Ibiza for The Slow Weekenders: a Friday-to-Monday weekend

The palm-lined promenade from the town hall to the sea, with benches, a craft market in the evening, and nowhere to hurry to.

The fortress church on its hill above the town, the cemetery of cypress, and a farmhouse museum of looms; ten minutes up from the promenade.

A small French-run bistro in the old town, duck confit and island vegetables, with the lights kept low and the service unhurried.

The hammam and the forty-metre pool at the agroturismo in the orange groves; a morning pass includes a lounger under the olives.

Bullit de peix on the beach at a shack with one sitting, cash only and booked days ahead; the fisherman's grandson still cooks it.

A wide, shallow bay the day-trippers have left by now; a last swim and a sunbed with the pines behind for the price of nothing.

Sunday vermouth on the plaza of the island's prettiest village, a church, two galleries and a deli; the morning takes care of itself.

A long lunch in a garden under the almond trees, pasta and vegetables from the plot; the terrace stays comfortable until the light goes.

The sunset from the clifftop terrace with the hostal's resident DJ playing low; order one drink and stay until the sky is done.

Up the carriage ramp from the drawbridge gate to the terrace in front of the cathedral, the harbour below and a bench in the shade.

Half an hour with the island's painters of the sixties in the old armoury, and a Punic house under the glass floor; free, and quiet on a Monday.

Cushions on the steps of a Dalt Vila lane, tapas and a cold white, and the airport ten minutes away when you finally stand up.