I didn’t think to bring my swimming costume to the beach in the middle of a European winter but with the sun baking down onto the concrete slipway at Cala Deia, my friend Lucy has already stripped down into her bikini and dived into the 15 degree celsius sea. I sit reading with the sea lapping at my ankles and watch with envy as she emerges beaming. Bemused hikers watch from the GR221 trail that runs above the cove and I make a mental note not to forget my one – piece again.
For the past 3 days, we’ve been traveling from the southwest of Mallorca across the Serra de Tramuntana mountain range, traversing the singular road that runs through the region, the MA-10. In summer months, the route is heaving, with traffic piling up around the quaint towns and villages with their narrow road systems and hairpin bends. For us in December, aside from a handful of cyclists and the occasional local bus, the roads were all but empty.
As we parked our hire car on the side of the road in Banyabulfar and walked into town, we quickly realised we weren’t going to find much open. We took a walk down the cliffside to catch a closer view of the sea and managed to grab a beer just as the last cafe was closing, thanking ourselves for booking a local B&B that also served dinner.
The next morning we drove to Valdemossa and headed out for our first hike. As we set off on the trail, the crisp winter air filled our lungs, invigorating us with each step. The Serra de Tramuntana, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, stood majestic and serene, its rugged peaks dusted with snow in some places. The landscape, starkly beautiful, was a mix of olive groves, pine forests, and dramatic cliffs that plunged into the turquoise sea below.
The paths were well-marked, and we occasionally encountered other hikers, mostly locals enjoying their own weekend escapes. As we climbed higher, the panoramic views of the coastline became more breathtaking, each turn revealing a new stunning vista. The silence was profound, broken only by the occasional rustle of wind through the trees or the distant chime of goat bells. Both of us had been feeling lost over the preceding months. Lucy had moved across the world to a new job she hated, and I had broken up with a long term boyfriend, finding myself thirty and living back with my parents. We were both stuck and the meditative rhythm of our hiking boots on the ancient paths provided a soothing counterpoint to our thoughts.
After several hours of hiking, we returned to the picturesque town of Valldemossa. The cobblestone streets were nearly empty, and the usually bustling cafes and souvenir shops were closed for the season. We wandered through the town, admiring the charming stone houses adorned with potted plants and colorful tiles. Despite the quiet, there was a cozy, welcoming atmosphere, and we found a small restaurant, with outdoor tables to make the most of the winter sun. The ice cold beer was the perfect reward after our morning’s exertion.
In the evenings, we would return to our B&B, tired but content. The simple pleasures of hearty home-cooked meals, a glass of local wine by the fireplace, and the comfort of a warm bed became the highlights of our nights.
un-hurried 