My Eclipse in Formentera

The (Hateful) Cloud

Formentera, 13 August 2026

I had been counting down the days for months, waiting for 12 August to arrive. And within that date, there was one particular time etched in my mind: 8:33 p.m.
I had never had the chance to experience a total eclipse before, and this time I was going to do it in Formentera, the place where I am happiest. It was hard to imagine a better combination.

However, ever since I started learning the details of the phenomenon in 2025, I knew there was one major risk. Totality would occur when the Sun was already very close to the horizon, just a few minutes before sunset, and during the summer, humidity tends to build up over the sea. After so many months with virtually no rain, that possibility was always there.

I knew it could happen. But as the day drew closer, I preferred to believe that we would be lucky, that the skies would stay clear that evening and that nothing would get in the way of one of those moments I had spent so long imagining.

Today’s post on my blog is a first-person account of how I experienced the days leading up to the eclipse, how I experienced the main event itself and how I feel after the experience. Today’s post is entirely personal and subjective.

Finding the Right Place

Deciding where to watch the eclipse from wasn’t easy.
Formentera is at one of its busiest times of the year. The roads are packed with vehicles, and the authorities had warned of possible traffic problems as the eclipse drew closer. So I wasn’t just looking for somewhere with good viewing conditions, but also for a place we could reach without too much trouble.
For several days, I tried out different spots around Migjorn, but none of them quite convinced me. I had waited too long for this moment to end up experiencing it surrounded by a huge crowd. I wanted somewhere quieter.

A few days beforehand, I went over to Es Ram. There I ran into my friend Xicu des Moliner, who was there with his llaüt, the Cristina. We spent a while talking about the eclipse and, as so often happens, about plenty of other things that had absolutely nothing to do with it.

It’s a charming spot, but in the end I ruled it out too. The access road is narrow, I had no idea how many people and cars might end up gathering there and, at that time of year, the Sun doesn’t set directly over the sea horizon.
I wasn’t convinced by the western side of Formentera either. I pictured Cala Saona or Ses Illetes packed with people, and that was exactly what I was trying to avoid.
Little by little, the answer became obvious: La Mola.

I found a stretch of cliff with a completely unobstructed view to the west. From there, the Sun would eventually disappear directly into the Mediterranean.
If the clouds stayed away on the evening of the 12th, we would see the eclipsed Sun sink into the sea. It was exactly what I was looking for. All that remained was to make arrangements with the friends I was going to share the experience with.

Waiting on the Cliffs

The first of us arrived at the meeting point about an hour before the Moon made first contact with the Sun. We initially settled under the shade of a pine tree, still about 300 metres from the edge of the cliff. From there, we had magnificent views of Formentera and, while we waited for the rest of the group, we ate some freshly picked figs.
The hour passed almost without us noticing.

Little by little, other groups began to arrive who had clearly come to the same conclusion as I had and had chosen that spot to watch the eclipse. The funny thing was that we knew practically everyone.
People from La Mola, people from Es Caló, people you regularly bump into around the island. We greeted each other, exchanged a few words and shared a few jokes. There was something very small-island about it all.
It was one of those scenes that reminded me of Formentera during the winter months, when everything returns to its true scale and practically everyone knows who everyone else is.

On our stretch of cliff, about five groups eventually gathered. I reckon there were around fifty of us. There was plenty of room for everyone, and each group found its own spot. In front of us there was nothing but the sea and a drop of around seventy metres from the cliff.
It was hard to imagine a better setting.

The Moon Began to Cover the Sun

At around 7:45 p.m., we began looking through our special eclipse glasses more and more often. The sight was spectacular.
The Moon had already covered about half of the Sun, and the shape it created was far more impressive than I had imagined.
The further the eclipse progressed, the greater the anticipation became.
Every minute brought us closer to the moment we had been waiting months for.
Until exactly what we had all feared began to happen.

The Sun was sinking towards the horizon and, right in its path, a band of low, dense clouds appeared.
They settled exactly where they shouldn’t have. Suddenly, we could no longer see the eclipse. We looked through our glasses and there was absolutely nothing there.

There were still about four minutes to go before totality began, and I remained convinced that a gap might open up.
We didn’t need much. A small break in the clouds. Maybe just a few seconds. I just wanted to be able to see it.
But that gap never came.

Behind a Cloud

At 8:33 p.m., it happened.
The sky began to lose its light in a strange way.
It didn’t become completely dark. The feeling was more like those minutes before dawn, when it is still dark but you can already sense the first hint of light.
The light was dim, almost unreal.

We all knew perfectly well what was happening on the other side of that cloud. The eclipse had reached totality. But we couldn’t see it. It lasted only a very short time.
Less than a minute later, the light began to grow brighter again. The Sun was still very low and remained hidden, but it was already clear that the moment we had come there to witness was over. We had missed it.
It was the moment I had spent months imagining. My first total eclipse. In Formentera. Surrounded by friends. In a place we had chosen specifically so that we could watch it over the Mediterranean.
And in the end, it wasn’t to be.

The Sun Reappeared

Despite the disappointment, nobody was in much of a hurry to leave.
From the top of the cliff, we could see that the cloud didn’t reach all the way down to the horizon. It seemed obvious that if we stayed there for a few more minutes, the Sun would eventually reappear before setting.
And that was exactly what happened.

The Sun emerged again beneath the clouds, still partially covered by the Moon. The two celestial bodies seemed to have almost merged into one. What appeared before us was a kind of fiery crescent slowly descending towards the Mediterranean.
For a few moments, the shape even looked like the fin of a gigantic glowing shark moving across the horizon before disappearing.
It was a sight completely unlike any sunset I had ever seen before. Little by little, the Sun and Moon continued descending together.
Until they finally disappeared into the sea at the same time.

It will be Hard to Forget

When I think back on that afternoon, I find it difficult to decide whether we were lucky in the end or not.
On the one hand, we had chosen a spectacular spot. We had spent several hours with friends and neighbours, we had watched a large part of the eclipse, and we ended up seeing a sunset that we will probably never experience in quite the same way again.

I’m sure that many years from now, we’ll still be talking about that afternoon on the cliffs of La Mola.
So, in a way, yes. It was a special experience.
But deep down, no.

Because the very thing we had gone there to see, the totality of the eclipse, happened hidden behind a cloud.
While we were staring at a grey mass hanging over the horizon, we knew that in many other places along the path of totality, people were watching with their own eyes what we could only imagine.
And that made me sad.

I had spent months waiting for that date, thinking about where to watch it, looking for the right place and imagining over and over again what those few seconds would be like.
It was right there in front of us. But we couldn’t see it. It was such a shame.
Years from now, when I think back to the eclipse of 12 August in Formentera, I’m sure I’ll remember many things: the friends, the figs under the pine tree, the neighbours walking towards the cliff, that strange light and the Sun transformed into a fiery crescent before disappearing into the Mediterranean.

But I’m also sure I’ll remember the eclipse that was right there, but a cloud wouldn’t let us see.