| In Search of Xanadu |
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It’s a tough assignment; find something new to discover about one of Britain’s favourite holiday spots. Matthew Barnett proves he’s up to the challenge. Deia is beautifully sited, crouching beneath closely wooded hills and hugging the rocks, as though it might at any moment fall into the sea. Partly as a result of the Graves legacy, the village has attracted large numbers of artists and writers who sit, drink and talk in the pretty estaminets that thread the narrow main street, almost impossible to drive through in the high season. A policeman stood on what appeared to be permanent watch in a small, shaded lay-by, watching the tourists drift past in their Mercedes and open top Porches. After a caffe con leche among the literati and in search of something a little less rarified, I hopped back into my distinctly unfashionable rental car and I sped off, onwards and upwards, along a road so serpentine that one has to slow to a halt at each razor sharp bend until finally it drops down into the Soller Valley, and so to Fornalutx. Fornalutx is frequently referred to as the prettiest village in Mallorca and this is well deserved, with its refined, Alpine presence - narrow, ancient streets, honey coloured buildings and green shuttered windows surrounding the prettiest of squares. Beneath this square, along a secretive lane, lies the hotel Ca’n Reus, at which fate dealt me one of those rare hands that just occasionally fall into one’s lap. Ca’n Reus is run by Sue Lloyd-Roberts of BBC investigative reporting fame, who bought the hotel along with husband Nick Guthrie some four years ago. Within minutes of our meeting I had been kindly invited to an evening drinks party in celebration of the late photographer Tom Weedon and pictures he took of Fornalutx 50 years ago. I soon found myself among some of the area’s oldest and most charming inhabitants, who showered me with suggestions as to where and what I should do and see. This, I learned, was a veritable Aladdin’s cave of experiences for the discerning tourist. I could visit some of Mallorca’s best beaches at Soller or Sa Calobra, or perhaps the spectacular cave formations at Drach? Then a chorus of voices explained that Fornalutx is one of the best areas for walking; why not follow an ancient Moorish track that skirts one of the island’s highest peaks to visit the lonely ruins of Castle Alaro, with its breathtaking views across Mallorca as far as the bays of Palma and Alcudia? Armed with such advice and with only a day in hand, I decided to forego the high altitude walk and visit a little known area around the village of Orient, which lies to the south beyond Mont Alfabia and below Alaro. The mountain route rises picturesquely and vertiginously through pine covered mountains between the peaks of Alfabia and l’Ofre. Groups of hardened cyclists pedalled earnestly along a road that frequently narrowed to little more than a roughly tarmacked track, until the steep descent into the valley of Orient. One sometimes reads about ‘lost valleys’ where time appears to stand still, and this is surely one of them. In common with the rest of Spain, Mallorca had enjoyed a rare spell of sustained wet weather, and while the resorts might have felt the pinch the landscape had flowered and blossomed into rich green leaf and a blanket of colour. Here was an enchanted garden, a vast landscape of watered meadows and orange groves, a Xanadu where some Moorish king might build a summer palace. Driving on and mesmerised by the landscape, I passed a pretty Palladian villa half hidden behind trees that might have appeared in a Claude Lorrain painting. And so I arrived at Orient, little more than a single street and a huddle of houses on a rocky outcrop that rises to 450 metres, and yet brimming with atmosphere. A short walk took me to its heart - turning a corner off the main street I entered the most intimate of squares, Plaza L’Eglesia, a miniature composition of school, ancient dwellings and the mellow façade of the 18th century church of St Jordi. Someone inside was practising a Bach cantata, whose haunting notes perfectly captured the place’s spirit of calm beauty. Hidden away in a corner is the 14th century Hotel Son Palou, while nearby restaurants Mandala and Orient offer the best of local cuisine. Braving the cyclists, who had somehow caught up and now thronged the village, I headed back and later that evening found myself sitting on the terrace at Ca’n Reus – sipping the most delicious wine as I gazed across at the verdant Valle de los Naranjos. Between sips I was informed that Mallorcan vintages had recently won all three major prizes at Spain’s most prestigious national wine competition. Representatives from Rioja had been virtially apoplectic. The questions poured in. Had I walked to Alaro? Perhaps I’d been to the beach at Soller? Well, I explained, not quite, but I had found the most exquisite spot, and it was well worth the trip. Yes, I think that the Colonel would have been quite proud of me on this occasion |
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