Edit - The Sonance Summer build is now closed

By Sarah Tonin

Lazy Summary:

- Mediterranean party resort with weekly rentals and ongoing events

- Perfect for partygoers interested in EDM, urban planning, or Regency period social dynamics

- House music: 10/10; Actual housing: 0/10

- Open until August 29

- Recommended

🪧Sonance SLURL

From the Socioeconomic Investigation Files of Sarah Tonin:

"I've been thinking about our assignment," I said, leaning toward Violet over my twenty centimeters of Ryanair armrest, "and I have a theory."

Violet looked up from her in-flight magazine, in which the advertisements were articles and the articles were no different. Duty-free perfume samples lined her lap. "Please tell me it's not about Bigfoot."

"Better. I think all these party resorts are just people trying to recreate Regency era social gatherings. Think about it: the tradition of summering, the 'you simply must come' invitations, the intense social rituals around courtship and dancing."

I was getting excited now, the way I always do when seemingly unconnected observations start forming patterns, thoughts like pins strung by string off a corkboard. I continued, "It's all there! Gossip and matchmaking and elaborate social hierarchies. The way everyone lives in close quarters and how they develop these intense relationships."

"So you're saying party culture is just Jane Austen cosplay?"

"Not cosplay, rediscovery. Maybe modern people have lost the art of these intensive social experiences, so we've got to recreate the social technologies that worked for centuries. Just disguised with dance music and recreational chemistry."

Violet considered this while flipping past an ad for novelty luggage. "That's either brilliant social anthropology or you've been watching too much BBC again."

"Yes," I chirped in plural before settling back in my seat with the satisfaction of someone who had solved a puzzle. "Reporting on the Sonance housing crisis will be perfect for testing out my theory. If I'm right, we'll find all the same social dynamics that made country house parties the center of aristocratic life."

"Just adapted for modern hedonists," Violet said.

"This doesn't look like Mallorca," I said a few minutes later, peering out the window at what appeared to be a stretch of interchangeably Mediterranean coastline.

The Rental Rush of '25

The assignment from Dirk had arrived in the form of QR code festival passes and satellite photos of extremely attractive people investing in porta-potty timeshares. "URGENT: Housing crisis in paradise. Rumour of a black market. Violet's skill set might be useful."

Our first sign this wasn't going to be a typical investigation came at the airport, where a line of increasingly desperate-looking partygoers clustered around a bulletin board with "ROOM SHARES" posted directly above. A girl with purple hair and a HEATWAVES t-shirt noticed us staring.

"Used to be you could show up to Sonance with nothing but good vibes and bad life choices," she said, gesturing toward the two-story complex visible through the terminal windows with the weary resignation of someone watching their neighborhood get a Starbucks. "Now look at this shit. Branded giveaways. Professional hosts. Next they'll be checking credit scores."

While I was busy scribbling notes about the sociological implications of institutionalized partying, Violet had wandered off to make friends with a group of suspicious-looking locals near the taxi stand. Fifteen minutes later, she returned with keys and a satisfied grin.

"One bed, shared bathroom, only slightly sketchy landlord situation," she announced. "Cash only, no questions asked, and something about not mentioning it to anyone with a clipboard."

"How did you--"

"Trade secret," she said, already heading toward the exit. "Let's just say my crisis journalism course covered more than making people uncomfortable with your questions."

Investigation Note: The resort opened at 10 AM on a Saturday, and all the rentals were sold out in an hour. Rentals are weekly (L$500) and the rooms are simple, but they provide a compelling sense of home away from home. It has the best elements of staying at a party resort, except you can just leave when the hangover sets in.

The Resort

The best way to describe the Sonance complex is as the meeting place between a luxury hostel and an upscale refugee camp. Two-story buildings ring a central courtyard dominated by a pool which doubles as a dancefloor. The effect is that of an amphitheater, if the Romans had better sound systems.

But as it turns out "if you build it, they will come" doesn't account for what happens when they all show up at once and you've only built some of it.

Upon arrival, we discovered a rental housing market that would make San Francisco landlords blush with shame. Fitting six people to a bed isn't just a Tetris variant that violates the laws of physics. It's sometimes almost uncomfortable.

Violet was already interviewing our neighbours by shouting through the paper-thin walls, her reporter's notebook filled fast with tales of tightly regulated shower schedules and a black market for balconies. "So when did you first realize that having fun could lead to a housing shortage?"

Investigation Note: The build itself emulates that Mediterranean hotel design where the rooms encircle a courtyard that's mostly made of swimming pool. There's a stage at one end and a bar at the other, and spots here and there to sit and dance throughout. The decor is typical, but it feels like an actual place.

Veterans of the Old Days

Before the first DJ's set began, we wandered the resort in search of leads. In the complex's bar, we found a cluster of Heatwaves veterans who spoke about last summer with evident nostalgia. A DJ from Berlin waved his hands enthusiastically, festival wristbands clattering like some archaeological record made from paper and plastic.

"Back then, you could sleep anywhere, meet anyone, anything was possible. And by the end of it, the island itself sunk into the sea!"

I was taking notes when someone tapped my shoulder. "You want some--oh, hey Tonin." The voice belonged to a familiar face. It was Opie, who had set our dessert on fire at The Continental. Now she was supplementing her income with some pharmaceutical freelancing.

"Opie! What do you think about the resort?"

Her eyes narrowed as she looked around. Even though she had been selling pills in the sun for the better part of the day, she seemed to see everything again afresh and shook her head slowly. Her disappointment was palpable and her tone was acidic. "It's like this, Sarah: Sonny ain't posh."

I wasn't about to try out my Jane Austen theory on her.

Investigation Note: The first weekend's parties were sponsored by a variety of well-known designers and stores. There was also a (very busy) host to facilitate random prize draws. But I wonder how necessary this all was. Sponsorships provide a way to generate interest and show appreciation to your attendees; but it seemed to me the venue's host was hosting so hard in local chat that I stopped paying attention.

NIMBY vs. YIMBO Politics

The local response to Sonance's expansion plans revealed the classic tensions in urban development between the NIMBY (Not In My Backyard) and YIMBY (Yes In My Backyard) sets. But at Sonance, we'd discovered a third faction: YIMBOs (Yes In My Bedroom, Obviously), whose enthusiasm for density had created its own set of problems.

To sort all this out, we requested interviews with Katt and Seven, co-owners of the resort. Getting on their calendars required the sort of passive aggressive scheduling usually associated with political campaigns or invasive surgeries. To be fair, it was opening weekend and they were in the midst of the biggest musical housing crisis this side of Fyre Festival.

Katt arrived first, wearing the carefully positive energy of someone who'd been doing damage control all day. She has a sort of manic competence that suggests learning resort management on a trial by fire basis.

"Are we on the record?" She asked before we had even introduced ourselves.

"We can start off the record if you--"

"No, on is fine. I just like to know when I'm turned on." She waved toward my phone, screen-up and clearly recording.

I asked about the rental shortage, and she launched into what felt like a prepared statement from a PR firm. Growing pains. Scaling challenges. Unprecidented demand. Violet tried another tack and complimented her on the pool-cum-dancefloor concept. She lit up.

"Oh good, I don't usually get to say that during interviews." It was the first unguarded moment we'd captured. "Most of the time they edit it out."

Investigation Note: I feel I should point out that 1.) I really did interview Katt, and 2.) this is pretty much how it went.

Seven's Urban Planning Seminar

Seven arrived for his interview looking like he had just attended an urban planning meeting at city hall. He was carrying a small library of books and a laptop covered in municipal policy stickers. Where Katt's approach was defensive, Seven's was evangelical.

"See, the housing crisis at Sonance is just a microcosm of every other housing crisis." Like Katt, he started talking before I'd even asked a question. "It's the same in Berlin and the same in Barcelona."

I tried to nudge him toward talking about the resort, but he was already deep in a lecture about zoning reform and density restrictions.

"See, it's not that we don't have enough space. That's not the problem. The problem is we designed our space wrong. And if it weren't for these mandatory parking minimums on the island, we could have built more rental units."

"It's a party resort, not a city," Violet interjected.

Ignoring her, he nodded toward Opie, who was conducting a transaction nearby. "See? Street-level retail. Heard of Jane Jacobs? Her thing was how organic commercial activity is essential for healthy neighbourhoods."

I wasn't sure if he was serious. "But she's selling drugs? Surely Jacobs didn't--"

"It fosters community connections. Anyway, our resort is the perfect laboratory for testing new models. We're not dependent on cars, it's mixed residential with commercial and recreational spaces. With luck, we'll create genuine community through proximity and shared resources."

He swiveled his laptop and pulled up a presentation titled "The Resort as an Urban Planning Case Study."

"The housing shortage might sting in the short-term, but it forces people to innovate with their living arrangements. Shared spaces, flexible usage, community coordination. All features, not bugs. We're accidentally creating the most intentional community in Europe."

Investigation Note: I hope I managed to really capture how much Sev cares about urban planning reform. Man's got some interesting ideas about how clean the sea is, too.

Music Changes Everything

We were interrupted by the music. When it hit, the entire complex was transformed into something transcendent. What had felt cramped and scarce during the day became intimate and shared at night. The pool-[redacted]-dancefloor made every set feel like a private concert for fifty extremely close, chlorine-drenched friends.

Paradoxically, the housing crisis had intensified the community experience rather than destroying it. People who might have hidden in the privacy of their own rooms were instead forced to spend time in common areas. Conversations that should have been brief stretched into the early morning hours. The logistics of finding a place to sleep were just too daunting an alternative.

I found myself dancing next to Violet. "It's kind of beautiful," she shouted. Partygoers were coordinating times in front of a sink for dental hygiene with near-mathematical precision. "Like a Jane Austen novel, but everyone's rolling on molly."

Sometimes shortages don't destroy. They concentrate.

Investigator's Note: Even if you aren't renting a room at the resort, it's open to the public with events running to the end of August. At time of writing there is a waitlist six deep for rentals on a first-[redacted], first-serve basis.

Conclusion

Later that weekend, Violet and I were people-watching from our black-market patio.

"So," she said carefully, "what happened to your Regency theory?"

I'd almost forgotten it. Between the immediate drama of finding a spot to sleep amid a housing shortage underwritten by energy drinks and cryptocurrency sponsorships, it was hard to stay focused on a silly idea developed at altitude. But after spending time at the new Sonance resort, I realized my airplane theory hadn't been entirely wrong. It was just incomplete.

"It's all there," I said. "It's this social pressure cooker. But if anything, the housing crisis shows how those aristocratic summer gatherings actually were."

"Crowded and dramatic, you mean?"

"Intimate and transformative. It's the kind of forced closeness that makes people fight, fall in love, and form lifelong friendships over the course of a long weekend."

We're filing this investigation under "Accidental Innovation Through Urban Planning Disaster." Sonance is a great spot to party this summer. You won't be able to find a place of your own to stay, but maybe you can find some distant relations to summer with.

Jane Austen would have approved. Jane Jacobs? Not so much.

Investigator's Note: Sonance Summer Resort is open until August 29, with events every weekend and occasionally during the week. Suites are available for rent at L$500 per week, but for now it's fully booked. Contact Katt Harcourt (hexskatt resident) or Seven (the.claw) with your rental enquiries.