The road from Valldemossa winds along cliffs that have no business being this dramatic. You park on a curve, look for a rusted sign, and start walking down.
Forty minutes later, you arrive at Sa Foradada — a peninsula of grey limestone pierced by a single perfect hole, as if a god had taken aim and fired through.
Here, between the rock and the sea, a kitchen has stood for decades. Paella arrives in pans wider than your arms, smoking from the wood fire. The wine is cold, local, and slightly too plentiful.
Stay for the sunset. You earned it.
"The Mallorcan light is its own substance — denser, somehow, than anywhere else."
✦
