BACK TO THE ISLAND

Almost 3,000 years ago, Ibiza was believed to be blessed by the ancient god of good things. His name was Bes: enemy of evil spirits, defender of women and children, and enthusiastic strangler of venomous serpents. And this island was orginally named after him — Ibosim — by his Phoenician worshippers, who found the place, thankfully, free of snakes. “Bes loved wine, food, music, dancing and sex!” my guide, Martina Greef, shouts to me across the choppy water as we kayak out of Port Brut, the pale sands of Cala d’Hort beach behind us. “And he had a body like yours!”

Frankly, this is not flattering. Excavated amulets and statuettes show that presiding deity as short and stout as a French bulldog. But it’s also fair to say that I’m using my belly as ballast, having just consumed a skilletful of seafood fideuà (paella made with pasta) and a bottle of Piti — a young white wine made from native Malvasia grapes — on the balcony of Restaurante El Carmen, overlooking the bay. As we encounter the wake of big ferries on their way to Formentera, I’m robustly aware that we’re paddling away from all the familiar pleasures of Bes’s domain. “Woohoo!” cries Martina, cresting one of the waves that makes our progress both vertical and lateral. She tells me to not to panic if I capsize.

I keep the bow of the kayak pointed roughly toward the islet of Es Vedrà, a limestone monolith some 1,300 feet high and over