four years, to 7.000. But this is just the tip of the iceberg. There are thought to be half a million people currently practising yoga, and many of them may be attracted by the prospect of a holiday combining a deeper understanding of yoga with some sunshine. Which was where my problems began.
It all started in July when I went to stay at Ibiza Yoga, a company whose name broadly says what it does. Well, it actually started two days before my trip, when Daniel, one of the owners, called to tell me I wasn’t to let my fellow holidaymakers know that I was a journalist. He warned me that he’d be there the following Monday “to check up on me”. I should have packed out then, but I had already booked my flights and paid for the car hire.
At ibiza’s small airport, I offered a lift to two of the other guests (the yoga mats by the luggage carousel were a giveway). We arriveved at Villa Roca, at Benirras on the north coast of the island, at about 10pm. There was no introduction to the course, just a a quick allocation of rooms. Before the staff left for what turned out to be the first of regular trips to Ibiza’s clubs, there was just time for them to tell us that there wasn’t much in the way of food that night, but that there were “some restaurants on the beach’ if we were hungry.
Benirras beach was recently voted the fourth best in Europe and, although I can think of better ones, not many are in as stunning a situation for yoga. As I would find out next morning, it’s much easier to focus on your breathing when your on the roof of a building looking out over scrubby hills, jagged rocks and sparkling water than when you’re locked in a room surrounded by 50 upturned bottoms.
But that night I was more concerned with my room. Described as a gazebo, it was actually a wooden box with enormous glass windows, up a flight of concrete steps from the main building. If I wanted to go to the loo in the night and and didn’t to want to risk breaking my legs on the steps I was advised to go in the bushes. And, when I asked for some curtains to maintain some privacy, I was given a few pieces of torn muslin. They didn’t cover the windows, so I began the daily shuffle of tryng to get dressed on the ant - ridden floor. It wasn’t a pleasant experience but at least it’s given me a better insight into David Blaine’s mission.
I wasn’t the only one who was feeling disappointed. When a fellow guest asked whether, in the summer’s extraodinarily hot weather, she could have a fan in her room, the answer was a very un-karmic “no”. And halfway through the week when a list of rules appeared mysteriously on our beds, another guest remarked dryly that the “10pm quiet” and “no smoking or drinking” rules were being followed by everyone apart from the staff, who rather awkwardly shared the main building, and its two bathrooms, with guests. When you counted in the number of friends the staff invited into the building, and more often than not, to bed down on the floor of the lounge, there seemed to be around 15 people sharing two bathrooms.
And the yoga? Well, that was great. The teacher, Richelle, voluntarily spent extra time with us beginners after class, making sure we’d got the basics right and even offered to send us self-practice sheets when we got back home. But the yoga took up only three hours of the day.
By this stage I was beginning to wonder what I was doing there. On the company’s website, one of the teachers offers and answers. "Yoga is an approach to spirituality using ancient means of accessing vitality” it waffles. “It allows the practitioners to become their own authority for their personal evolution and for understanding the sacred nature of existence.”
Presumably only the teacher knows what that means, but it did make it clear that the philosophy behind a yoga holiday is often so tangled up that its metaphorical legs are hooked securely behind its head. The truth, no doubt to the horror of those who believe they’re having an “alternative” experience, is that yoga holidays are like any other kind of holiday. They are products. A yoga holiday may offer a few spiritual extras but essentially, it’s as commercial an activity as a two-week self-catering package to San Antonio.
Some might want to experience a more spartan lifestyle but for those of us who are just interested in yoga and want to go on holiday to do it, experiences like the one I had are a massive disappointment. Why should you put up with poor accommodation and lack of service just because yoga is thrown in? I didn’t want a four poster or Frette sheets but I expected a decent bed and some curtains.
Of course not all yoga holidays are like mine. Yoga-devotee John Mortlock recently went on a holiday in Andalucia where the accommodation was luxurious, the setting was beautiful, the food was superb and the yoga teaching was good. “it was expensive, about £1000 for the week, but it was a premium product and priced as such,” he says. Other friends have recommended trips in Sri Lanka and Turkey. Even some of the people on my course had a better time than I did - those staying in the slightly pricier Villa Palmas across the hillside were helped by having proper bedrooms and bathrooms, access to a pool and a valley’s distance between them and the staff.
For every good travel experience, there’s usually a bad one to top it. When Liese spencer, a student, went on a yoga retreat in the Blue Mountains, outside Sydney, she found it was “pretty hardcore”. The sleeping in bunk beds without heating was bad enough. but an “inspiring” health talk that went on for two-and-a-half hours was the final straw.”
An Ayurvedic doctor from India lectured that we are all different ‘types’ and discribed how we could determine what type we were from our temperament and hair colour. Everyone took it very seriously, asking things like”But I’m a curly-haired person with smooth skin who is secretive but not moved to anger quickly - so what type does that make me?” Desperately gullible, decided Liese, when the talk ended with the pronouncement that “water types are prone to giving birth to dwarves”.
Annabel Stringer from London had a similarly off-putting introduction to yoga holidays when she went on a trip organised by her integrated medicine practitioner. “He’d sold it to me as a mindblowing experience, doing yoga in the fresh air in the Himalayas, going for long walks and staying in a palace. But once we got there he became this total control freak who treated us all like children. The palace was really grotty because it rained every day, we ended up doing the yoga in the palace’s storage area. “To make things worse, she found she was sharing a bathroom with seven men. “It wasn’t the spiritual, uplifting experience I’d anticipated,” she sighs.
Although there are plenty of reputable companies offering yoga holidays, with no central regulation it is difficult to pinpoint them among the bandwagon of entrepreneurs eagerly saluting the money-spinning sun with videos, classes, equipment and holidays.
Like any holiday, if you want to maximise the chances that you get what you have paid for, the trick is to book with a recognised tour operator. So far, there’s only one dedicated specifically to ‘mind body spirit” holidays that is a member of the Association of British Travel Agents. Chillout in the Sun joined Abta at about the same time I booked a flight to Ibiza. But mainstream operators are moving in on the teritory, Bales Worldwide has a specialist department that sells tailor-made holidays focusing on healing and meditation.
The breaking point of my holiday came on the mid-course trip to a trendy Ibizan restaurant. Daniel, who had arrived as threatened on the Monday, insisted on introducing me to one of his adoring fans, Patsy, a posh old bird in inappropriately girlie clothes. “Oh, you’re writing for The Independnt,” she scoffed. “Well you better say lovely,lovely things about yoga.com (sic) or...”she said, trailing off into the ether. “Ibiza’s a wonderful place. It’s a place for free spirits, entrepeneurs like Daniel,” she continued, stroking his chest. It’s not for people who come for a week and then go home to work long hours and pay taxes,” she added, glaring at me as she sucked on a straw.
By this stage I’d begun to agree with Patsy. As the strain of sharing bathrooms, not sleeping and not eating properly began to show, Villa Roca had turned into my very own Big Brother. I voted myself off.
Rhiannon Batten was a (non-paying) guest staying at Ibiza Yogas Pagoda Garden.
IY LP July 07
Trip Advisor certificate of Excellence 2012