During my travels with Cirque du Soleil, I discovered a minor Balearic island that is neither Majorca nor Ibiza. Before hunkering down in the next city for six more weeks of shows, C, J, J and I went to Menorca. This stony, rocky island parked in the Mediterranean sea, has in its pockets some of the most virginal coves and beaches, but you have to work to find them. We hiked and scaled rock-faces until we came across our perfect nesting pad. There, we made a fire on the beach, fished, did back flips, played frisbee, drank and stamped our hands in a pact no one could later remember. That afternoon, we trudged back through the fishing village with our catch. I ducked into a local restaurant for a glass of water but got grappa instead. Upon seeing my friends and our fish outside, the restauranteur convinced us to entrust our dinner to him. “Come back in three hours,” he said. We went back to our shacks to nap and change and returned back to the restaurant that night. There, members of the town had gathered with instruments and grappa, our fish was cooked over coals outside and we sang songs in Spanish, invented some of our own and for some reason, everyone had it in them to call me Julietta. Few people are familiar with this island. Often they think I’m talking about Majorca, but I ain’t. Menorca is one of my favorite places on earth and this one night is the reason.