Porreres

The Tuesday-morning market fills half of Porreres’ main square, leaving just enough room for a tractor to squeeze through. Stalls sell apricots the colour of late-summer sunsets, their perfume drifting past the 18th-century town hall where a small sign advertises “Colección Dalí – entrada libre”. Forty kilometres from Palma’s cruise-ship crowds, this is the Mallorca that guidebooks forget to mention.

Stone, sky and the smell of wet earth

Porreres sits at 180 m on a low rise in the Pla, the island’s flat agricultural heart. The altitude is just enough to give the air a dry snap in winter and a breeze that lifts the August heat by a couple of degrees. Rain arrives in short, theatrical bursts; afterwards the sandstone glows amber and the streets smell of damp straw and wood smoke.

No map is required. Cobbled lanes radiate from the church of Nostra Senyora de la Consolació, whose bell tower doubles as the local weather vane. If the flag is at half-mast someone’s ninety-year-old neighbour has died; if the bells ring at noon on Saturday it’s wedding day. Interiors are spare: candle-blackened timber, a single rose window, the creak of cane chairs at 11 a.m. mass. Visitors expecting gilded excess leave quickly; those who stay notice how the light slides across the stone at 4 p.m., the same hour the swifts begin to dive.

A five-minute walk north brings you to the cemetery gate. Behind it a stony track zig-zags up to the Santuari de Monti-sion, a 25-minute climb that feels longer in July. The reward is a stone terrace looking south across almond and fig plots that fade into the blue haze of the Llevant hills. On cloudy days the plateau disappears and the monastery feels like an island in the sky; locals bring picnics of sobrassada and apricot jam, and teenagers practise Catalan on the wall.

Cycling lanes and almond-blossom detours

The Pla is bicycle country: grids of quiet lanes where the biggest hazard is a sleepy sheepdog. Gradients rarely top 3 %, so leisure riders can cover 30 km before lunch without the thigh-burn the Tramuntana demands. A popular loop heads south-east to Campos (8 km), swings past the salt flats of Es Salobrar and returns via the hamlet of Sa Casa Blanca, where a 19th-century lime kiln rises like a stone submarine conning tower. Bring two bidons; fountains are scarce and the summer sun ricochets off the pale earth.

February turns the landscape into temporary confetti. Almond trees burst into white and candy-floss pink for roughly ten days, depending on how cheeky the night frosts have been. Photographers arrive at dawn, tripods lined up like fishing rods along the Ma-5040, then vanish before the market opens. By March the petals have blown into the irrigation ditches and farmers are back to pruning.

Apricots, almonds and an honest set lunch

Porreres’ kitchen keeps strict seasonality. From late May the fruit trays at L’Escrivania café on Plaça Major display apricots so ripe they split at a touch. The kitchen folds them into a buttery tart that tastes like a Cornish pasty meeting a Bakewell – familiar enough for British palates, different enough to justify a second slice. The three-course weekday menú del día costs €14 and always includes a vegetarian option; ask for the “pa porrerenc”, a spiral loaf glazed with almond praline that arrives warm at 1 p.m. sharp.

Serious wine drinkers reserve ahead at Can Feliu or Son Artigues, estate cellars on the village fringe. Tastings start at 11 a.m. and finish with a glass of mistela, the local fortified Muscat. Drivers beware: the measures are Balearic, not British. If you prefer grapes in solid form, the Tuesday market sells miniature pans of raisins still on their stems – perfect plane picnic fodder.

Fiestas that finish by breakfast time

Local fiestas are short, loud and timed to the agricultural calendar. On 17 January Sant Antoni parade, demon masks spit fireworks outside the bakery at 7 a.m.; by 9 a.m. the square has been hosed down and grandmothers are buying baguettes again. June’s Festa de l’Apricó is more sedate: a single marquee, a folk duo with a guitar, and free fruit handed out until the crates are empty. August’s main week is busier, with late-night concerts and a funfair that blocks the through-road to Felanitx. Even then the crowd is mostly islanders; hotel coaches still head east to the beach.

When to come, when to leave

Spring and late autumn give you warm days, cool nights and the lowest chance of a washed-out cycle ride. August above 33 °C can feel claustrophobic; stone walls radiate heat until midnight and the countryside is tinder-dry. Winter is gentle – T-shirt weather at midday, fleece after dark – but occasional gales bring every olive branch down and can leave the village without power for an afternoon.

Sunday afternoon is siesta squared: bakery shut, bar shuttered, even the dogs yawn. Plan to arrive Friday night or Tuesday morning (market day) and you’ll see the place at full volume. Otherwise treat Porreres as a half-day pause between Palma and the coast. Es Trenc’s Caribbean-blue water is 25 minutes south; leave the village at 8 a.m. and you’ll be on the sand before the car park turns people away.

A car is non-negotiable. Buses from Palma exist but follow school, not tourist, timetables. Fill up in Campos on the way back to the airport – fuel on the Ma-19 is consistently 10 c cheaper than at the BP nearest departures. Accommodation is limited to a pair of agroturismos outside the centre; most visitors base themselves in the countryside and drop in for lunch. That arrangement suits everyone: Porreres keeps its weekday hush, and travellers remember a square that smelled of coffee, apricots and damp stone long after the hire-car has been returned.