Deià and Valldemossa ask to be walked. Citrus over stone walls, a cliff that drops to salt air, cafes where the chairs scrape in a language of unhurried afternoons.
Forty-Eight Hours, Unrushed
Sleep in a room with shutters. Walk at the hour when the stone is still cool. Order whatever the kitchen is already making. The Mediterranean does not reward itineraries that treat villages as content.
Bring one linen shirt, one sweater for the evening wind, and shoes that can manage cobbles. Leave with salt in your hair and no urgent need to prove you were there.