“There will be wolves,” was all the incentive needed to stir enthusiasm in my perma-wired boys, aged 10 and 13, for a few nights at Oasyhotel, a new collection of sixteen Scandinavian-inspired wooden lodges perched 3,600 feet up a mountain in the Tuscan Apennines. Surprisingly for Mallorca, the island where modern tourism was invented, there are few other resorts open year-round, making this a no-brainer for quick-fix, out-of-season holidays. We’ve never been to a small hotel with so many pools – two outside and one inside – which we hop between like Burt Lancaster in The Swimmer, playing skimball and reading books in our cabana. Aysla opened last autumn, and this season will bring T-shirt-painting and ceramics sessions, along with a Mediterranean grill, though the Asian restaurant is great for sushi-curious teens (there are seats at the counter where we watch chefs slice tuna and stir-fry bibimbap). You can venture out on the hotel’s e-bikes to experience the cheap thrills of Santa Ponsa and the smart marina at Puerto Portals, where there’s a quieter beach, but mainly this is a place to lie back and let the island do its thing. Outside, little paths wind past pomegranate and olive trees, punctuated by wicker seats and benches so that, at night, the garden resembles a fairy grotto. Hammock chairs and bulbous ceramics here, geometric tiles and woven lampshades there, and a curiously feminine installation with layers of silk like an oyster shell sitting above the check-in desk. Aysla is American group Kimpton’s debut opening in Spain, and the branding is subtle: designed by Mallorcan architect Guillermo Reynés, both the main hub (in the former hacienda-style golf club) and the clean-cut, modernist bedroom wing act as showcases for the island’s artisans. “Yes,” we agree, “that would be an excellent job to have.” We’re on the southern side of Mallorca here, but not directly on the coast instead tucked away on a residential hillside enclave beloved of local families, with the busy sands of Santa Ponsa just five minutes’ drive away. The Pac-Man-esque diligence becomes a daily fixture for me and my son, watching from the balcony sunbeds. Each morning, on the golf driving range adjoining the Mallorca hotel, a teenager trundles a buggy up and down, arms outstretched to scoop up golf balls. One of Aysla’s key attractions isn’t mentioned on the website or by the concierge.
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