This is the original whitewashed Menorcan fishing village of little dwellings cascading one upon the other as if they had grown there rather than been built. Dazzling in their whiteness, they nestle at impossible angles on the edge of the harbour.

Tiny windows with smells to draw the taste buds. Roasted garlic, langoustine and mussels jostle with Spanish voices for attention. For this is where the Spanish come for their holidays. Alleys in blinding white stone wind through Moorish arches, opening into little courtyards with lemon and orange trees growing, and always around the next shadowed bend, something new.

There is a juxtaposition of light and shade, of white and more white, topped by that blue that only the Mediterranean gives. A little open-air restaurant of a few tables sits in the shadow, a gentle breeze wafting through the arches. Forget Sangria. Try the Rioja that the waiter recommends. And if it has been aged in sherry casks and the magical word Crianza appears, tip him twice.

This is a gentle fishing village for relaxing in the traditional Minorcan manner. Only problem is, it’s a cheat. This “old” village was built by an architect in 1972. But it doesn’t matter, it’s good design and it’s pleasant to be there.

On the South coast.

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