THIS LUXURY PARTY RESORT IS AS MUCH ABOUT SLOWING DOWN AS IT IS ABOUT ICONIC IBIZA RAVES

HOSTING THE LIKES OF CAMELPHAT, SOLOMUN AND MARCO CAROLA EACH WEEK, DESTINO FIVE IBIZA IS FOR A NEW BREED OF CONSCIOUS RAVERS CHASING MORE THAN JUST THE AFTERPARTY.

- By SHAMANI JOSHI

As I haul my sleep-deprived self into Destino Five Ibiza, the first sight that hits me is the domed ecru facade cutting through the island’s endless stretch of blue horizon and rustling greenery.

The next thing that catches my eye is the glint of the metallic cherries embedded into the gate, an obvious wink to the symbology that has become synonymous with the legendary club Pacha Ibiza.

Part of Dubai-based FIVE Holding’s takeover of the White Isle’s iconic Pacha brand, Destino Five Ibiza feels like it was built for an era where wellness and wild partying are both part of the same ritualistic routine. The luxury party resort hums with an inherent stillness, even as lo-fi house beats blare in the background. A lone disco ball melts into the concierge desk, turning the midday glare into the most glorious strobe light. At check-in, a cart stocked with zingy lemonade and Ibiza’s fennel-flavored Hierbas liqueur is yet another hint: this is where detox and debauchery dance together.

Living up to Pacha’s five-decades-long legacy of the most epic all-night ragers is a tall order, but Destino Five does it with barefoot ease and a Balearic flair. The resort's color palette of white, green and blue is every so often interrupted by the luscious cherries sprinkled throughout the property—on pool towels, the back of servers' shirts, a ring toss game zone, and even a woven screen that silently judges you as you scurry back to your room after one too many Aperol Spritzes. The small but upscale rooms have all the trappings of a post-party cradle, complete with a coffee pod machine, a private lounging terrace, and one of those televisions that whirs to life even when you didn't ask it to. Each of its 159 rooms is decked out with archival snapshots of Pacha's dance-floor memories, though the neon-haloed mirrors on the ceilings feel strategically placed to shame afterparty survivors who wake up to find themselves in the previous night's outfit.