21 Photos: Mallorca beyond the postcards

Carlie Tasker is a British photographer specialising in fashion and travel photography. Now based between London and Mallorca, she seeks out the hidden corners of island to capture its beauty.

I moved to Mallorca almost four years ago, long before I truly knew the island. Before that, I’d only been here once or twice – a quick work trip, maybe a family holiday, I can't remember exactly.  Nothing about those visits suggested I would eventually uproot my life and live here. And yet something in my body kept pulling me toward this place. Not in a mystical, incense-burning way, but in that grounded, unmistakable way your instincts speak before logic catches up.

So I moved – with a one-year-old and no real plan beyond following a feeling. I started in Campos, then a village called Binissalem, and now Palma. It’s funny how a place you barely know can become home so quickly. The island gives you mountains, sea and a city that is somehow small, beautiful and right on the water. You’re ten minutes from the airport and surrounded by light that feels like its own language. Everything about it – the climate, the rhythm, the culture – made me breathe differently. I genuinely can’t imagine raising my daughter anywhere other than the Mediterranean now; the warmth and the pace of life here feel exactly right for us.

Photographing Mallorca feels like an extension of that instinct. Natural light is everything to me – the way it hits the sea, the way it wraps around old stone, the way mornings feel soft and evenings turn golden in a way that never gets old. I’m drawn to nature, to salt on my skin, to being close to the water. But more than anything, I’m drawn to the stories happening in the quiet corners. Palma in summer can feel frantic and busy, but beyond the obvious there are villages and coves and small pockets of real life where the island reveals itself. That’s where the emotion is. That’s where the rhythm slows enough for you to catch something true.

Over the years, certain places have stitched themselves into my story. There’s a tiny café in Campos next to the first house I ever lived in here – nothing fancy, just simple and familiar, but deeply sentimental to me. And then there’s a view in Palma that only I would call beautiful: standing by a Repsol petrol station on Avenidas, looking down the hill to the sea. It’s that contrast – the gritty garage, the blue water in the distance – that always stops me. A reminder of how lucky I am to live here, and how beauty doesn’t always arrive dressed up and curated.

The people anchor me, too. I have a soft spot for the old men who walk with their hands clasped behind their backs, slowly and with purpose. Their faces tell entire stories without a single word. I love watching the older women chatting in the street, speaking with so much expression and fire that it sounds like an argument when it’s really just small talk. These are the moments that make Mallorca feel alive to me – the gestures, the sounds, the unfiltered charm of everyday life.

My approach to photographing the island is completely intuitive. I don’t think about rules or perfect light or technical precision. I care about capturing the moment as it is – the imperfect, the emotional, the fleeting. A slightly blurry frame that holds a feeling always means more to me than something technically flawless. I want the memory, not the perfection.

Mallorca’s architecture and interiors echo that same richness. Old town apartments with worn tiles and wooden beams, mountain fincas with heavy doors and quiet courtyards, spaces where history sits alongside the new. I love the contrast – the charm of the old mixed with just enough modernity to feel lived-in. These buildings carry stories. They hold memory. And photographing them feels like honouring all the hands and lives that shaped them.

When friends visit, I always tell them to hire a car. The real Mallorca isn’t found in the obvious places. It’s in the tiny roads leading to forgotten coves, in the Tramuntana drives where the mountains unfold around you, in the cafés that serve €1 coffees under a faded sign that hasn’t changed in 60 years. Bar Tony, the old men reading newspapers, the locals speaking Mallorquín, the quiet routines of people who have lived here their whole lives… that’s the island. Those places matter more to me than any trendy brunch spot or beach club. They’re the heart of it.

Living here has changed me. It’s slowed me down, sharpened my eye, deepened my creativity. Being surrounded by nature and different cultures every day reminds me to focus on what I find truly beautiful. It’s given me permission to live more simply and to pay attention – really pay attention – to the small things. As a photographer and a mother, that shift has shaped everything.

If someone were to see Mallorca for the first time through my photographs, I’d want them to see more than the glossy, postcard version. I’d want them to notice the quiet moments, the depth, the humanity. I hope they understand that the island is more than what you see online – it’s the tiny villages, locals walking at sunrise, the sound of waves against the rocks, the smell of orange blossom drifting through the air. It’s simple, unpolished life. And I hope it stays that way.