THERE'S a poetic mystique around the Mallorcan town of Deia, and you can almost sense the spirit of Robert Graves as you climb through the quiet streets of the village in search of his tomb. An idyllic town, on holiday it is the sort of place that reaches beyond your senses to somewhere even deeper. You don't get that sort of feeling on your regular package holiday, even as an optional extra.
Deia ("Deya" in English) is one of Mallorca's best kept secrets, all but unknown to the hordes of holidaymakers who crowd the tacky resorts of Magallul, Palma Nova and Santa Ponsa. The artistic and literary set know about Deia, however, and many of them have moved to the town on Mallorca's west coast in search of solitude or inspiration, or maybe just to find a glimmer of inner light.
Deia nestles in the slopes of the Sierra de Tramtintana, and the mountains form a formidable backdrop to the town, looming eerily at night over the neatly arrayed streets which wind upwards towards the church. The main coast road forms Deia's main street, but the village itself is set behind the thoroughfare, leaning backwards over a valley as if to make room for the casual tourist to pass by. Deia is not, of course, a package holiday destination, but tour buses regularly stop here en route from the historic monastery town of Valdemossa, about 20 km further south.
Deia's most recent history is what makes it attractive to the artistic community. and ever since Robert Graves moved here in 1929. the town has enjoyed a fashionable cachet as a place for expatriate poets, writers. painters and bon vivants. It's also become a bit of a retreat for rock and film stars, many of whom own villas near the town.
Pop music and movies, however, are far from your thoughts in Deia, and even words might lose their hold over you once you've absorbed the atmosphere of this Mediterranean idyll. It's hard to imagine the peace and quiet of Deia being disrupted by sunburnt lager touts, but it was still early in the season when I visited it. However, I can't see your average Hooray Henry sticking around in a place where there are no disco bars, nightclubs or tacky beach shops where the beach is a 20 minute walk away and where the restaurants don't do burgers and chips.
So Deia remains the almost exclusive haunt of natives, ex pats and the more independent tourist in search of a little magic to mix in with the suntan lotion. I don't know how Robert Graves got here (probably by pony and trap), but Deia is easily reached by coach from Palma, about a two hour journey through flatlands, then foothills, then spectacular bluffs overlooking the sea. As the coach lurched around yet another hairpin bend, twisting precariously around another sheer drop, I was forced to rethink my plans for renting a moped. The C710 road runs from Port D'Andratx in the south of Mallorca right op to Pollenca in the north. and it's considered one of the most dangerous roads in Europe not the sort of place you want to be caught puttering along. Tourists who hire cars have a hard time of it too, especially when trying to pass a line of tour buses. and I saw many a face twisted into a most unholiday like rictus as its owner negotiated yet another dangerous pass. I think I'll walk from here, thank you.
Deia has a number of charming craft shops selling Mallorcan pottery and textiles, and the restaurants provide probably the widest choice of Mallorcan cuisine outside Palma. A morning stroll around Deia lets you drink in the warm mountain air and enjoy beautiful, unspoilt views - no wonder some people go a bit mad with their cameras and camcorders. The tomb of Robert Graves is, of course, the focal point for daytrippers, and it's impossible not to find, since it is also the highest place in the town.
As with most Mediterranean villages, the church spire dominates the peasant dwellings, and a black oak door leads into a tiny, walled graveyard where Graves's tomb lies. Lush trees and flowers wrap themselves gaily around the air of solemnity, and the whole valley sweeps beautifully below the poet's last resting place.
Visiting the tomb at night, however, is when the real mystique is created, and as the oak door creaks open to reveal a dense, darkened maze of gravestones and foliage, you can practically feel the spirits swirling around beneath the clear stars and the ominous shadow of the mountain. Was that someone touching a hand to my shoulder, or was it just the hairs on the back of my neck standing up?
Accommodation in Deia is at a premium, and there are no "rooms for rent" signs to spoil the pretty facades of the houses. Luckily. the high season hadn't kicked in yet, and I found a charming room at the Villayerde, just a short stroll from Graves's tomb. Like most of Deia's buildings. the Villaverde. is old, and the wooden beams on the ceilings give it the character of a cottage or convent. There are a couple of hotels in Deia, the most upmarket (and expensive) of which is La Residencia, set in an opulent mansion, and owned by Virgin tycoon Richard Branson. Of course, if you move in artistic circles, you might even know someone who has moved to Deia, and stay with them.
Deia's ex pats congregate in a cafe bar called Sa Forna, talking animatedly in British, American and German accents, and watching the world go leisurely by below the leafy balcony. This is the place to go after you've had dinner in one of the superb restaurants like C'an Xeline, Sa Dorado or Restaurant Vista Deia. Okay, it's not exactly your mad, neon drenched holiday disco, but I'm told it gets livelier in the high season. Tonight, though, I don't think I'll be doing a wally dance to Macarena.
The Cala de Deia is a small, shingly beach about 20 minutes walk down the clot, and though it looks a bit scraggly, it is still an idyllic cove sheltered by cliffs and dotted with small boats and slipways. The walk is peaceful and pleasant, all downhill, through woods and dirt tracks, with the noise of insects chirruping along to the sun's beat. Cars drive down here too, but there's nothing like strolling along the dusty track, rock walls on one side, a small stream on the other, sweating off that hangover you got from drinking with the ex pats the previous night.
There are two small cafe bars in the Cala, one at the back of the beach, its straw roof jutting straight out from the rock wall. and the other overlooking the cove, and these places provide a welcome shelter from the sweltering sun. They're also perfect places for a lunch break. serving seafood. beer, and a delicious local snack, pa amb oli, bread brushed with olive oil and served with cheese. ham and tomato. Simple but perfect.
Three days at Deia was too short to really enjoy the timeless attractions of his very special place, but it was enough time to me to take a good deep breath of magic.
