Algaida

A tractor rattles past the church at 8 a.m., towing a trailer of almond branches. Nobody turns to look. The bar on Plaça Major is already full of farmers debating rainfall figures over small coffees that cost €1.20. This is Algaida, 25 minutes’ drive from Palma airport, yet stubbornly indifferent to the coast that made Mallorca famous. At 200 m above sea-level the air is a degree or two cooler than the capital, and the traffic jam outside town is caused by sheep, not rental cars.

The Hill That Changed a Island’s Mind

The reason most visitors make the turn-off from the Ma-15 is the dark green bump on the horizon: Puig de Randa, 543 m, the only elevation for miles of cereal fields. Three separate monasteries cling to its slopes like limpets—Cura half-way up, Sant Honorat lower down, Gràcia near the summit road. From the terrace of Cura you can, on a clear spring morning, see the Tramuntana range shimmer in the north-west and the sea flash silver to the south. On a hazy August afternoon you will see heat-shimmer and little else; the view becomes a grey-brown smudge and the monastery café runs out of ice. The climb is worth it, but only if you time it right. Arrive before ten or after five; bring water; expect cyclists to appear suddenly on the hair-pin bends.

The road itself is tarmac all the way, yet narrow enough that meeting a lorry requires one party to reverse. Hire-car insurance is valid, but nerves fray. If you prefer leg-power, the old pilgrim footpath from the village takes 45 minutes of steady ascent through rosemary and lentisk scrub. The gradient is gentle enough for an e-bike yet still earns you a second helping of ensaïmada.

A Village That Doesn’t Do Showrooms

Back in the grid of low stone houses, Algaida keeps its museum instincts to a minimum. The parish church of Sant Pere i Sant Pau is open most mornings; its baroque facade is pretty enough, but the real draw is the noise: choir practice on Wednesdays, bell practice on Saturdays, both audible streets away. There is no ticket office, no audio guide, no shop. Walk in, sit down, walk out—total time, seven minutes.

What the settlement does offer is continuity. Market stalls occupy the same patches of pavement every Friday that they did in the 1950s: one stall for sobrasada, one for tomatoes, one for cheap socks made in Catalonia. The bakery, Forn de Can Salem, starts selling its white-chocolate and walnut ensaïmada at 6 a.m.; by 9.30 it is gone. If you arrive at ten you will be offered the standard version, still warm and still better than anything at the airport duty-free.

Lanes, Stone Walls and the Occasional Peacock

North of the houses the lanes narrow to single-track, hemmed by dry-stone walls that pre-date the Moors. These are working routes, not signed hiking trails; tractors have right of way and the only soundtrack is the clack of irrigation valves. A circular amble of 6 km links the hamlets of Randa and Pina, passing two windmills with missing sails and one farm where peacocks roam free. No leaflet advertises this; download a satellite map before you set off, or simply follow the wall until you feel like turning back.

Cyclists appreciate the lack of gradient: you can glide for kilometres under carob trees without changing gear, which makes the area popular with e-bike novices who still want vineyard selfies. The reward halfway round is Cal Dimoni, a farmhouse bar that serves chicken-and-vegetable paella to order. It is mild, saffron-yellow and entirely shellfish-free—safe for children who think prawns are the enemy.

When the Factory Becomes the Wet-Weather Plan

Rain does arrive, usually in October bursts that flood the fields in minutes. The default refuge is Gordiola, a 300-year-old glass-works on the southern approach road. British visitors on TripAdvisor call it “surprisingly interesting”, which translates to: you will stay 45 minutes, watch a master blower turn molten sand into a wine decanter, then buy a small blue dolphin you never knew you needed. The attached museum is closed on Sundays between October and April; turn up on a Tuesday and you will have the furnace room to yourself. Parking is free, and the toilets are cleaner than most motorway services.

Eating With Locals, Not With Other Brits

Restaurants in Algaida do not court tourists; they court repeat customers who live within a 15-minute drive. Es 4 Vents, opposite the petrol station, still roasts a whole suckling lamb every morning. Order half a kilo for two (£26) and the waiter carves it tableside, tipping crispy shards onto a warm plate with a heap of chips. The menu is in Catalan, but pointing works; the wine list begins and ends with local Binissalem red that costs €14 a bottle. Weekend tables disappear before 9 p.m.—book, or you will be driving to a beach resort for an overpriced club sandwich.

Vegetarians have slimmer pickings. Can Xim will grill you a plate of vegetables and drizzle honey-mustard sauce over them, but you will feel like an afterthought. Better to embrace the pork and walk it off afterwards under the almond blossoms.

Seasons: When to Bother, When to Stay on the Coast

April turns the fields neon-green; flocks of bee-eaters migrate overhead and the temperature hovers around 21 °C—perfect for the Puig before lunch. May adds colour from red poppies and the first outdoor suppers. June is already hot; by August the village empties at midday, shutters close and even the dogs seek shade. If you must come in high summer, copy the farmers: start at dawn, siesta through the furnace hours, re-emerge after six. Winter is quiet, sometimes bleak, but the monastery road stays open and you can have a terrace table to yourself. Frost is rare; a windy day at 543 m still feels colder than Palma’s seafront, so pack a fleece.

Getting There, Getting Out

Driving remains the simplest option: leave the Ma-15 at the signed junction, cruise 6 km inland, park free on the ring-road. Buses run from Palma’s Estació Intermodal—line 450 on weekdays, fewer at weekends—but the last return departs at 7 p.m., which rules out a long dinner. Taxis back to the city cost around €35 after midnight; Uber barely operates here.

Algaida works best as a day-trip pivot. Pair it with a coastal stop for a swim, or use it as a base for cycling loops through the Pla. One full day is enough to climb the Puig, eat lamb, wander a lane and buy an ensaïmada. Stay longer and you will start recognising the same faces in the bar, the same tractor blocking the road. That is exactly the point: Mallorca without the performance, altitude without the effort, and a reminder that some villages still earn their living from the soil, not the souvenir rack.