The Majorcan dream: a Scots writer weighs sun, heat and reality of retirement

A veteran Scottish observer of life on Majorca says the lure of a permanent sunny retirement there still glows, but the reality is cooling the dream for many. Jonathan Brocklebank, long in the habit of visiting and reporting on the island, writes that the sun-drenched fantasy of a simple, sun-soaked fade into golden years often clashes with everyday hurdles, from mosquitos and heat to insurance, taxes and the rhythms of a community that changes when the season ends.

Brocklebank first set foot on Majorca as an infant in the late 1960s, when package holidays were a novelty and a family ritual. He returned through the decades, spending summers in Cala San Vicente in the northeast and watching his father buy a run-down finca inland in the southwest during a time when electricity could be a luxury and water came by truck. That early intimacy with the island has shaped a lifelong plan: to retire in Majorca, in a corner he knows as well as Scotland, surrounded by the cycles of the Tramuntana mountains, the sea’s blue, and a culture he believes he understands better than most. Forty years on, he remains a part owner of that finca, a symbol of a dream that has never quite left him. But the deeper he digs into the practicalities, the more he wonders whether the dream remains affordable, sustainable or genuinely fulfilling for a permanent life there.

The piece also threads in cautionary tales from others who tried to transplant life from Britain to Majorca. One couple, Mandy Green from Dunfermline and her husband Mark, sold their Scottish home and arrived on the island with little more than suitcases and a grasp of Spanish that was almost non-existent. They bought a bar-restaurant in Santa Ponsa, a British enclave popular with travellers seeking a familiar night out. The experiment soon ran into the practicalities of island life: tax bills appeared unexpectedly; the couple endured exhausting seven-day workweeks through the busy summer season when the British peak was in full swing but Spanish patronage faded as the summer traffic rolled back to the mainland. The heat—an ever-present character—proved another relentless challenge. The Greens sold the business, moved inland to escape the tourist surge, and eventually reconnected with life back in Scotland, with Mrs. Green returning wiser but not necessarily convinced that the Majorcan dream is an unqualified success for everyone who tries it.

The stories Brocklebank has gathered in Andratx, the southwest coastal stretch where many expats have formed a loose, years-spanning community, underscore what he calls a pattern: the dream is vivid, but so is the reality. In his days in the village bar, he heard fewer boasts and more worries: half of a couple wanting to go home while the other wanted to stay; the struggle to balance sun and routine; the sense that even long-lived friendships risk fraying when money and health matters become dominant. Some expats eventually depart, some pause, and a few settle, only to discover that the life they imagined keeps shifting under their feet. The people he describes are not paragons of carefree sun-seeking—they are people who aged into the decision to stay or to leave, or to shuttle back and forth between two homes.

As the expat story unfolds, Brocklebank notes another recurring theme: the island’s appeal rests on a double exchange—between sun-drenched leisure and the more prosaic demands of daily life. The local Spaniards have their own rhythms and their own sense of what the land and climate can support. The British bars, frequented by holidaymakers, are not immune to the ebb and flow of seasonality; when the last wave of tourists departs, the restaurants and shops must adjust to a very different revenue picture. For some, that adjustment proves too steep, a realization that the paradise they imagined is, in fact, a job with long hours, a taxing climate, and financial pressures that require more planning than impulse.

The practicalities of living in Majorca—mosquitos, summer humidity, and the logistical challenge of sourcing familiar groceries—also shape Brocklebank’s reflection. He recounts the irritations of everyday life: the bites that keep him swatting during a five-minute stroll, the difficulty of finding a bacon that tastes like home, and the sense that even simple comforts can require a level of persistence unfamiliar to a life in Scotland. And then there are the larger questions: would a permanent move be financially viable in a country with a cost of living that climbs steadily, a tax and healthcare system that can feel opaque to newcomers, and a housing market where affordability is often relative to the UK or continental Europe?

The column’s through-line is not simply nostalgia for a childhood holiday etched in memory. It is a candid meditation on whether the Majorcan dream remains possible for someone who understands the island’s realities as well as its beauty. Brocklebank observes that a number of his well-heeled acquaintances now live a hybrid life, bouncing between Majorca and their home countries—Britain, Germany or France—never wholly committing to one place. For him, that mid-path seems not just practical but honest: the dream is enticing, but the means to sustain it must be carefully considered.

His own assessment returns, again and again, to a central question: can a permanent life in Majorca deliver the same sense of belonging and security that a life in Scotland can offer, especially as health, finances, and generational changes come into play? He acknowledges that a durable, sun-filled retirement in Majorca would be ideal if it could be funded, simplified and stabilized against the grind of everyday life. Yet the more he contemplates, the more the dream appears to hinge on a delicate balance—one that may require compromise, flexibility, and perhaps a slower, more nuanced integration into a community that is not a static backdrop but a living, changing ecosystem.

For now, the dream remains, but so does the consideration of reality. Brocklebank notes that his own situation is not unique among Britons who arrived with the intent to build a life in Majorca but found themselves adapting to the island’s tempo, its economics and its social fabric. The decision-time frame is not measured in months but potentially in years, as life, health, taxes and the weather all insist on their own comprehensive calculus.

As the author contemplates his options, he stops short of declaring defeat for the Majorcan dream. Rather, he posits a pragmatic conclusion: the appeal of Majorca endures, but the path to living there permanently requires a rigorous plan and a readiness to adjust expectations. In the end, the dream “matters for now,” he suggests, even as he weighs whether the sunlit corner of the Tramuntana can truly become not just a holiday romance but a sustainable home. The exploration remains ongoing, a snapshot of a lifelong romance tested by time, money and the weather.