Pikes, Ibiza: Hotel Review

1 year ago

A hedonistic haven in the Ibiza hills

This post may contain affiliate links. Learn more

A rock ‘n’ roll Ibiza institution: the spirit of Pikes never fades. Rebecca Cox returns to Pikes Hotel, Ibiza, to see if the legendary party hotel maintains its charm and hedonistic legend since losing its most famous resident, founder Tony Pike, in 2019.

Read the C&TH Responsible Tourism Guide

Pikes Ibiza Review

STAY

We’ve all been there. You’re looking around your home thinking: ‘I need to inject a bit of personality into this place’. A couple of margaritas and a few late-night, click-happy shopping sessions later and you’re sharing your home with a giant roller boot, a life-sized crocodile eating a beach ball, and a bespectacled blue sheep.

A stay at Pikes is like a visit to your hippy aunt’s hillside house. Every picture lining the walls tells a story, there are curiosities in every corner, a never-ending stream of ageing ravers to befriend (takes one to know one) and a sense that a much-needed lick of paint might entirely ruin the magic of the place.

Having said that, my home for this visit is one of the newly-renovated garden suites, which are decidedly freshly-licked. The concept for the eight suites, by interior designer Lucinda Swayne, is ‘Brit-Eccentrics meets timeless rock ’n roll’. She says: ‘Within the redesign we have created eclectic comfortable rooms with a unique feel, coupled with micro-attention to functionality, so that guests will literally never want to leave’. Well Lucinda, mission accomplished. The common thread of giant prints of former guests and hotel residents runs throughout all the hotel’s rooms, a reminder that if these walls could talk, the stories would make your ears bleed. In mine, I am blessed with the company of the late George Michael, who visited in 1983 to film the music video for Club Tropicana with Wham! alongside the late Tony Pike himself, with whom I dined the last time I visited.

EAT

On arrival, the familiar mural informs me that ‘You can check in, but you can never check out,’ which I take as a sign to remain on site for the duration of my visit (it’s only a five minute taxi ride to San Antonio, but I feel no urge, or in truth, in any state, to leave). There’s nothing for it, but to lay by the pool (of aforementioned Club Tropicana fame), ordering cocktails and snacks from the pool menu. Alas, Club Tropicana drinks are not free, and you’ll to need to allow budget to sample at least one of all the delicious tropical mixes on the menu during your stay.

Dinner at pretty pink restaurant Pamalas is a relaxed and enjoyable affair, but if you simply can’t muster the energy to raise yourself from your lounging spot, the poolside brunch and pizza menus are excellent. Opt for a spicy margarita pizza, some Spanish olives, find a shady spot on one of the comfy daybeds adorned with Silken Favours throw cushions and you’ve got the stuff of holiday dreams. Lay, chat, snack, relax, repeat.

DO

Sorry, did I say relax? Like any visit to a mad Aunt’s, things unravel pretty quickly at Pikes. One minute you’re reading your book with your feet in the pool, pondering whether you, too, should install a giant nose sculpture above your dining table to entertain your dinner guests, the next, you’re knee-deep in a bath-tub ball pit, having a dance off with a man wearing glittery hot pants and losing 4kg in sweat. Freddie’s club at Pikes is, after all, the very spot where Freddie Mercury himself celebrated his 41st birthday party with a shindig so wild it was heard across the island, and the date is still marked with an annual celebration nearly 40 years on.

On this occasion, the descent (/freefall to fun) at Freddie’s is no surprise, since Norman Cook (aka DJ Fatboy Slim) is in the DJ booth for one night only: four hours of absolute bangers, zero aircon and not an inch of space between sweat-soaked shirt and skin to be found. Four AM rolls around and I stumble back to my room, nodding sagely at the image of Mr Pike as I pass, wondering how the hell he maintained this lifestyle for 40 years, when 48-hours at Ibiza’s most fabulous (and infamous) boutique hotel Pikes has once again proved ample to finish me off.

THE FINAL WORD

There is magic in these walls that you can’t understand until you spend a few days within them. As the taxi pulls away from my favourite hotel and I turn around for one last look at the crooked pink walls shrinking away behind me, I find contentment in the inevitability that I will return again, soon. (But first: sleep.)