I realised I was trilingual whilst waiting for a bus in Mallorca. I’d decided to DIY a day trip from Palma to Sóller, and when I sat down in the bus shelter to await the journey back to the city, talking to the stranger next to me was the last thing on my mind. (In fact, I thought I should probably avoid that at all costs.)
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A day trip from Palma to Sóller
Years before, we’d headed out of Palma on a road trip into the Serra de Tramuntana mountains– the stunning spine of the Spanish island of Mallorca. It was winter, but it was still warm and sunshiny, and ever since, I’d been itching to get out of the city again. But the only time I’m ever in Palma de Mallorca– the island’s capital- is when I’m working, and time is limited.
I also (for some ridiculous reason), presumed that the only way to get from Palma to Soller is on the famous wooden tourist train. Don’t get me wrong, I love a train journey, but there’s no denying that Mallorca sees crazy numbers of visitors over summer. The thought of cramming myself onto the tourist train with hundreds of passengers from the very ship I work on just didn’t appeal.
Thank goodness I finally did my own research into the matter, because it turns out that it couldn’t be simpler to head out from Palma to Sóller using nothing but your own two legs and the local bus.
How to get from Palma to Sóller by bus
To get from Palma to Sóller on your own, head to the Estació Intermodal, and make your way downstairs to the covered part of the bus station. You’ll need bus number 204, which takes about 40 minutes to reach Sóller; check timetables here.
The 204 actually carries on from Sóller all the way down to Port de Sóller and its beaches on the other side of the island, so stay on longer if you fancy a beach trip.
For all TIB buses (including the number 204), the best way to pay is to tap on with your bank card. It’s cheaper than paying in cash! Currently a single trip from Palma to Sóller costs €1.80 per adult. (2026)
Cash is accepted, but it’s more expensive (€3.00) and you might run into a spot of bother without the exact change to hand.
(FYI if you’re catching inner-city buses within Palma, these are operated by EMT and operate with cash only. Each ride is €2, so don’t be caught out and make sure you have change with you!)
How to get the train from Palma to Sóller
I completely understand that you might prefer to take a more iconic method of transport from Palma to Sóller, and the wooden Ferrocarril de Mallorca is exactly that. The wooden train has been carrying passengers into the mountains since 1912, and it’s a slightly more relaxed way to travel to Sóller. The journey takes one hour each way, and you can also buy a combined train and tram ticket to make the final leg of the journey down to Port de Sóller.
Check availability and book tickets here.
A very brief history of Sóller
Like its neighbouring islands of Ibiza and Menorca, (and most of southern Spain) Sóller actually has Moorish origins. In fact the layout of the town is pretty much the same as it would have been back in the days of Moorish rule. But who are the Moors!? Well, that would be the Berber and Arabic folk from North Africa; loosely, modern-day Morocco and Algeria. The name ‘Sóller’ is thought to come from the Arabic ‘Sulyar,’ meaning ‘golden bowl.’ Which is probably something to do with its location in a stunning valley of oranges.
Sóller’s location, surrounded by the steep walls of the Serra de Tramuntana mountains, meant that for a long time it was actually very isolated from the rest of the island. But the town did have its port, and from there Sóller’s farmers were able to send their sweet juicy oranges over to France. During the 19th and 20th centuries the villagers became rather wealthy indeed, and the grand buildings that were constructed over those years were able to really showcase the wealth that had been acquired.
Sóller: your oranges are fancy.
One day in Sóller
Once upon a time, my snobbish view of Mallorca (along with the Canary Islands and Màlaga of course), was that this is an island for package holidays and nothing more. But I’m telling you now, these parts of Spain are popular for a reason, and the history, culture and landscapes you can see here are truly incredible. When the bus leaves Palma and begins the climb into the Serra de Tramuntana mountains, the scenery gets seriously spectacular. The rugged green mountains of Mallorca truly are beautiful, and the area surrounding Soller is filled with olive and citrus groves, and dotted with solid stone farmhouses.
The air was piping hot in August, and although I’d normally spend a Mallorca day at the beach, I was glad to be finally seeing somewhere new. And surely, the mountains would waft through eventually?
The bus stopped just outside the centre of town, on a deceptively quiet street that keeps on going down to the sea. It only took a few minutes to walk from here towards the church of Saint Bartholomew, which is a baroque building with a chunky modernist front, designed by one of Gaudí’s students. (If you’ve ever been to Barcelona, you’ll have seen a fair few modernist buildings already, but Palma’s cathedral was also influenced by the eccentric architect.)
You’d be forgiven for forgetting that Sóller is a teeny tiny town; the Plaza de la Constitución was packed with visitors. Children ran across the polished stone of the square, instagram boyfriends photographed instagram girlfriends in front of the church, and diners tucked into meals underneath giant sun shades. Occasionally the tram trundled along its metal tracks, ferrying passengers down to the beach.
I kept on wandering, dipping in and out of boutiques and gift shops, and finally settled on a beaut little cafe filled with local artwork called Miga de Nube. The food was delicious and fresh, the smoothie was incredible, and there’s a shady garden out the back which is perfect for cooling off away from the crowds.
And then pals, I wandered some more! What could be better than a good old wander!? Euro Summer isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, and if I’m honest the city crowds, coupled with the constant hum of engines on the cruise ship, was starting to get to me. I was very much craving some peace and quiet and nature.
It’s a good thing that Sóller is in the middle of one of Spain’s most beautiful mountain ranges. And it’s also funny how quickly streets can become silent again, by just heading slightly off of the main tourist path. With a left and a right turn I’d found good old silencio and cicadas once more, and I carried on up the cobbled lanes, past green-shuttered windows, all the way out of town- up into the orange and lemon groves of Soller’s surroundings.
There are plenty of great hiking routes to take around Sóller, and I’m really excited to go back and explore when I’ve got more time on my hands. Until then, this is a great little trio of hikes from Soller.
Palma to Sóller: the trilingual discovery
You might be wondering: where on earth does the whole trilingual element come in to this story? Well.
Begrudgingly, after as much aimless wandering as I could possibly squeeze in, I decided I should probably head back to the bus. The bus stop for the journey back from Sóller to Palma, as you might imagine, is on the other side of the road. It’s also a much longer stopping point for the bus to pull into, with (thankfully) plenty of shade and benches. Maybe I’m easily pleased, but I think it’s great to celebrate the little things in life and frankly I was delighted.
I took my seat at the far end of the bus shelter, leaving a humungous gap between me and the other two passengers, who were also there incredibly early. And then I was joined by passenger number four: a very scraggly, leathery-skinned man, with dirt staining his clothes and ingrained deep under his finger nails. He swung his equally mud-streaked back pack off onto the bench, and smiled “Hola!”
Reggaeton blared from the speaker of his smashed-screen iphone. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not averse to reggaeton, but there’s a time and a place. I’d been really enjoying the peace and quiet. If it had been dark, I’d have been very nervous to be sat in a bus stop with this man. But- I noted- he didn’t smell. So that was good.
He asked me- in Spanish- if I’d watch his things. “Si- por supuesto,” I replied. (“Of course!”) Watching this man’s possessions was the last thing I wanted to do, but he’d really put me on the spot there, hadn’t he?
Off he went up the road and out of sight, leaving his massive backpack and cracked-screen iphone behind him. Reggaeton still blaring. More passengers arrived, and I self-consciously noted that it definitely looked as if I was the one playing music at full blast from a phone. I shuffled slightly away from the man’s possessions.
I shuffled slightly back when he returned, carrying two beers and two bottles of water. He held out an icy-cold can of beer to me, droplets of water dripping from it and evaporating almost immediately on the concrete. “You watched my things for me! It’s for you!” (Bear in mind, everything the man said was actually in Spanish, with a lot of miming to accompany it.)
Declining the beer but accepting a water, I felt terrible. I’d not really done much to protect the possessions; if anything I’d tried my best to make it look as if I had absolutely nothing to do with them whatsoever. What a douchebag.
And I’d been so judgemental of his dirty clothes. It turns out, the reason for all the dirt was that he works as a gardener in a nearby very large house with a very large garden. What a double douchebag. What followed was a downright wonderful getting-to-know-you conversation with good old Julio the Colombian gardener, who’d moved to Mallorca many years ago. We bonded over Cartagena– the only place in Colombia I’ve ever been- and at one point he opened up his backpack to reveal that it was almost full to the brim with apples. He gave it a shine and offered me one, explaining through the art of mime alone that he’d grown the trees from seed. (I was feeling pretty proud of myself until that point, but my A Level Spanish memory only served me so far. I had no understanding whatsoever of the Spanish words for ‘grown from seed.’)
One thing I have noticed in my years of working for a German company, is that German people do not share the English sentiment for queuing. Most of the other passengers formed a queue; the Germans bustled around the doors of the bus. The first two, a couple in their thirties, were immediately thrown off by the driver.
They were frustrated, and upset. Julio tried to attract their attention, but they gave him a sour look up and down and kept on walking. It was probably the dirty clothes, let’s face it. By now, Julio and I were practically best pals, and he was well aware that I sung in front of German audiences every night. He asked me to ask them what happened- “Qué pasó?”
I asked the German couple, “Was ist passiert?” and they finally stopped to talk.
They had a wallet full of €10 and €20 notes, but no small change, and no card. The driver wouldn’t let them on without the exact change.
Julio declared that it was ridiculous and offered to pay for them, which I thought very generous considering that up until that point they’d been refusing to even make eye contact with the man. Could they have given him a €10 note in exchange, so that Julio wasn’t too out of pocket? Yes, yes they could. Did they? Nope. No they did not.
But I suppose, it’s Julio’s prerogative, and he’d already bought me a bottle of water for simply sitting in the vicinity of his belongings. What a lovely chap.
And I was delighted to note, surely this tiny but very effective exchange of three languages means that I’m officially trilingual!? The answer is, no, no I am not. That is a massive overstatement, however what it does show, without a shadow of a doubt, is that most strangers are good people.
Gracias, Julio! Du bist großartig.
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