“The goddess is approaching,” my unofficial guide, Gonzalo, told me as an ogre-like thunderclap broke the silence in what had once been a stone circle. In the centre, two giant limestone slabs, hauled together to form a T-shape, towered over us. A few yards away, amid parched-looking scrubland dotted with wiry juniper trees, stood the base of an ancient watchtower, or talayot. As I looked across to the low-slung walls marking a series of dwellings arranged around a central courtyard, the stillness seemed almost haunted by the former inhabitants.

The Talayotic Village of Trepucó has often been described as ‘the Stonehenge of the Balearics’. It’s not hard to see why. Built sometime between 1000 and 700 BC, it sits barely a kilometre south of Mahón, the capital of Menorca, but it’s a far cry from the unspoilt beaches and sandy coves for which the easternmost of Spain’s Balearic Islands is better known.

On this warm, if thundery, early-June afternoon, any sun-seeking tourists were clearly elsewhere, no doubt enjoying the natural beauty of an island designated a UNESCO Biosphere Reserve in 1993. I was glad to have the site more or less to myself. The exception was Gonzalo, a stocky, youngish chap in a baggy T-shirt and shorts, who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere in the site’s small car park and was armed with fascinating but difficult-to-prove tales of the ancient villagers’ rituals. (Pythagoras, the waxing and waning of the moon and the female menstrual cycle all loomed large in his theories.)

Trepucó is just one of over 1,500 archaeological sites liberally dotted across Menorca. Since visiting, the island's Talayotic settlements have been inscribed to the UNESCO World Heritage list, but Menorca’s extraordinary array of historical sites explore more than prehistory. Some date back to the Roman and early Christian eras, and for a small island, it’s no surprise that Menorca has one of the world’s highest concentrations of archaeological sites.

While standing stones and prehistoric ruins exist in a number of other countries, the island’s early cultures – and the structures they created – have a distinct character. They range from settlements (poblats) such as Trepucó to funerary mounds (navetas), to the rugged towers, or talayots (from the Arabic word atalaya, meaning watchtower), that lent their name to the island’s early settlers.

I had come to Menorca to find out more about these early inhabitants, and indeed the island itself. Thankfully, the excellent Museum of Menorca, housed in a cloistered former convent in the heart of Mahón, proved the perfect place to start.

Archaeologists believe that the island’s original inhabitants came from the Gulf of Lion, the coastal region stretching from Catalonia in Spain’s north-east to the cities of Marseille and Toulon on the French coast. Here they formed farming communities. Statuettes and vessels found at Menorca’s various sites suggest that they worshipped a bull deity and female fertility gods. It also seems that, like their prehistoric peers at Stonehenge, they were acquainted with the principles of astronomy: many of the island’s early temples were clearly designed around the position of the sun setting in the west.

The museum’s excellent displays detailed the island’s early culture in depth; they also explored Menorca’s subsequent history, explaining how its position in the middle of the Mediterranean made it highly sought after by a string of invaders: Romans, Greeks, French, Spanish and, of course, the British.
Spain may have regained control of the island from the Brits in 1802, but there are still signs of their former occupier’s legacy everywhere, from Martello defence towers and hotels with ‘Nelson’ in their name to Menorca’s locally distilled Xoriguer gin.

That British heritage is particularly evident in Mahón, which rests on a plateau above the largest natural harbour in the Mediterranean (and second deepest in the world). The city is filled with lofty palm trees, British-built 18th-century mansions and 19th-century Art Nouveau townhouses, many with boínders (a local take on the British-style bow window). Elsewhere, its cobbled plazas and winding streets are scattered with independent boutiques selling the kind of Ibiza-chic clothes and jewellery that have become de rigueur in many of Spain’s classier coastal towns.

I could easily have whiled away hours at one of Mahón’s quayside pavement cafés, but I was on a quest to go back in time and learn more about the island’s early life.

Standing on the edge of history

I headed back out on the road the following day and made my way towards the island’s centre. The previously flat tarmac had begun to rise, twist and turn. Soon enough, Monte Toro (358m) – Menorca’s highest, and only, peak – crept into view, soaring overhead like a deity. At its summit stood a Rio de Janeiro-style statue of Christ, his arms outstretched, seemingly surveying his dominions below. I did the same, admiring the panoramic views of the island and feeling glad that I had made the journey to get here.

Next, I took the opportunity to make a brief stop nearby to visit the sleepy, whitewashed village of Ferreries, where the dark-green shutters of its 19th-century houses were permanently closed – to keep out the heat – and elderly locals chatted over coffee at pavement cafés.

Known mainly as the centre of the island’s thriving shoemaking industry – and in particular, the Albarca sandals for which Menorca is known – Ferreries is also home to a small but excellent geology museum. I paid it a short visit before heading back out on the highway, this time to the island’s second major city.

Built on the edge of a port, Ciutadella still maintains a sense of grandeur from the days when it was Menorca’s capital (until 1722, when the British moved their base of power to Mahón). Winding my way through the narrow, pedestrianised Old Town, I ambled past the impressive Gothic cathedral and grand, 19th-century facades of its plazas, fashioned from the rose-toned sandstone that is such a feature of this part of the island. It was tempting to stay longer, but history once more beckoned me onwards. For all the modern appeal of Menorca’s towns, I had come to explore the island’s roots.

My final destination lay just outside Ciutadella, on the island’s rugged north-west coast. It was fitting that it was also somewhere which had been the final resting place for many of the island’s original inhabitants.

Arriving at the Necropolis of Cala Morell, as with so many other sites, there was no obvious entrance. Below the road to my right lay the extraordinarily beautiful Cala Morell cove, overhung by reddish-toned cliffs, while high above me, to my left, I could make out large cave openings carved into the rock face.

Menorca’s Bronze Age inhabitants had created an extraordinary network of caves that had been used first as homes, complete with windows, doors and deep gutters hewn from the rock, and then later as burial chambers. And so, with nothing but birdsong and the gentle buzz of the odd fly to break the silence, I began clambering my way across dusty, often hefty, boulders, making my way up to the nearest entrance.

Inside, huge and wonderfully cool rooms were supported by pillars hewn from the rock. It was easy to imagine how these spaces would have provided a welcome refuge from the Mediterranean heat. I also felt a sense of respect for the dead, knowing that these caves had later housed burial chambers for entire communities, with everyone receiving the same rites regardless of social standing, age or gender.

Some 3,500 years on, children in Menorca learn about Talayotic culture and the island’s long history at school, and now visitors are beginning to discover these sites in increasing numbers. As the sun set slowly over the bay, turning the rugged, coral-toned rocks a glorious golden red, I couldn’t help but feel that despite the waves of different invaders over the centuries, it is arguably still the island’s earliest inhabitants who have perhaps left the greatest legacy.

The author travelled with support from the Balearic Islands Tourist Board.