How the night runs

Gates open at seven and the torches will walk you in. Vows are at half past seven beneath the elm, fifteen minutes, no readings. Dinner is one long table, no head seat, no seating chart drama. Dancing from ten, embers from one, and the shuttles run until the last song. Take a candle home; we mean it.

Orientation in one paragraph

The old town stacks down a hillside to a small harbor. One cobbled street, Via del Sale, runs top to bottom and carries the market stalls, the bakery, and most of the bars. The cove, Cala Vieja, sits below the villa a short walk south. The cliff path north leads to the old lighthouse, Faro Vell. That is the map. You now know Punta Mora better than most day visitors ever will.

Mornings

The town runs on a bakery schedule. The bakery under La Posada opens at seven and sells out of the almond pastries by ten; this is not a marketing line, it is a warning. Take whatever you get, plus a coffee from the window next door, and walk down to the harbor wall to eat it. That half hour is the best free thing on this coast.

If you are a swimmer, the cove before nine is glass. The umbrella concession opens at ten, and by eleven the small beach has found its crowd. Early is the move.

The hours between

The cliff path to Faro Vell takes forty minutes each way and is the single best use of a free afternoon or evening. It is flat enough for grandparents and scenic enough that your camera roll will double. Sunset from the point is the postcard; bring the layer.

The boat to the sea caves at Punta Baja is the one activity worth planning. Boats leave the harbor at nine, take two hours, and run calm in June. Book a day ahead, bring cash, ask for Tomàs. The water in the third cave is a color we have declined to describe because you would think we were exaggerating.

Shoppers get one street and it is enough: ceramics mid-street, a small shop of woven things near the top, and on Sunday morning the square fills with the weekly market. The cheese man is famous for a reason nobody can fully articulate. Buy the small round one.

Where we actually eat

Cantina Brava is the answer to most dinner questions: grilled fish off the morning boats, paper tablecloths, chalkboard for a waitlist, vermouth at the counter while you wait. Order what the owner suggests; he has never been wrong in our presence. Bar Levante does the best pre-dinner hour on the street and knows it. For a long lazy lunch, the place with the blue awning at the harbor does rice dishes for two that take forty minutes and deserve every one of them. And the gelato window halfway up Via del Sale keeps summer hours, which means it is open whenever you deserve gelato, which is always.

Evenings

Dinner here starts at nine, and the street reopens at six after its afternoon nap, so the aperitivo hour stretches luxuriously in between. There is no nightlife to speak of beyond the bars on the street, and after the wedding Saturday you will not miss it. The correct Punta Mora evening is a slow dinner, a slower walk to the harbor, and the discovery that you have been out four hours without checking the time.

The one-line version

Pastries early, cove before nine, lighthouse at sunset, Brava for dinner, gelato on the walk home. Repeat until your flight forces you to stop.