Mallorca's quiet corner

The coastal town and its natural surrounds London - Arabstoday Think of holidays to Mallorca, and debauched images of drunken partygoers enjoying the multiple bars  - and 'fishbowls' - of Magaluf probably spring to mind. But there's a pocket of the island so beautiful and magnetic in its enticing pull, that locals and the jet-set have, so far, tried to keep the secret safe between themselves. And, fittingly, the village of Deia, a privileged enclave nestled between the Mediterranean Sea and the Tramuntana mountains in the north west coast, certainly isn't a show off, either. It doesn't shout from its ribbed rooftops that A-listers like Catherine Zeta Jones and Michael Douglas own hilltop homes here, although they do (in fact, Andrew Lloyd Webber went two better and bought three properties in the area);  it doesn't boast that it is scenically one of the most inspiring spots in the Mediterranean and, subsequently, a creative honeypot for artists, writers and poets, but it is; and it doesn't blow its own trumpet about producing some of the most high-quality food on the island, but it does. No, unlike other rich and flashy environs (ahem, Cannes) this monied mountain spot is understated, refined and, above all, tasteful. The famous late English poet and writer, Robert Graves, chose to live in Deia for 45 years, where, he said, he found 'everything I wanted as a background to my work as a writer: sun, sea, mountains, spring water, shady trees, and no politics,’ adding: 'It was also fairly mosquito-free, being 400 feet above sea level.' A bonus I, too, found extremely refreshing. Pretty pebbled coves pepper the coastline, and make idyllic spots from which to go boating, diving, sun-chasing and fishing, or to simply enjoy the delights of the catch of the day at a local beach bar. And if you’re more of a sand-sifting-through-your-toes fan, the seaside inlets certainly make for fantastic photo opportunities from one of the many beauty lookouts along the ocean road. Mallorca’s enigmatic and cosmopolitan capital, Palma, is just a 40-minute drive away, but by far the most picturesque way to get there is by the charming Ferrocarril Train from the quaint market town of Soller. Once there, Palma’s cafe-clad hub, the old fashioned Passieg des Born, is devilish in its almost-impossible-to-refuse insistence that you try one of Mallorca’s specialities, the ensaimada, a spiral of pastry filled with caramel custard finished with a dusting of icing sugar; so good it’s almost criminal not to try one. But, naughty treats eaten and a handful of city highlights ticked off (the Plaza Major food market; the cathedral and the Basilica de Sant Francesc), and I am hankering to return to my hidden hillside gem, and the luxurious hotel I am to call home for three nights. La Residencia is the only five-star hotel in the village, and is an elegant extension of Deia itself; a mixture of informal sophistication and romantic seclusion. It doesn’t matter if you don’t move in the same circles as Hollywood heavyweights like Tom Hanks (who checked in this summer), the friendly staff can’t do enough for you. And, despite it being a celebrity hotspot, the only way you’d know it is by carrying out some Sherlock Holmes-worthy stargazing (the hotel, of course, doesn’t like to stay-and-tell). The traditional Mallorcan-style country manor house is made up of four buildings, two of which (Son Moragues and Son Canals) date back to the 16th and 17th centuries. Its 67 rooms are in line with the rest of the hotel: simple yet incredibly stylish, with dark wood furniture and white walls littered with fabulous Picasso-style works of art. In fact, art is an integral part of the hotel, as it is in the entire village. This is no homogenous cookie-cutter model rolled out in exactly the same way across various countries. There’s a fine - and abundant - collection of local art from 85 painters on show and, when a hotel has its own resident sculptor and resident artist (both of whom give lessons if you fancy getting creative), it doesn’t need glitz to gloat about how fine it is. There’s even a permanent art exhibition (rotated every 15 days) held in the ‘caves’ of the Tafona Gallery, which is also where you’ll find the hotel’s ‘most valued’ possession - a Steinway piano dating back to 1887. Here, I was lucky enough to be privy to a classical piano and cello concert during my stay, a magical event that only happens six times a year. True art lovers can go on a guided tour of the town, walking through its windy streets, visiting weird and wonderful local painters, who set up home here in the 60s. Dining is, of course, a top-notch affair, with the more formal award-winning restaurant, El Olivo, generally being regarded as the best in Mallorca. But, fine as it was, there’s one foodie experience that really stood out for me: the hotel’s Donkey Nature Trail. The property sits on 30 acres of landscaped gardens but, up behind the stunningly positioned spa, above the rooms and reception, is a gateway, it seemed to me, to a different time. Beyond its wooden framework, I set off on a pebble-strewn dirt track trail, led by three donkeys carrying our water, and a shepherd. It was, I think, a window into a former time when this simple fishing village worked with the land and sea, making a living from its hauntingly beautiful gnarled olive trees and citrus groves, with no other reward needed than those salubrious surroundings. At the top of the track I find a mountain refuge, complete with a wood-burning stove and a rustic picnic table. And, as I sit on my wicker chair and cosy sheepskin rug, a chef delivers Mallorcan delicacy upon delicacy - sobrasada sausage pate, sea fennel in vinegar, cocarrois pasties, hams, cheeses, pa’mboli (tomato, garlic and olive salt rubbed on toasted bread) - until I start to wonder whether the donkey would mind ever so much giving me a ride back down the hill. Incidentally, it’s their enthusiastic ee-awwing that acts as a sort of natural alarm clock, signalling the time to rise and shine - and enjoy a few pre-breakfast laps in the enormous pool. You’d be hard pushed to find a more awe-inducing swimming setting, with the pool surrounded by mountains seemingly jostling, like protective parents, to get a glimpse. And, as the morning sun peeks over the peaks, their craggy tops can be seen sluicing through the piercing blue sky above. This place is all about the chocolate-box charm: from the bursts of bougainvillea climbing the stone buildings; the scents of orange trees and figs wafting along in the air; the far-reaching sea views enjoyed from lofty heights; and, you guessed it, those majestic mountains. It’s no wonder artists flock here in their dozens: everything they need is ingrained deep within the canvas of the village. Magaluf this is not. Robert Graves’ good friend Gertrude Stein struck the right chord when she told him: ‘If you like Paradise, Mallorca is Paradise’.