Why Mallorca? Thirty years on the island

I was last living in Hamburg, that beautiful, grey, wonderfully sober northern German city. But the sky and I simply never got along. I longed for colour, for warmth, for a life that does not feel like a permanent shift in drizzle. At 28, my husband and I – both originally from the gloriously chaotic world of themed hospitality – decided to throw it all in and start again. New island, new business ideas, new life. Without much of a plan, but with plenty of courage and, in hindsight, a fair portion of naivety.

On 17 January 1995, at eight in the morning, we arrived by ferry from Barcelona. I will never forget that moment: sun in abundance, 20 degrees, and that light which tells you straight away: you are in the right place. At first we rented a holiday flat in Santa Ponsa, looked from there for a house to rent long term nearby, and I threw myself into learning Spanish – with Pepe from Inca, my first private tutor, who endured my early grammatical crimes with infinite patience. After three months came the move into the supposed dream house right by the sea, in an exclusive residential complex in Costa de la Calma. Pure picture-postcard idyll – or so I thought. Private sea access, a swimming cove around the corner. And imagine this: I kept a weather diary (and still do, by the way, after 30 years on the island) and could not believe it – from the day we arrived in January until May 1995, it had not rained once in the south-west of Mallorca.

What nobody had told me beforehand: after a few months, the sound of the sea can drive you quite mad. The salty air systematically eats away at every piece of furniture, as if it had signed a contract with decay. In the mornings I regularly found a fine crust of salt on the terrace table, like a decoration nobody had asked for. And the towels in the bathroom? Never. Got. Dry. Welcome to real island life, I thought to myself, while swapping a damp towel for another damp towel for the third time that day.

Back then the south-west was firmly in German and English second-home hands, which at first was wonderfully practical for finding company quickly. But as soon as winter came, the area turned into a kind of ghost town: restaurants closed, shop windows painted white, yawning silence where cocktail glasses had clinked in summer. By 1996 we had had enough of that dependence on the season and wanted more of the real Mallorca, less of the postcard set. We found what we were looking for in Alaró.

A village with around 5,000 inhabitants at the time, in the middle of Es Raiguer, right at the foot of the Tramuntana. It was love at first sight and pure happiness: open, warm-hearted, curious neighbours, a view into the valley that leaves you briefly speechless every time, and in the background the “molar mountain” with the ruined Castell de Alaró, as if someone had put it there specifically for picture postcards. In February the almond trees blossomed so overwhelmingly that you wondered whether the island was spoiling you on purpose. You could walk into the village without ever moving the car, and that October light – to this day I have not found a word that does it justice.

We lived there for six years, on the edge of the village, in Calle Puig – “on the mountain”, a small nod from fate to my surname. We got married there. There we opened our first office of Impresol Publicidad, with one desk, far too much coffee and even more confidence. We met wonderful people and made friendships across all nationalities – Mallorcan neighbours, our landlord, the lady at the gestoría who guided us through every piece of paperwork as if it were a project close to her heart. I learned the folk dance Bal de Bot, hopped around the church square with Antonia at every village fiesta to the “jota” or the “bolero mallorquín”, with enthusiasm and some talent, and out of those years grew friendships that still hold 25 years later, as if time had not noticed them at all.

Despite icy winters in an old stone house with no heating at all (just an open fireplace and a damp gas heater), in thick jumpers under three blankets, those were some of the happiest years of my life on this island. Would I do it again today? Honestly: no. These days we live exclusively in houses with central heating, and I am not too proud to admit it. But that is exactly the kind of classic “beginner's mistake” you make when you have never actually lived through the winter months on Mallorca.

In 2022 something drew us on once more, to another village, with a completely new story in our luggage. But I will save that one for the next article – a little suspense has to remain.