Beatrix pottering: Deia

"It's not like normal Mallorca." That was Jemima's comment on today's weather: a shame really, as we had planned a trip out with my parents to some of our favourite spots. But after they'd taken Jemima to school (without me this time, which Jemima thought was great fun) and I'd done my work, we umbrella'd up, and set off regardless.

Stop number one: the Ermita with the views. We admired pretty Valldemossa as we drove through, found the elusive turning, and headed up the track, mum looking a bit worried as it got bumpier and narrower. But we made it, and they loved it as much as we had, despite the low cloud and hazy sea.

Stop number two: Son Marroig, Archduke Luis Salvador's main residence, which we'd run out of time to see on our last trip here. A rambling old mansion stuffed full of curiosities, from a beautiful glass Roman amphora, to the Archduke's library, and an old olive press. It was freezing cold (the custodian had a fire burning in his little room), but you could see how the building would work well in the heat of a Mallorcan summer. And oh, the views - better even than Miramar. And they would have been unbeatable in sunny weather.

After a pleasant stroll around the garden, we were off again, hoping to make it to Deia before the rain started. Sadly, the weather wasn't following the timing on the app, and it starting chucking it down half an hour too early, just as we arrived. But we set off for a little walk around anyway, before retreating to a café to dry off.

The plan had been a little walk to Cala Deia, but this was a lot less appealing in the rain. So we short-circuited that, and went straight to Inca instead. A big thing to do in a Mallorcan winter is eat suckling pig in an Incan cellar. So given the forecast, that's what we'd booked up.

We found it easily, down a side street in Inca's Old Town (another attractive Mallorcan city, one of the biggest on the island). I had been expecting something underground, as it was called a Cellar; but actually it wasn't: instead a beamed, stone walled room filled with all sorts of stuff (giant barrels, farm machinery etc). Very atmospheric.

One slight hitch: our hard-working waiter (who did the lunch service on his own) apologetically informed us that suckling pig was only on the weekends. Ah well. They had some other meaty Mallorcan specialities so we substituted those instead. But first, for starter, inspired by the neighbouring table: snails.

Apparently they were delicious: they all tucked in. I made myself try one, but I'm afraid squeamishness trumped my taste buds. But I enjoyed the little bitter black olives instead. And then the meat arrived: variations of hearty roast lamb and pork loin with potatoes (no green veg - not necessary apparently), perfect for a miserable day. After almond cake and almond ice cream, and a nice bottle of local red wine, Kevin drove a car full of stuffed but happy people back to get Jemima from school.

Given the deluge, Kevin and I went to collect her in the car. She was very keen on our suggestion to have dinner at Granny and Grandpa's hotel, so we dropped her off there and retired home for a post-prandial snooze. When we met in the hotel bar later, she was tired but happy, having had another fun time with Granny and Grandpa (who also looked tired but happy). And then we drove her back home through the rain, hoping for better weather tomorrow.

Dad's pictures of the Ermita

Inside the chapel

Son Marroig

Deia covered in cloud

Inca

Snail concentration...

"Please drive carefully" said the guidebook, in italics. No kidding, I thought, as we wound our way down a very narrow, very twisty hillside. And this was not the only instruction we heeded that day. I'd bought a Sunflower guide on car tours and walks in Mallorca, and today we were testing it out: Car Tour 2, Pretty Mountain Villages.

The day started with a lovely drive to Valldemossa, a gorgeous if touristy hilltop town with the monastery where Chopin and the French writer Amantine Dupin, otherwise known as George Sand, plus her two children, spent three and a half months over 1838-1839. (I plan to read her book based on their trip, "Winter In Majorca", while we're here, as I can't not really - apparently she loved the place but was scathing about the Mallorcan people. Unsurprising, really - as they weren't married, and Chopin was ill (feared to have the dreaded consumption), no-one would give them lodgings; the only place that would take them in was this monastery.) We visited cell 4 where they stayed - three small, high-ceilinged whitewashed and stone-floored rooms but with their own terrace garden and the most amazing view (as well as Chopin's actual piano). Apparently they found it very cold, and it did nothing for his health; but in that sunshine with that view, it didn't look like a bad life.

A quick coffee, and then onto Port de Valldemossa, via the aforementioned road. It was a spectacular journey, with amazing views of the valley to one side and the sea to the other. Rather an anticlimax on arrival though - a small, fairly ugly and mainly shuttered village, with the only notable element being large waves crashing excitingly into the rocks - it was a windy day.

Having twisted our way back up the mountain, our next destination was apparently along a track, (in italics) "very narrow in places". And again, the book was ever so right: once we'd found the turning, which wasn't signposted (the book's author had done some impressive exploring, it seemed), and driven up the precipitous potholed track, we finished by squeezing through the narrowest gap between two stone walls, practically scraping both our wing mirrors. And at the end we found the petite Ermita de la Santissima Trinitat, built in the seventeenth century - a collection of low stone buildings set around a stone courtyard with a well, a tiny chapel, and an extremely well-kept vegetable garden. And it was stunning: not only the buildings, which were the epitome of picturesque, but the setting, with the precipitous mountain behind and the blue sea spread out below. Kevin decided this was his perfect place. (See the photos - words can't do it justice). After a while absorbing the setting, we tried going into the tiny chapel, but amazingly there was a service in progress - a priest with eight parishioners who'd made it through that narrow gap to be there. So we backed out silently, and squeezed our way back onto our onwards route.

The next stop was just down the road: Miramar, originally a monastery founded in 1276 by Ramon Llul (a Franciscan monk who seems to have founded a lot of the monasteries and hermitages in Mallorca, as well as being the Catalan Shakespeare and a pioneer of computation theory - pretty impressive). Not much remains from his days, apart from some cloister-like archways in the garden; it is more famous now for the elegant house created by the Austrian Archduke Luis Salvador, who was Llul-like in his urge for Majorcan property: he came to the island in 1867, fell in love, and proceeded to build or convert mansions all over the island (many now owned by Michael Douglas, apparently...). He also wrote the first book on Balearic fauna and flora, being a pioneer of conservation. There were some mildly interesting artefacts inside the house; but the glory of Miramar was, as with our other stops, the setting: more simply stunning views, this time with some terraced olive groves, sheep, and lambs in the foreground.

We bypassed the next recommended stop, Son Marroig, the Archduke's principal residence, as lunch was beginning to call (another time). Instead, we drove straight on to Deia, the jewel of the Pretty Mountain Villages. Beautiful stone buildings scattered around impossibly steep hillsides, all glowing in the sun - it's the prettiest place in Mallorca. We'd come here on our last trip, and managed to find the lovely Italian we'd visited then, but sadly it was closed, so ventured further down the hill to a very busy little restaurant with - joy - a great menú del dia. We got a terrace table in the sunshine; had minestrone soup and chicken (Kevin) and a quinoa and vegetable salad, and hake (I ate mine and Kevin's chips - he's being healthy, they were delicious, I was very hungry), plus a carrot and a coconut cake for dessert. Then we staggered back up the hill for the homeward drive.

Jemima had been signed up for arts and crafts club on a Wednesday; after Lego club, I wasn't sure this was a good idea, so went to collect her at the normal time. She was adamant though - an English girl called Gracie aged six and three quarters was part of the attraction, I think. Thankfully, she had a great time and didn't seem too exhausted by it, so that worked out well - and we now have a rather fetching scene from Happy Feet stuck to a kitchen cupboard. From Pretty Mountain Villages to a penguin painting - a memento of a pretty epic day.