Walk down Carrer de Can Savellà and you'll pass a dozen heavy oak doors. Almost all of them are closed. Behind each one is a patio — a stone courtyard, a well, an arch, a staircase climbing to a piano nobile you'll never see.
Twice a year, during the Ruta dels Patis, they open. You wander in off the street. A grandmother offers you a glass of water. A cat ignores you. You leave feeling slightly transformed.
"The Mallorcan light is its own substance — denser, somehow, than anywhere else."
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