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Bliss ... Es Boldado from Cala d'Hort. Photo: Alamy

Simon Hughes discovers the best stretch of sand in the world - and it's in Ibiza, the party capital of the world.

It is easy to develop misconceptions about Ibiza. Dubbed the undisputed party capital of the world, the island is often used as a byword for excess. The British television documentary Ibiza Uncovered - featuring a series of inebriated, semi-naked 20-year-olds cavorting about in beach bars - has a lot to answer for. It was a little disconcerting to witness similar scenes on our easyJet flight to the island, even though it was a 6am midweek departure from Gatwick.

So, it was with some trepidation that I first set foot on Ibizan soil two hours later. Despite the promises in the hotel brochure of a more refined experience, I was still expecting to have my senses assaulted by thumping music and hordes of overexcited partygoers, to be confronted by the stench of fried food and to be unable to see the sea because of all the great lumps of concrete masquerading as hotels hugging the coastline. And, in order to escape all this, I was also bracing myself for an interminable journey on meandering roads stuck behind a succession of hired Seats, each occupied by bewildered drivers all trying to find the same strip of already overcrowded beach using badly drawn, misleading local maps.

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Cala Comte beach, Ibiza. Photo: Alamy

I was right about one thing. The maps are badly drawn and misleading. Perhaps this is a prerogative of a holiday island to ensure visitors have trouble finding the good places, allowing the locals to get there first and bag the best spots. But in every other way my preconceptions were way off beam.

With a job (covering cricket) that follows the sun, I have spent the past 20 years inadvertently searching for the best beach in the world. Somewhere that had everything. A pretty cove that had reliable weather and iridescent, safe, crystal-clear sea and powdery sand; which had some shade but was not overlooked by apartment blocks or overrun by hawkers, jet-skis, or people in general; where you could sidle barefoot into a simple, airy cafe selling interesting food and local wine and later stroll along the beach to the headland to watch the sun go down.

I have tried all the obvious places: France (too crowded), Italy (too expensive), South Africa (too many sharks), Australia (too many Australians. NOTE FROM ED: don't you mean British backpackers?), Greece, the Caribbean, Portugal (all boring food), mainland Spain (too man-made), New Zealand (iffy weather), Thailand (too touristy), Sri Lanka (too hot), Cornwall (too cold.) I could go on. And then ... a blissfully easy drive from Ibiza Airport, I found it. Within five minutes of leaving the airport you are driving alongside low, bush-clad hills and glinting salt lakes with few other cars, and within 10 minutes you are parking under conveniently located wooden awnings and emerging through tall trees onto a beautiful curving swathe of sand lapped by calm blue water. This is Playa des Salinas.

A bar at Salinas beach, Ibiza. Photo: Alamy

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Life's a perfect beach