A mermaid dips her orange tail in the pool as tiny drag queen Bay B Jane holds court at the bar. Boho chic revelers drift towards the first thumps of the Space Rave happening around back, in a room that’s really more like a cave and is called Freddie’s because it’s where Freddie Mercury threw his legendary 41st birthday party. I watch everything from behind the rim of my second coconut daiquiri, newly aware that in life there are parties, then there is Ibiza, and then there are parties in Ibiza.
This soirée is called Cosmic Pineapple, a 12-hour fête where spirituality meets rave culture and everyone is drenched in Balearic sunshine. A who’s who of the gypset are here, the island’s more “conscious” citizens and their summering friends. They’ve breezed in from London and Berlin and Tulum. They’ve breezed in to deepen their medicine paths. To dance themselves clean.
It’s my first trip to Ibiza and I’m not sure it’s for me. I spent the previous night in a hard techno hell navigating the annals of DC-10, a grimy club in a converted farmhouse at the end of an airport runway. I’m worried for my serotonin and my bank account. But when day cools into night the air in Ibiza smells of farmland and the sea, there’s a blood moon eclipse tomorrow and the _gazpacho_ is divine, so I’m open to miracles.
Cosmic Pineapple is helping the cause. The event benefits ocean cleanup, the daytime events are Qi Gong, kundalini yoga, breath work, a bazaar, and talks from author Daniel Pinchbeck and creativity expert Jo Little. At night there will be dancing. Lots of dancing. More on that soon. First I need to tell you about the setting.
Cosmic Pineapple is held at the playground of rock n’ roll royalty, the famous / infamous Pike’s Hotel, a 15th century stone mansion legendary British playboy Tony Pike turned into a hotel in 1978. Watch the video for “Club Tropicana” by Wham!, filmed at Pike’s, for an incredible amount of kitsch and to glimpse Tony himself as the bartender in a cowboy hat. Grace Jones was a regular guest (and Tony’s paramour). Freddie Mercury’s aforementioned birthday party is still considered one of the most lavish events ever held in Ibiza. Visiting Pike’s today is a journey through an acid wonderland. A ginormous roller skate adorns the tennis court. The rooftop chandelier is shaped like a pirate ship. There’s a mural of a chameleon and a goldfish smoking a cigarette. And cats. Lots of cats. Cat murals, cat pillows, and several living feline residents who call Pike’s home.
Midnight. The last tremors of the gong bath reverberate through Pike’s. It’s time to join the Space Rave. Inside the sweaty grotto, glorious-looking composer / producer / DJ Afrodeutsche shamans the dance floor with her deep, dark beats. The rest of the top-secret lineup rounds out with the brightest stars in dance music: Acid Mondays, Cassy, Richy Ahmed. The sins of rock stars past are no match for this new breed of “conscious” partiers. We dance into the night.
The next day. I’m on a catamaran to Formentera, a much smaller and quieter island a few hours sailing trip from Ibiza. The Cosmic Pineapple hangover is gentle, I’m more sleep deprived than anything. The warm Mediterranean Sea is the same perfect blue as the saltwater pool in the villa I’m sharing with luminaries such as filmmaking duo Abby Epstein and Ricki Lake, celebrating that they just screened their new documentary “Weed the People” for British parliament. We land in Formentera and dine on king crab at Chezz Gerdi. After lunch we might sail to the home of Jade Jagger for a little visit, _if we have time_.
We decide to catch the blood moon eclipse instead. As the sun sets behind Es Vedrà, the tiny mystical island neighboring Ibiza and said to be the gateway to Atlantis, I guzzle _cava_ and prepare myself for what David Bowie would call “serious moonlight.” They say whatever you for wish during an eclipse has the energy to be magnified 1,000 times. _I’ve decided I like you, Ibiza_. I say to myself. _I hope you like me, too._
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Written by Erin Granat
Photography by Phrank
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