By Michael L. Weiss | Besorah from the Journey July 14, 2025
Some days whisper with charm before you even take your first step, and today was one of those days—a slow dance through the beating heart of Mallorca, framed by ancient stones, lofty mountains, and the sea’s endless sigh.
We began in Valldemossa, a village perched gracefully in the Sierra de Tramuntana, a UNESCO World Heritage site and a mountain range that seems to cradle this island like an old, wise friend. At over 400 meters above sea level, Valldemossa is the kind of place that feels untouched, as though it’s held its breath for centuries just waiting for you to arrive.
Its steep cobbled streets curl up the hillside like ivy, each turn revealing bursts of bougainvillea, wooden doors painted in signature Mallorcan green, and stone homes adorned with ceramic plaques of saints. The air itself seemed infused with pine and patience. It’s no wonder that Frédéric Chopin and his lover, the French novelist George Sand, chose to winter here in 1838. Their retreat at the Carthusian Monastery gave rise to some of Chopin’s most reflective compositions and to Sand’s evocative book A Winter in Majorca, in which she speaks of the beauty, discomfort, and inspiration this little village offered in equal measure.
After wandering through time—our guide layering in centuries of context—we paused at a local café for a taste of Valldemossa’s beloved Coca de Patata. These soft, pillowy rolls made from mashed potatoes and dusted in powdered sugar are deceptively simple and utterly addictive. Eaten with a café con leche, under the dappled shade of a fig tree, it somehow felt like a sacrament.
From there, we wound our way down the dramatic western coastal road to Son Marroig, once the private residence of Archduke Ludwig Salvator of Austria, a 19th-century nobleman and proto-environmentalist who fell in love with Mallorca and made it his mission to preserve its traditions and landscapes. His clifftop estate, now a museum, offered panoramic views over the sea—a vista so poetic it practically begged for a sonnet. The white marble rotunda, with its Greco-Roman flair, glowed against the turquoise Mediterranean like a pearl set in sapphire.
The drive onward gave even the famed Amalfi Coast a run for its money—every bend offering staggering views, every cliffside drop a dramatic pause. Eventually, the road curled down into the charming valley town of Sóller, nestled in a basin of citrus trees and ringed by the very mountains we had just traversed. The streets of Sóller were alive with wandering visitors, open-air restaurants, and the kind of quiet hum that only comes from a town content with its pace.
We took the cable car down to Port de Sóller, a seaside gem framed by cliffs and dotted with boats that bobbed gently in the sun-sparkled bay. The promenade bustled gently with life—families licking gelato, couples lingering over wine, and shopkeepers chatting in melodic Catalan. We lunched at a charming spot called Es Canyis, where the seafood was fresh, the service warm, and the feeling of ease as natural as the sea breeze itself.
From the port, we made our way back to our hotel, the gentle hush of the coastal road and the fading afternoon light serving as the day’s epilogue.
A Perfect Coda: Farewell to the Iberian Journey
As if one magical day weren’t enough, our final evening brought us to the Lobster Club, a modern, hip rooftop dinner and pool venue—recommended, perhaps a bit persistently, by our new friend and Riva boat broker. The restaurant sits atop a sleek two-story structure, overlooking the sea and the Portals marina, where the lights of luxury yachts glitter like floating stars. Euro electronic dance music pulsed from the speakers, setting a lively, cosmopolitan vibe. The crowd was dressed, the ambiance electric, and the Mediterranean shimmered under the night sky. It was, by all measures, a fitting finale.
Naturally, we each ordered lobster—three different styles, as the place proudly bears its namesake. But before our meals arrived, a curious moment unfolded. At the table beside us—three couples, one from Germany, one from Austria, and another from Germany now living in Portugal—a woman leaned over and asked if we had ordered the lobster. I replied yes, a bit puzzled. Moments later, their waiter returned, flustered, to inform us that, in fact, they had run out of lobster and our order couldn’t be fulfilled. Apparently, the kitchen had miscommunicated.
What could’ve been an awkward interruption turned into one of the most memorable and heartwarming interactions of the day. Both tables broke into laughter at the absurdity of it all, and soon a lively cross-cultural conversation unfolded. We spoke of travel, food, politics—how “crazy” things feel everywhere—and shared a mutual longing for better days and stronger friendships among nations. What became clear was this: when you offer respect, you receive it. Our new German and Austrian companions reminded us that beyond the headlines, there is humanity, warmth, and shared joy waiting to be found.
Even without lobster, the meal was excellent. The breeze was gentle. The stars were bright. And the sound of the sea mingled with laughter and music. It was one of those evenings where life feels perfectly balanced between simplicity and splendor. A wonderful conclusion to a journey of discovery.
And speaking of music, we discovered something truly strange and oddly delightful during our time in Mallorca: at nearly every restaurant we visited, whenever someone celebrated a birthday, the entire sound system would suddenly erupt with Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline.” It happened the other night at Wellies, and once again—loud and proud—at the Lobster Club. What followed was even more surreal: the entire restaurant, often over a hundred patrons, mostly German and British, would raise up their arms and sing along in full chorus. Not just once, but time and again, as birthday after birthday was announced. It was, quite frankly, one of the craziest and most infectious things I’ve ever seen. Who knew that Sweet Caroline would become the universal anthem of birthday joy across Europe? “So good, so good, so good” indeed.
As we prepare for our transit back to the United States, we carry with us more than photographs or souvenirs—we carry stories, textures of time, and the Besorah—the good news—that in travel, as in faith, the journey never truly ends.
Looking back over the past five weeks, the highlights come rushing in like the tide:
– Porto’s gilded churches and soulful fado…
– The Douro Valley, where terraced vineyards kissed the heavens and port wine aged like a whispered promise…
– Lisbon’s mosaic sidewalks and its haunting Jewish quarters…
– Madrid’s royal elegance, the Prado’s masters, and flamenco echoing into twilight…
– Toledo, where sacred stones still whisper of coexistence…
– Granada and the Alhambra, where Moorish beauty and Christian conquest exist in fragile balance…
– Barcelona, with its conflicted soul and Gaudí’s architectural prayers…
– And now, Mallorca—a soul-soothing island of poetry, people, and quiet revelation.
This journey has not merely been about geography. It has been about discovery—of places, of people, and of ourselves. And while we return to our routines, the rhythm of this trip—the music of Chopin, the laughter over lobster, the echoes of Sweet Caroline, and the prayers whispered in old synagogues and cathedrals—will remain with us.
Shalom and Buen Camino,
Michael L. Weiss PhD., ABD, HCCP
Besorah from the Journey
