SHARING A SECRET
The Spanish island of Menorca might seem remote, but it bustles. For good reason.
MENORCA, Spain — A vacation requiring long treks leading to lots of people was not what we had planned.
Hidden beaches backed by limestone cliffs, temperate waters and an under-the-radar status (at least for now) were the lures of Menorca, a small island in the Mediterranean off Spain.
Not that we have anything against walking — or people. The trip with my husband and then-12year-old daughter had begun in Barcelona, one of Europe’s great walking centers.
We spent hours and hours over four days strolling the city’s famous Ramblas, branching off to meandering streets to sample tapas, see great art and, occasionally, get a little lost.
Once on Menorca, an hourlong flight from Barcelona, we anticipated a respite from the urban experience, one that would include swimming, tennis and kayaking.
Menorca is one of the Spanish Balearic Islands and the more subdued sibling of look-at-me Mallorca (the dreamy locale featured in “The Night Manager”) and flashy Ibiza.
We had rented a spacious apartment on a hilltop perched above glorious Cala Galdana (cala is Spanish for cove), the centerpiece of a town, also called Cala Galdana, catering to tourists.
After settling into our whitewashed abode, we descended the stairs next to the apartment.
Hundreds of stone steps later, we reached the beach, an arc of white sand cupping a cerulean sea, skyscraper-tall cliffs framing the picture. Hundreds (or seemingly so) would also describe the number of people on the beach. This was not one of the “nearly empty” beaches I had read about.
But the cove was big enough to share, and the warm water was a liquid playground: Fathers tossed kids into the air, kayakers skimmed by and teens cannonballed into the blue from rocky outcroppings.
We rented what is perhaps the most ingenious water toy ever made, a combo paddleboat/slide. The cost for an hour was 20 euros, or about $24; the easygoing vendor, hearing we had only 15 euros on hand, shrugged and waved us toward the contraption.
Finding the quiet spots
The density at Cala Galdana deepened our resolve to sniff out the isolated and idyllic coves I knew existed. We drove to Platges de Algaiarens, touted as one of Menorca’s best-kept secrets, on a remote stretch on the island’s north side.
Mostly empty two-lane roads cut through fields and gentle hills of green. Finally, we reached a dirt road wide enough for little more than a car, which took us to a parking lot brimming with vehicles.
After a moderately long walk we took in the stunning beach bordered by craggy rocks and tall grass, as if Massachusetts’ Nantucket and Greece’s Mykonos had been artfully grafted. We agreed the water was ideal for bodysurfing; so, apparently, did dozens of others bobbing and diving. The “secret” was out. We swam out into the warm water, where we saw what looked like small wood chips. They swirled around our legs and our arms and, well, everywhere. What was this strange brew? As an ocean lover who does not welcome the clammy grip of seaweed, I was wary, but other swimmers appeared unperturbed.
We later found out that these seeming remnants of a ticker-tape parade are a type of seagrass called posidonia. Its presence is typical in parts of the Mediterranean and signals healthy water.
Another day brought tennis in the morning, a stroll to get a cappuccino in town and a desire to see what was around the rocky corner from Cala Galdana. We rented kayaks for the 30-minute excursion.
Nearly an hour later (a pattern had emerged), we paddled into Cala Macarella. Gorgeous? Yes. Loved by many others? You bet.
By this point, our appreciation for Menorca’s natural splendors and casual ambience far outweighed our preconceived notion of a place less traveled. Undeterred, we ventured one afternoon to Cala Mitjana, recommended by several locals.
We hiked a mile through woods, passing a conical stone structure, one of many on the island. These talayots, vestiges of a prehistoric Menorcan culture of the same name, are being studied by UNESCO, which considers these and other finds on Menorca to be of archaeological significance.
Once at the cove, another movie-worthy setting, we relaxed in the sun’s late glow. People called out in Spanish and Italian — English was heard little during our time on the island — to kids diving and f lipping from a stone ledge into the water.
On our final day, we hiked up 204 steps to a promontory on the far side of Cala Galdana; below, in the aquamarine water, sailboats swayed, kayakers explored and swimmers floated.
In the end, all the trekking served to feed body and soul, and as for the people (who were a fraction of what you would find on any Southern California beach on a summer day), who could blame them for seeking, just as we had, the magical Mediterranean?
Like us, they had found it.