Majorca is a Spanish island in the Mediterranean, between Spain and Italy. Robert Graves had asked Gertrude Stein where he should go to write, and she told him to go to Majorca because it was quiet and inexpensive and the locals were affable and sincere. He lived there and wrote most of the rest of his life, occasionally bothered by people coming to see him who thought that he kept an open house or that he could help get their poems published.
It's since become a tourist destination for the Germans and the English. It has facilities to extract any amount of money from your bank account, even up to the ultra-high end populated only by celebrities. But it's still gorgeous. We got to stay in Deia, in the mountains, Robert Graves' own town, winding cobblestone streets up the hillsides and olive groves on terraces. Just fantastic.
The worst thing about Deia is that it's unphotographable. The terrain exists in 360 degrees in three dimensions. The pictures just come out flat, and you can only capture a tiny bit of it at a time. The only thing I could think of would be to sculpt one of those bronze miniatures a lot of the old towns in Europe have.
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