Each evening, in a peaceful wooded valley in northeast Menorca, I would sit under a pink sky on the villa terrace with a panorama of undulating green before me, undisturbed by any noise except the calls of wild peacocks.
In the heat of dusk, no sign of human life could be seen from this terracotta-tiled eyrie; only an expanse of low elephantine hills covered in wild olive trees. It was just the spot for an icy beer or, that Menorcan classic, an orange or lemon ice cream encased in the frosted skin of its fruit, which my family began buying in bulk from the supermarket during our stay.
This place was Shangri-La, in both name and spirit — once part of a utopian 1980s housing development, it has since largely been returned to Mother Nature as a protected conservation area. On the bushy hilltops a few disparate villas remain, including our holiday let, an off-grid eco retreat called La Casita Menorca.
It seemed crazy that a hidden Eden such as this could exist 15 minutes’ drive north of the airport and 10 minutes’ drive from the capital, Mahón, on an island that is only 30 miles long by 10 miles wide. Yet such things are possible because of the way in which Menorca has taken care of its environment. The entire island is a protected biosphere reserve and — as well as two marine reserves, five natural reserves and 19 natural areas of special interest — there is a natural park, the most special and protected designation. Within the voluptuous folds of the Parc Natural de s’Albufera d’Es Grau, which stretches across wetlands and the northeast coast, was our villa for four, with views across a lagoon to the sea.
“A little eco-chic bohemian home in the hills” was how our casita was billed, yet it was still a surprise to pull off the rough lane where orange dust rose from our wheels to discover what a hippyish retreat it is. Statues of gods greeted us, boulder-sized hunks of milky-coloured crystals were placed on windowsills and patios and the walls were hung with graphic art proclaiming “Love” “Peace” and “More dharma less drama”. A slightly naughty poster from the Ibizan nightclub Pacha, featuring a woman with an exposed derriere and a whip, hinted at the owner’s hedonistic past — I told my children, aged eight and ten, that she liked horse riding.
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While they jumped into the pool I explored the idiosyncrasies of the interior. In the airy lounge with pot plants and a pink striped sofa, bookshelves heaved with tomes on kundalini yoga, shamanism, tarot reading and “awakening the goddess inside”. One offering a 40-day yoga nidra programme was titled Daring to Rest — would we?
I’m merely woo-woo-curious, but when I spied half a dozen books by an author with the same name as my partner I couldn’t help wondering whether it was a sign? Then I looked down and saw that the shelf below was full of books about signs. Maybe we’d go full woo-woo if we stayed here long enough.
The sound system, which apparently once belonged to the Sex Pistols, gave music a crisp-yet-silky quality — perfect for our nightly family pool parties, further amped by lights that transformed the water from lurid violet to Ghostbusters green.
There is no air con, only ceiling fans, because the solar-powered system lacks strength, and for the price the finish was a little rough around the edges, but the villa has spirit in spades and a feeling of luxurious isolation.
Our plan was to explore the natural landscapes of the second-largest Balearic island, but it was ridiculously hot — pushing 40C during the fieriest part of the day — and hiking would be a challenge. Perhaps we were idiots to have gone in July, when drought, fires and overtourism across Spain were hitting the headlines, but that’s when the school holidays are and I was desperate for a change from the Lake District. While Mallorca and Ibiza were bearing the brunt of the overtourism furore, here only the first murmurings of disquiet could be heard.
More arid, flatter and sleepier than its neighbours — and without their hippy, clubbing, cycling or yachty scenes — Menorca has kept mass tourism at bay, retaining an identity more concerned with wild nature and its slow-rumbling arts scene. There is a sense that the island is becoming the cooler choice; the place where the ravers and the hippy-chic set go when they’re tired of the party scene — Ibiza’s chill-out room, if you will.
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Indeed some nosy online digging revealed the owner to indeed be a member of that set — a former resident of Ibiza with connections to music and fashion who now leads shamanic retreats. While we didn’t go that far, we followed her recommendation to hire Petra Mocak, a wonderful massage therapist who set up her table on our back terrace, arranging crystals beneath it. She worked her magic to the usual spa soundtrack — a whooshing breeze, tinkling bells, cicadas and bird calls; except here it was natural.
During the cooler hours of the following days we would drive down the track to Es Grau, a happy little whitewashed beach town in the park with a handful of bars and restaurants. We rented kayaks, paddling over deep indigo water to the quieter beaches of Illa d’en Colom, where we snorkelled over fish darting around crags (kayak or paddleboard from £10 an hour; menorcaenkayak.com).
Early evening was the best time to wander the boardwalks and trails that led off into a shady pine forest and the natural park’s lagoon, home to many tortoises that crossed our path.
In Es Grau, for lunches of pan con tomate and fried sardines we liked the old-fashioned charm of L’Avi Bernadet (mains from £10; lavibernadetesgrau.com), and I couldn’t resist the velvety sangria (£6) at El Bar de Tamarindos, a vibey beach bar under tamarind trees at the water’s edge — its sister restaurant, opposite, serves paella and tapas to a neater clientele (mains from £20; tamarindosmenorca.com).
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One morning I got up extra early for a run from the casita, passing under a disco ball hanging from a tree and descending a steep private path. It weaved between cacti bearing prickly pears to trails that looped around the lagoon, past bird hides along the shore. During various breeding seasons you can spot dozens of species, including spoonbills, marsh harriers, ospreys, flamingos, egrets and Balearic shags. By 9am it was baking hot, so I stalked the shady edges, using the techno beat of the cicadas for pace.
There is much wonderful hiking on Menorca, and you’re never far from the Cami de Cavalls, aka the GR223, an ancient 115-mile coastal path that encircles the island and was once patrolled by guards on horseback. From Es Grau you can follow it for five miles north to Cap de Favaritx, a rocky cape in the north of the natural park that is home to hidden coves.
The heat was too vicious for us to walk there with the children, so we drove, but in summer you must park just before reaching the cape and take a bus or walk the rest of the way. We did the latter, and in glaring sun it felt like running the Marathon des Sables in the Sahara. The reward, though, was a tranquil beach where we had no one but a few nudists for company.
Another day I met Alex Cortada, who was overseeing a project to restore and waymark the path. Together we walked a stretch near Cala Sant Esteve, a singularly pretty enclave with tall palms and an elegant yellow mansion beside a turquoise inlet. He told me that the cobbled path dates from 1331 and was most at risk not from overtourism, but from increasingly intense rainfall caused by climate change that has washed away parts of it.
The Cami de Cavalls is split into 20 sections and I asked Cortada which is his favourite. “No doubt, the part around Es Grau,” he said. We really had found the finest green corner of Menorca.
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We talked about how last year people from all over the Balearics protested against their island life being eroded — in Palma de Mallorca, capital of the Balearics, there were 10,000 demonstrators in May and 50,000 in July. Last year was the biggest ever for tourism in Spain, with more than 94 million overseas visitors, and while Menorca receives far fewer foreign tourists than Ibiza and Mallorca — 800,000 of the 15 million total for the Balearics in 2024 — its visitor numbers have tripled since the 1980s.
The comparatively slower pace of development has given Menorca time to legislate against overdevelopment, prohibiting high-rises and new builds on rural land. However, like elsewhere, there has been an explosion of Airbnb-style accommodation, pricing locals out of housing. According to the ecological campaigners Grup Balear d’Ornitologia i Defensa de la Naturalesa, while Menorca has a resident population of about 100,000 and 84,000 authorised tourist beds, at times last summer there were 230,000 people on the island.
Certain hotspots have already started to take action. An Insta-led invasion of the picturesque southern fishing town of Binibeca Vell last year led to local authorities putting a cap on tourist numbers. And while Manuel Butler, the UK director of the Spanish Tourist Office, told me recently that there is no concern overtourism will become a problem on Menorca, some locals do fear that the island could go the way of Mallorca and Ibiza.
The beaches of Es Grau were busy when we visited in August, but not excessively so; nor was the Hauser & Wirth gallery on Illa del Rei, near Mahón— a must-visit. The city’s streets of boutiques and bars were deserted by day. Still, the sensible choice would be to visit in the off-season.
Wherever our excursions took us, we spent plenty of time “daring to rest” by the poolside, and always hurried back for sundowners on the casita’s patio, overlooking the earthy garden with its cacti and tufty grasses, as red kites whirled overhead. At other times we sat on the rear terrace playing cards until the Milky Way appeared, reading shooting stars as signs, connecting with Mother Nature and listening to the call of the wild peacocks.
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Gemma Bowes was a guest of Oliver’s Travels, which has seven nights’ self-catering for four at La Casita Menorca from £2,936 (oliverstravels.com). Fly to Mahón
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