The last expedition we made at Ciudadéla was to visit the rock dwellings at Son Moréll—a large property about an hour distant from the town. There are three farmhouses upon the estate, at the first of which one naturally draws up to inquire the way, and unless the traveller is very careful he will here be taken to see two wholly unimportant tumuli lying at some distance away amongst stone walls and a waste of asphodel—the peasants being convinced that to lead a foreigner to the nearest talayót is the surest way of making him happy. In all good faith we followed an ancient man across the fields, and in due course reached the talayóts; it was quite useless to explain to our guide that it was not such as these we were in search of, since besides being very deaf he understood no word of Castillian, and when we remarked that the wind was very high he replied by telling us that he was seventy-eight in January.
After much useless tramping and waste of time we at last discovered that it was Son Morell de Barránco to which we ought to have driven—the Barranco being the ravine containing the rock dwellings—and continuing our route across the fields we presently came to the second farm, lying within a few minutes’ walk of the coast. Leaving the carriage here, we descended on foot towards the sea, and soon came upon a row of curious dwellings excavated in the rock walls of a narrow valley. Three of the caves are of considerable size, and in the one of which we took a photograph a pillar of live rock is left in the centre to support the roof. All have neatly cut doorways and windows, and one of the house fronts, as will be seen, shows traces of decoration—a cornice and a couple of fluted pilasters having been rudely chiselled in the face of the rock. Sheep and goats now inhabit the caves; of the people who with patient labour constructed their dwellings in this wild and lonely ravine by the sea no memory remains.
On the 1st of May we left Ciudadéla and returned to Mahon, stopping for luncheon at the little town of Alayór, just off the main road. Seen from a distance Alayór is a veritable fairy city set upon a hill—glistening snow white in the sunshine—and though at close quarters it is no longer beautiful, the whiteness of the houses is so dazzling that it is like passing through snow-cuttings to drive through the streets, and we were glad of the green glass panes of our galaréta to protect our eyes from the blinding glare. Whitewash is indeed a mania among the Minorcans, who, not content with applying it to the outer and inner walls of their houses, extend it to the tiles on the roof, the gutters, chimneys, outhouses, and even neighbouring rocks. Where the field walls are coped with freestone this also is whitened for miles, which gives the landscape the curious and misleading effect of being traversed in every direction by high roads.
“The rock caves at Son Morell are of considerable size, and one of the house fronts shows traces of decoration, a cornice and a couple of fluted pilasters having been rudely chiselled in the face of the rock.”
(page [164])
