ES VEDRÀ AND THE FIG TREES
The magic of Ibiza and Formentera
After so many years between Ibiza and Formentera, there are many stories, anecdotes, and personalities that cross paths and, after a while, intertwine with us again through what we usually call chance, and which converge into one thing: the magic that these islands still hold.
Photografy by @dosmares_ibiza
Text by Daniel Foraster
Many years before arriving on Formentera, it was an eccentric and unforgettable philosophy professor who first told us about the island of Es Vedrà and the telluric forces that emanate from it. He also told us about Dali and the Hartmann lines, a magnetic mesh that covers our planet and which, on this island south of Ibiza, has a force comparable to very few places in the world.
The island of Es Vedrà is undoubtedly a special place. An island with two faces: one that shows off imposingly from Ibiza, just a few hundred meters from the coast; and the other that, from Formentera, forms its silhouette on the horizon, just beyond Ibiza. It is a source of inspiration for artists, a home to hermits, a place claimed by ufologists and mystery lovers…
And it was in Es Cap de Barbària, in Formentera, that we met Hans, a German who owned a local garden center, many years ago. He told us again about the earth’s magnetic forces. He told us that a farmer had explained to him that fig trees are sensitive to the earth’s forces, that they grow best over water crossings, in areas of special magnetism, and that this is why they produce such sweet fruit.
Hans also told us that this old farmer had told him that Formentera is an island whose soil lacks iron, and that to plant them, it’s best to wait for a full moon and, in the place where we’ve dug, first make a bonfire and place all the metal objects we find: cans, nails, screws… I don’t know if it’s true, but we like to remember this story.
Not far from Hans’s garden center, there’s a cluster of ramshackle cottages that constitute the closest thing to a residential area that an old farmer and some hippies could muster. They called it Formentera’s Melrose Place. On the porch of the house overlooking the development, we were always greeted by the owner, sprawled improbably on a tiny stool, a cigarette in his mouth and a grunt that could be interpreted as a hello. There, the residents told us that on summer nights, the ghost of an old woman, perhaps a witch, could often be seen heading toward the writhing fig tree at the back of the property.
There are many fig trees to be seen along the countless paths in Es Cap de Barbària, an area famous for its witches and, coincidentally, also for its underground waters.
And so, woven through experiences, anecdotes, and personalities, we now travel through time to that ancient, wrinkled hand of the earth of these islands, still stretched out beneath us, so that we may grasp it and feel all its magic.
