Ambiguity is the apple-of-the-eye for a journalist. Finally! The opportunity to document a story that isn’t already known. Such an endeavour felt unlikely to come in my particular line of writing though, given that festivals are often widely publicised, unavoidable due to social media. You tend to know exactly what to expect before you enter its hedonistic domain. It’s understandable really—they’ve got to sell tickets, and people generally don’t like surprises.

When I was first made aware of Son Estrella Galicia Posidonia though, the festival didn’t quite match such rhetoric. So, as I nestle down in Gatwick Wetherspoons for an 11am pint, a trip abroad has never felt so cloaked in mystery. For one, geographically speaking, I’d never heard of Formentera, the smallest of Spain’s Balearic islands in the Mediterranean Sea, only reachable by ferry, and the home of the festival. Nor Posidonia—or ‘Neptune Grass’—a plant that forms underwater meadows and is a significant orchestrator in Formentera’s ecosystem, known as the blue lung of the Mediterranean, and gives its name to the event. Also, the festival’s line up is completely unknown. A secret coterie of talent are set to perform on a tiny island off the coast of Spain to just 350 people. And despite its petite attendance numbers and the uncertainty about what it really even is, the SON Estrella Galicia brand is thriving: this year marking its eight edition on Formentera. The event series also expanded to London in 2022, with a two day extravaganza taking place in Hackney earlier this summer the latest Metropolitan showcase.

Dismissive of a growth in numbers that would shift the aesthetic, and rigid in their commitment to sustainable tourism and environmental impact, the festival aims to provide a wholly unique and personalised experience. Last year, they launched “El Reto”, or “The Challenge”, an initiative in which wannabe festival goers completed an array of sustainability tasks to qualify for tickets. It’s far more exciting than screaming violently at Ticketmaster’s loading screen.

And so the rain-swept, tempestuous Gatwick milieu fades into the distance. First stop? A lay-over in Barcelona before hopping on a second flight to the party island itself, Ibiza. It feels rude to be drink-less on the White Isle, so I grab a quick Estrella Galicia and lounge in the later afternoon heat, before sauntering onto my next mode of transport. Boats and I have never really gotten on—a tumultuous relationship that stems from a childhood school trip to Guernsey, and the consumption of four plums. But this time around, as the orange sun sets on the silhouetted surrounding mountains, the choppy waves cannot best me, and the journey is thankfully quick. From the hotel, I’m immediately ingrained with the (mostly) Spanish press party. We head out for some dinner and introductions are made to the festival bigwigs. We eat croquettes and sip sangria, before the night draws in.

By daylight I can take in the island for all its glory. Formentera is a tropical paradise, a beguiling, luxurious destination embellished by long stretches of sandy beach, pine trees and charming architecture. After enjoying the eclectic breakfast buffet, the press party heads out for a very special activity: Scuba Diving to see the iconic Posidonia firsthand. Setting out on azure waters with our friendly local instructors, we ride a boat to a location favourable to see the plant, and make our way into the water one-by-one, getting to grips with some deep sea antics.

An inaugural Scuba for me, I struggle at first to remember to breathe, but eventually get the hang of it. We’re guided, two metres at a time, into the Mediterranean’s depth. The Posidonia is dazzlingly preserved, the kind of natural beauty that’s rare to find, especially amongst the Metropolitan jungle of my everyday world. It’s an hour to cherish, surrounded by some of the 400 species of fish that reside in the Balearic Islands, a tranquil pause from life’s incessant rigamarole. Coming up for natural air, we ride back towards the coast and head for lunch, at which I taste an array of flavours—from swordfish to tuna tar-tar and, of course, more croquettes. Then it’s back to the hotel for a few hours of rest and recuperation, before the festival gets underway.

The first stop off of the night’s program is dinner and a DJ session at a delightful restaurant, Cafuné. Welcomed by a cheese stall, including the number one ranked blue cheese in Spain (source unknown, don’t quote me), the dimly lit atmospheric establishment is bustling with festival-goers, sitting enjoying some drinks on long, thin tables that promote socialising. And I do just that, finding the most fluent English speakers I can and entering breezy conversation. At one point I chat with a 40-or-so-year old man from Barcelona who analyses gaming data, name forgotten (in the unlikely event you’re reading this, sorry mate I’m terrible with names. Also sorry if you’re in your 30s), who tells me it’s his fourth time attending and that it is his first festival—his favourite event of the year, in fact.

Fast forward through some stimulating exchanges and a short bus ride, and I’ve arrived at the venue for the night’s entertainment. Plaza Sant Ferran is an unusual and idyllic place for a festival. There’s a quaint, old-fashioned chapel used on one side that encloses the area, intimate and decadent in aesthetic, with an impressive built-in stage hosting, as I enter, DJ Marco Holtman. After a slick set from the local spinner, a more familiar act appears on the stage.

Roosevelt, the German producer, instrumentalist, vocalist and DJ known for synth-pop gems like “Strangers” and “Montreal”, rouses with a full-band set up. Rich grooves, smooth production and sweeping vocals amalgamate in the vibrant and eye-catching performance, with the make-shift stage set up providing no sound issues—in fact, it’s excellently engineered. Another aspect that makes an impression, in Roosevelt’s set and throughout the ensuing performances across the weekend, is the length of time the acts are given on stage. Rather than a rushed 20 or 30 minute showcase, Roosevelt spends over an hour on stage, allowing him the opportunity to grow into the set and dive into his back catalogue.

Following the German polymath comes Baiuca, a Galicia-born Madrid-based electronic musician whose sound is an idiosyncratic melting pot; traditional folkian styles from his native region melded with experimental electronic tendencies. Accompanied by a troupe of vocalists and band members, it’s a juxtaposition of musical ideas that feels unique at its core, and apropos to the festival’s quintessence. Next, Marco returns to the decks to close out the night for a climatic set full of crowd-pleasing bops, before the festivities end for the night, reservedly early at around 1am, and it’s back to the hotel for dreams of the ocean’s seabed.

The sun rises on Formentera. Breakfast consumed, we embark on our first activity, which is a stroll across one of the island’s many dazzling hiking routes. We walk the Camí de Sa Pujada way, a cliff side path that offers a stunning view of the island and its waters. We pause at two points: firstly, for a speech from what appears to be a guide. Naturally they speak in Spanish, so I’m clueless on the contents of their words, but I keep myself entertained by spotting small lizards. We stop again, a while down the journey, this time for an extra special musical performance from Tulsa. Situated in a small cave-like nook, the Basque composer and singer delivers an acoustic performance of verve, emotion and spirit as the festival goers gather around, sitting on rocks or the floor.

The walk concludes with a light lunch and refreshment at a beach front restaurant, before we make our way back to the hotel for a few hours of free time, which I naturally use to sip sangria poolside. A freshen up later and we’re making our way to the festival for the evening. Tonight’s events are taking place at a different location, a stone’s throw from the hotel, and is even more breathtaking than the last. The Gecko Hotel & Beach Club is a stunning villa-like location overlooking the ocean, and as we arrive proceedings are already underway.

Vibe-laden DJ Caste opens the day’s music, setting the scene with some stylistic production. I wander around the venue, and after a while, hidden in a back corner, I find a painting workshop offering the opportunity to decorate an empty bottle of local gin, whilst enjoying a glass of it yourself. I naturally obliged, although art has never been a natural gift of mine, and I proceed to make quite the mess as paint flies everywhere. Eventually—with the help of a kind instructor—I complete my magnum opus. I’m allowed to take it with me; it feels destined to sit on my window sill, primed for houseguests to pretend to like it.

As I’m finishing up my brushstrokes, the next act appears on the stage. The most exciting act of the weekend for me personally; London afro/jazz outfit Nubiyan Twist. The many members of the collective squeeze onto the stage, led by Tom Excell and Aziza Jaye, and serenade the receptive audience with triumphant grooves, sing-along hooks and endoscopic energy. Once again, they’re given a lengthy time slot to really immerse the watchers-on in the Nubiyan world. It’s a giving and cherish-able set full of dancing, positivity and meticulous musicianship.

There’s a break from the music to enjoy the Gastronomic experience by Michelin Star chef Vicky Sevilla, who among other treats provides the best pork wrapped in lettuce my lucky mouth has ever tasted, before the next artist of the night gets underway. I’d never heard of Kabeaushé, a Kenyan artist who blends pop, hip hop and electronica, but I’ll certainly remember them now. Donning a blonde bob-cut wig, the singer and rapper is an eccentric performer, whose music takes clear influence from US mainstream rap of the noughties and tens—Eminem, Kayne West—but is presented in an individualistic and compelling fashion. The atmosphere from Nubiyan’s relaxed joy has shifted now as Kabeaushé gets the crowd jumping, splitting them at several points in mosh pit attempts. The festival goers, who previously have been nonchalant and easy-going, rise to the task and there’s light pandemonium occurring for much of the set.

To finish off the evening, there’s a monster two and a half hour DJ set from Belgium production savants 2manydjs, also known as Soulwax, who bring the highest tier of tune-spinning to get the buoyant onlookers in the mood. Hell, even I bust a few moves. The showcase passes in a flash and the music stops, again too soon for my liking. We stumble back to the hotel and I say my goodbyes to my new friends, slipping off to bed with a long day of travel ahead.

The following morning is a tad tedious as I make my way back to Ibiza via the ferry, and then hop on a straight flight back to Gatwick. As soon as the plane emerges behind the clouds and I see the familiar gloom of Southern England, getting dark already in the late afternoon and with drizzle in the air, my heart sinks. Back to reality.

Festivals tend to be full of promises, but rarely can they as succinctly deliver as Son Estrella Galicia Posidonia has managed. Tasteful, classy and majestically curated—the island getaway feels like a mini community rather than a manufactured event. Everyone knows each other, or are very welcoming to first timers—as if they know them already. No one is rushing around or trying too hard. There is diverse music, incredible food and drink, and a calm, familiar and joyful energy that envelops its attendees. It will never be one of the biggest or most well-known festivals, but for the people who know about it and attend it, Son Estrella Galicia Posidonia will hold a place dear to their heart—myself included. Gracias!