Majorca, Spain

April 2012

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When my younger brother Richard (50) suggested a few days cycling in Mallorca (Majorca), I didn’t know what to expect. But he went ahead and booked flights and hotel rooms at Easter for himself, his 18 year old son Chris, his friend Steve with whom we had done the 2008 Lands End-John O’Groats ride, and myself. Then Steve couldn’t make it and my parents decided to come instead. I reserved a car rental. Rich reserved bikes for hire. Sorted.

On Thursday April 5th we took off from Gatwick Airport, care of EasyJet for Palma, Majorca. The flight seemed so short (2 hours) after all the long haul stuff I have done recently. At Palma, we called the car rental company who picked us up and took us to our Peugeot 305. We found the Ma-11 which was fast and straight and cut north, straight across the island from Palma to Soller, tunnelling through the mountains as it approached its destination. The tunnel is 3km long with a toll of 4.70 Euros. You can avoid the tunnel by driving over the mountains along a zigzagging minor road with great mountain views. Since bikes are banned from the tunnel, we would have to climb up to the 470m Col De Soller a few times during our stay, so en route to the Port de Soller, we took the opportunity to check out the climb and descent.

Majorca is the largest of the Balearic islands off Spain and has an alleged 300 days of sunshine (it didn’t rain during our 5 day stay). The Rough Guide said that a “negative image was spawned by the helter-skelter development of the 1960s…In reality, however, the concrete sprawl is largely confined… and for the most part Mallorca remains – to the surprise of many first-time visitors – often handsome, from the craggy mountains and medieval monasteries of its north coast through to the antique towns of the central plain.” I must admit I was both surprised and very impressed with Majorca with it’s wonderful mountain scenery, impressive plains and lovely old golden coloured villages.

The Rough Guide felt that “Mallorca is at its scenic best in the gnarled ridge of the Sierra de Tramuntana, the imposing mountain range which stretches the length of the island’s north western shore, its rearing peaks and plunging sea cliffs intermittently punctuated by valleys of olive and citrus groves. Midway along and cramped by the mountains is Soller, an antiquated merchants’ town that serves as a charming introduction to the region.”

Soller is the largest town in the Tramuntana region occupying a wide valley filled with citric groves which gave the town its wealth. Both oranges and lemons were abundant at this time of year, but olive trees were bare. The town was full of narrow sloping lanes cramped by 18th and 19th century stone houses adorned with fancy grilles and big wooden doors. These were the former dwellings of the region’s rich fruit merchants. It’s centre was Placa Constitucio, a small affair of big old plane trees, crowded cafes and dominated by the hulking mass of the St Bartomeu church. I didn’t visit Soller until the final day but it was a pleasant place full of tourists, many of which came up from Palma by the old wooden electric tram.

Port de Soller was just down the coast, a reminder of more troubled days when pirates forced the islanders to live away from the coast which was why Soller was located inland. This small port and fishing village, had a beautiful, horseshoe-shaped bay of clean and clear water, ringed by forested hills with a lighthouse guarding the cliffs of Cap Gros above the entrance to the bay. It is now a low key, family-orientated resort. We eventually found our 1* Hotel Citric which was located on the cliff side, close to the lighthouse, which looked across the lovely bay. We had our own rooms and half board for a respectable 34 Euros a night. It was a popular hotel mostly full during our stay, at a time when hotel reservations on the island.

The food was ok. Evening meals were a variety of fish, chicken, salads, deserts and the alcohol prices were average for the town. After checking in, I unpacked my minimal hand luggage in my minimal en suite room with a small balcony. Our first dinner was pasta followed by meatloaf. As the sunset over the bay, Rich, Chris and I then took a stroll around the bay to check out the mostly empty bars and cafes. Untypically, we decided to try the Irish pub because it was the busiest with a handful of customers. The ambience was ok and the local lager was cold and tasty. This became our regular evening watering hole.

The following morning, Good Friday (April 6th) after our first all you-could-eat-breakfast of fruit juice, cereal, rolls, cheese, ham and jam, we walked down to the bike shop to pick up our rented bikes. They were of a very good standard but the gear levels were backwards and took a little while to co-ordinate properly once we set off. We had brought our own pedals which were attached to the bikes. I was soon to regret not bringing my large gel seat. My brother had only booked us for hand luggage on EasyJet and I didn’t have room for it. Even with two pairs of cycling shorts, my weight perched on the small flat seat soon destroyed my backside and made cycling very uncomfortable.

For our first cycling experience, we left southwest from Port de Soller and took a right onto the Ma-10, the principal coastal road which threaded up through the mountains to reach the village of Deia. We were soon climbing up the hills and I found myself already falling behind Rich and Chris. Chris’s pedals were problematic so we headed back downhill to the cycle shop and got them sorted out and then repeated the uphill climb.

Deia was tucked in at the base of formidable cliffs, full of tightly packed honey coloured stone houses surrounded by rugged mountains to one side and the sparkling Mediterranean on the other. It has become famous as the former home of the deceased writer Robert Graves. The village attracts a lot of visitors but we were keen to push on.

Following an undulating twisting road which hugged the hills, we were provided with some beautiful coastal vistas of rocky coves, old stone look out towers and the sea. Many other cyclists were passing us. I found the cyclists in Majorca to be a generally unfriendly and elitist bunch. Most were European tourists with all the colour co-ordinated gear and fancy gadgets. They would pass me without a word and no acknowledgement. As a runner, I am used to other runners passing me and most always say a couple of words, but most cyclists just ignored me. Maybe the fact that I didn’t have clip pedals relegated me to a beginner not worth the time of day. I only passed one woman cyclist in 3 days of cycling.

At Valldemossa, we pulled into a restaurant for lunch. It was popular with cyclists and we sat outside and had excellent pizzas and cold beer. I was expecting more hills after lunch, but the road to Palmanyola was mostly downhill with few bends which produced tremendous speeds of up to 68kph. I was flying down that hill.

Rejoining the Ma-11 which we had driven on yesterday, we had a long straight gradual uphill climb back to the tunnel entrance with a headwind against us. It was time to make the first climb up to the 470m Coll de Soller. Rich and Chris soon left me behind and I pottered up, taking some photos and just pacing myself. Then over the top, there was a lovely descent of tight twisting bends until I rejoined the Ma-11 on the other side of the tunnel and a long drop towards Port de Soller. It was so straight, I was back up to 60kph and even exceeded the speed limit signposted at 50kph. I’d never done that on a bike before.

When I got back to the hotel around 4pm (with a very sore backside) I jad racked up 70km. My parents were just about to go out in the car, so I offered to drive and go exploring. The magnificent Serra de Tramuntana mountains reach what the Rough Guide calls a “precipitous climax in the rearing peaks of northern Majorca”, beginning just to the north east of Soller. This is the wildest part of the island and even today the ruggedness of the terrain forced the main coastal road, the Ma-10, to duck and weave inland, offering only occasional glimpses of the sea.

Heading north east of Soller, the Ma-10 zigzagged up into the mountains. After about 5km, there was a good lookout over the coast from the Mirador de Ses Barques vantage point. Then, the road snaked inland and tunnelled through the western flank of the Puig Major (1436m), the island’s highest mountain. Beyond the tunnel was the Gorg Blau (Blue Gorge), a bare and bleak ravine that had been damned to create a trio of small reservoirs. At the far end of Gorg Blau, the road bore into the mountain to emerge just short of a left turn leading down to Sa Colobra. This turn off was an exhilarating, ear-popping snaking detour which passed dramatically eroded limestone cliffs, down to the seashore. The well surfaced road hair-pinned its way down the mountain slopes so severely that at one point it actually turned 270 degrees to run under itself. This is called the Nus de la Corbeta (Knotted Tie). It was one of the most spectacular roads I’ve ever driven on.

At the bottom of the discarded ribbon of road was Sa Calobra, a small non-descript resort occupying a pint-sized cove in the shadow of the mountains. During the day it got busloads of tourists. But at 5pm, it was virtually empty. Driving back up, I didn’t think I’d be good enough to get back up on a bike.

We drove on to the Monastir de Nostra Senyora de Lluc (Monastry of our Lady of Lluc) where austere, high sided dormitories and orange-flecked roof tiles stood out against the greens and greys of the surrounding mountains. Mallorca’s largest and best known monastery is the most sacred site on this devoutly Catholic island. According to local legend it has been a place of pilgrimage since the 13th century, when an Arab shepherd boy found a wooden statue of the Virgin (La Moreneta) that had been hidden in a cave at Lluc during the Moorish rule. A chapel was built to house the statue and within years, miracles were inevitably being attributed to it. The complex had a basilica with a baroque façade dating from 1622, a botanical garden used to grow medicinal herbs and a Museum. Late in the day with no tour buses, it was a nice calm place and had free entrance.

Time was pushing on. We headed out of the mountains which took longer than expected and down to the plains via Caimari, Selva, Mancor de la Vall and Lloseta. Alaro was a sleepy little place of old stone houses fanning out from an attractive main square. Useless fact: It was the first place to get electric street lighting on the island in 1901. The Ma-2100 then edged along the narrow valley of the Torrent d’en Paragon passing by the Puig d’Alaro (825m).

The narrow twisting road passed through lovely agricultural scenery and took us onto Orient, a tiny hamlet of ancient white painted houses which are scattered along the edge of the Vall d’Orient, a valley where hills crowd olive and almond trees and tour buses can not get through. Orient claims to be the smallest village on the island with only 30 inhabitants, but it gets plenty of tourists at the weekend. It looked like a great place to stay.

The road snaked across the forested foothills of the mountains, though it was surprise to have to climb up to a 530m pass before descending to Bunyola and then through the tunnel to Port de Soller. Arriving back at 8pm we were late for the 7.30pm dinner, but you were allowed to start dinner up to 8.30pm.

On Saturday April 7th, I got up for breakfast at 7.30am and loaded up on bread, cheese and ham. My backside was still sore and I kept nibbling to put off the inevitable departure. Since I had been unable to keep up with Rich and Chris, they suggested I got an hour’s start on them. I was on the bike by 8.15am and heading up the same road that I had driven yesterday. Both physically and psychologically, I had never cycled uphill for 10 miles and I wasn’t fit enough to do it in one go. So I pottered up in low gear and stopped to take regular breaks and photos of the valley below. Other cyclists started to pass me after the first hour, and some yelled encouragement seeing a fat bloke crawling up the hill at a snail’s pace. It is the hardest climb on the island. Rich and Chris passed me around 10.30am and disappeared around the next turn. I told them that I would cycle up to the tunnel and then turn around. I crawled up, realising that to tackle such a climb, you needed proper clip pedals and shoes which I didn’t have. I hated that climb. I only managed 35km today and most of that was uphill.

Turning around, I had the luxury of bombing all the way back down at rocket speed, passing the sporadic cyclists doing the tough climb up. If I had planned this properly, I would have got my dad to give me a lift to the top with the bike and just do the downhill bit, fooling the other cyclists that I had already struggled with the climb.

Back at the hotel, I struggled off the bike. My backside was even sorer. I found my parents having a stroll around the pedestrian walkways of Port de Soller between the shops/hotels and the beach/sea. We decided to explore the southern section of the mountains.

Retracing the first day’s cycling route, it made a pleasant change to drive up the hills to Deia. There was no where to park and explore so we made for Valldemossa where we could. Yesterday, I had only cycled through it. But today, we had a chance to explore its enchanting well kept, narrow cobbled alleys with flowerpots of blooming flowers and plants. It was a nice place to explore, even if it had had a makeover for the tourists. The centre is dominated by the magnificent Carthusian monastery which Valldemossa uses to promote itself because Frederic Chopin hung out here in 1838-39. It was a lovely place to explore despite the large number of tourists.

Heading further south, the Ma-10 wriggled high above the shoreline, slipping through a sequence of mountain hamlets. Banyalbufar, was a drowsy little village whose wonderful tightly terraced fields tumbled down the coastal cliffs. The land here had been cultivated since Moorish times, with a spring above the village providing a water supply that was still channelled down the hillside along slender watercourses into open storage cisterns. The town of Estellencs was similar to Banyalbufar with steep coastal cliffs and tight terraced fields with narrow winding alleys crimped by old stone houses. The road then scuttled along the coast before turning inland to weave its way up and over forested foothills to Andratx, a busy but unremarkable market town 23km from Palma. Before reaching Andratx, there were spectacular views of the coastal cliffs with the white breaker waves crashing into the shore overlooked by old stone look-out towers. Like the drive from Port de Soller to Sa Calobra, this drive south to Andratx is very recommended.

After all the slow, twisting roads, it was almost a relief to get onto a decent dual carriageway. The Ma-1 took us to Palma. We drove through the centre by the sea, marvelling at the massive harbour full of expensive yachts which seemed to get larger as you got closer to the old town. The Cathedral looked magnificent to our left as we drove out of town and then found the Ma-11 back to Port de Soller. Back at the hotel, I found an exhausted Rich and Chris who had managed to cycle down to Sa Calobra and back up again. They were very glad to spend an evening in the Irish pub reliving their experiences.

On Sunday April 8th, we decided to spend a day cycling in the plains, making distance as opposed to elevation. After breakfast I set off an hour early and climbed back up the Col de Soller from the opposite direction. I only arrived about 15 mins quicker than Rich and Chris, and sat on a stone wall watching sheep graze in front of a farmhouse. It was very windy. Together we hurtled back down around the tight curves to the bottom and headed down the Ma-11 turning off for Banyola and onto quieter roads. The cyclists were out today en masse. Teams with a dozen riders zoomed past in both directions.

Santa Maria de Cami was a historic market town which was very busy. It was Easter Sunday and the Sunday market/boot sale at the neighbouring town of Consell was so popular that cars were being parked in fields outside Santa Maria. We didn’t stop to check it out. Our big advantage this morning was that we had the wind behind us and even I was able to maintain a 40kph average speed for a long period and keep up with my siblings.

Around 11.30am, we pulled into the hamlet of Sencelles and parked up outside a popular bar/café. It was full of families who had just come out of church, all grabbing lunchtime drinks. We ordered large beers and sat outside in the sun and watched the world go by. It was so nice that we ordered another beer before heading north through small hamlets and onto Inca, Majorca’s 3rd city. The centre was bland and pedestrianised but we were looked for a lunch stop. A Chinese restaurant offered an all-you-could-eat lunch and it seemed rude to turn down the opportunity. We sat outside in the sun (and gusts of wind) with our spoils of war. In retrospect, it may have been a mistake to have that extra plate of food. It was hard work to get back on the bike and get back into a rhythm. We made for Lloseta and then Alaro which I had seen with my parents. Rich then found a splendid cycling route off the main roads that cut thorough lovely orchards and fields of ploughed orange soil. Spring flowers were blooming everywhere. At one point, the sealed road turned into a dirt track and we had to walk nearly a kilometre to reach another road. The fact that the road was very narrow didn’t stop the occasional car from using it, though we did pass two crashed cars at a tight junction and a policeman taking down their details. We would also pass the occasional desolate windmill tower but one had been fully restored as part of a restaurant. Cutting back through to Bunyola, my brother and Chris left me to make another climb back up the Col de Soller. I was back in the hotel by around 6pm. My backside, now getting accustomed to the seat was better, but my legs had taken a pounding today on our 120km circuit. My dad had been feeling poorly. The following day, Monday April 9th, he felt no better and decided to hole up in the hotel room. My mother asked me if I would take her out in the car so we drove through the tunnel and down the Ma-11 to Palma. It was Easter Monday and the roads were full of cyclists. Palma, the capital of Majorca is a low lying, spread out port with 380,000 people. Its harbour has always been the city’s economic lifeline. The Rough Guide reported that “The centre now presents a splendid ensemble of lively shopping areas and refurbished old buildings, mazy lanes, fountains, garden and sculpture, all enclosed by what remains of the old city walls and their replacement boulevards.” All true. We parked up and walked into the old town full of narrow lanes, alleyways and squares. The tall stone houses with their tiny metal balconies, towered above us on both sides.

We reached the restored section of the Renaissance city walls, whose mighty zigzag of bastions, bridges, gates and dry moats once encased the whole city. The old walls and lines of palm trees looked very impressive across the road from the harbour. We walked past old stone mansions until we reached the magnificent cathedral ‘La Seu’, on the edge of the old town overlooking the sea from a raised platform. It was constructed between 1385 and 1430 from the local limestone that has a golden glow at sunset. Despite makeovers from different periods, it remains essentially gothic with tall buttresses while the two towers on either side of the Portal Mayor frame a magnificent rose window 12m in diameter, one of the largest in the world. Ironically it was closed when we visited so we only saw the exterior. Opposite the cathedral stands the Palau de l’Almudaina, originally the palace of the Moorish governors and later of the Mallorcan kings. Palma looked lovely in the sunshine and on a public holiday, only the tourists seemed to be out. The Ma-19 motorway rushes east out of Palma with tourist resorts on one side and the airport on the other. The flatlands backing onto the coast were once prime agricultural land, hence the multitude of ruined windmills built to pump water out of the marshy topsoil.

Rather than eat lunch in Palma, we had headed inland. My mum just chose a place on the map called Llucmajor only 27km from central Palma and we knew nothing about it. It turned out to be a pleasant sleepy market town with streets organised in a grid pattern and a traffic free town square with restaurants and outside cafes. Every building seemed to be constructed of golden limestone. We sat by a table in the sun and ordered pizzas which were outstanding. I had the house ’special’ which came complete with ham and a fried egg on top of the other toppings. The town seemed popular with cyclists. There were at least 30 taking lunch in the square.

Just north of Llucmajor, we headed for the Puig de Randa. At 540m, it is the highest of a slim band of hills that lie between Algaida and Llucmajor. The well surfaced road and twisting climb attracted quite a few cyclists. The top of Puig de Randa was flat enough to accommodate a substantial walled complex, the Santuari de Nostra Senyora de Cura (Hermitage of Our Lady of Cura). This is a relatively modern monastery built after 1913. What we did get up here were magnificent views of Palma to the southwest and the cultivated plains all around. On a sunny day, it is definitely worth a visit just for the views.

Algaida was typical of the small agricultural towns that dot Mallorca’s central plains with low, whitewashed houses fanning out from an old Gothic-Baroque church. We passed though Santa Eugenia and then the familiar towns of Santa Maria del Cami and Bunyola, retracing the last part of my cycling route yesterday. Through the tunnel, we headed into the centre of Soller (already covered earlier) and finally back to the Port. It had been nice to have a relaxing day exploring more of the island by car. Rather than rush around trying to see everything it was better to follow your nose and see where you ended up. Rich and Chris had done 70km today but wish they hadn’t! After taking the bikes back to the shop, we had a final dinner and visit to the Irish pub which with late night drinks at the hotel lasted until 2am. I lost a screw from my glasses and one of my lenses fell out. Good job I had an old spare pair.

On Tuesday April 10th, I was up at 6am to pack my hand luggage and get the car ready for a 7am departure. I drove south to the airport and leave Rich with my parents. Chris and I filled up with diesel at a garage and found the car rental office which opened at 8pm. We were taken to the airport and went through security where my other glasses fell to pieces. Doh! Our return flight which left at 9.30am. Before we knew it we were back in the UK and the Easter holiday break was over.

As said before, I was pleasantly surprised by Majorca and if you can avoid the cheap package holidays in the commercialised resorts and also rent a car, you will be able to explore a very scenic and relaxing island of different landscapes. The climate is lovely and sunny, the people are friendly and seem to appreciate your custom. Recommended.

Unfortunately, I can't find a digital map of Majorca that will work on my webpage