Thursday 16th October 2003 10 p.m.
As usual after a busy day, I'm really too tired to write about our activities, particularly as we've just returned from a huge meal in the Bierkeller an der Ecke. The food, service and beer were excellent but nothing very German about it. Unfortunately before we went we tried out a bottle of Mallorcan wine we finally managed to find. It was 13% proof, rather nice, and very heavy on an empty stomach.
All last night the storm raged and today showed little sign of abating, so we decided to ignore it. It was our last day with the little hired Opel car, so we set off cross-country from here to Valldemossa, the little town in the hills not far from Soller where George Sand and Frederic Chopin spent the winter of 1838-39 for the sake of Chopin's health and avoid the scandal their relationship was causing at the time in France. The Monastery had originally been occupied by the Carthusian order of monks, but the monasteries were all dissolved throughout Spain in 1835 by Mendizabal's Law of Disentailment. Following this the cells were let out to private individuals and George Sand and Frederick Chopin occupied several to form a suite of rooms with beautiful gardens overlooking the little town of Valldemosa as it clung to the steep mountainside. While there, George Sand wrote a scathing attack on the local people and an account of their experiences in her book Un hiver à Majorque. Chopin meanwhile fretted for the arrival of his piano. Only a few weeks before the couple returned to Paris did it finally arrive. Nevertheless the most outstanding of his achievements for me appears have been the composition of his “Raindrops prelude”. Had he stayed longer, who knows, he may have given to the world “Noah's Fludde” long before the idea came to Benjamin Britten. Certainly it would have been most appropriate for us in Mallorca today!
As we drove cross-country a beautiful bright rainbow arched down from the mountains to form a shimmering haze of glorious colour in a nearby orchard, while the mountains loomed as a black, forbidding, hazy mass against the rain-filled leaden sky behind. We drove up the twisting but well-constructed route in the pouring rain into the misty, sodden town. Because of the weather there were not many tourists, so parking was easy.
In summer Ian hides his feet away in thick socks and trainers. Today he decided bare feet and sandals would be more suitable, so he waded through the torrents erupting in the streets to flow downhill to form floods and unexpected lakes in any hollow they encountered. Our kagouls streaming water, we made directly for the Monastery and were very happy to pass the morning visiting the various cells and exhibitions there, in addition to seeing the former apartments of George Sand and Frederic Chopin. One cell is still set up as a pharmacy full of beautiful old majolica pots and phials, where it continued to serve the local community until the late 19th century. One cell housed the library, where the monks could meet once a week to talk to each other - the rest of the time they were a silent order. There was also the municipal museum with the printing press and a collection of artworks of local painters and scenes. Upstairs from the library is a gallery of modern art with some very acceptable works displayed, including an exhibition of the lithographic works of the artist Joan Miro, a contemporary of Picasso. This area proved far more interesting than I could have expected.
Ian was particularly interested in the Guasp Printing Museum. This press was active from the 16th to the 20th centuries. Exhibited was their 17th century printing press and some of the 1500 wood blocks giving an excellent overview of iconography from the 16th to 19th centuries.
We moved on to the palace of Sancho, King of Majorca 1311-1324. He was an asthmatic who constructed his palace in the mountains because he felt the air would benefit him. After the kingdom of Majorca was taken over by the kingdom of Aragon the palace passed into the hands of the religious order of the Carthusians (Chartreuses in French). The palace has been greatly rebuilt, but retains something of an Arabic feel. This too was let out to private individuals after 1835, so the furnishings reflect the rich cluttered interiors of the period.
In the former old church of the Monastery we were able to enjoy a display of Mallorcan folk dancing in traditional costume with castanets, guitar, and piccolo, an unexpected and very enjoyable interlude.
So a couple of hours later we again found ourselves back on the rain-soaked streets of the pretty old town. It was however far too wet to wander around the neat, clean, narrow streets. Our feet were soaked, our kagouls clinging to us, water streamed from them down our trousers. We were freezing cold, wet through and Ian had developed a cold. The average rainfall in Mallorca in October is six days in the month; we have only been here for five and in that time we've had seven or eight days worth of rain. Ian was in no mood to choose somewhere for lunch, and dived into the first place he saw. The tables were already full of steaming tourists but it was warm and pleasant. We ordered ham rolls and hot coffee. As the rain rolled down the steamed-up windows, we wrapped ourselves up and read the local paper. Despite George Sand writing quite scathingly about the local people, referring to them as monkeys, robbers and villains, they seem very happy to claim her for themselves, and are holding a special exhibition in Palma to celebrate her bicentenary in 2004.
Ian read his book on Mallorcan printmaking that he purchased in the Monastery while I started the copy I brought of George Sand Un hiver à Majorque. We had hoped to explore the town and the church. Postcards show the latter framed in beautiful blossoms from the almond trees in springtime; today it was swathed in a bright blue glistening tarpaulin. The rain was determined to ruin everyone's holiday, so we gave up and waded back through the flooded streets to our car and descended back into the central plains of the island. As we came down the weather improved. Before we knew it the sun came out, we opened the car windows to dry off and warm up, and the day was transformed. We drove right across the island through Santa Maria del Cami, Santa Eugenia, Algaida, Manicor and Porto Cristo on the south east coast. Here we stopped to visit the Cuevas dels Hams. We were lucky to catch the last tour of the day as it was 4:30 p.m. It turned out to be a very beautiful experience. The south east coast is famous for its limestone caves and beautiful collections of stalactites and stalagmites. Others may be larger, but this series of caves was really beautiful. Lighting has much to do with it, making one feel as if in a forest with mysterious tree trunks and interlocking branches. Even without the effects of the coloured lighting, the formations and natural colours were stunning in their own right. There were literally thousands of them, so delicate and fragile, frequently reflected in crystal-clear water where only tiny blind white freshwater shrimps can live. We have seen many caves in the Jura, in Spain, and in the Peak District in England, but never anything as beautiful and delicate as this. It was well worth the visit. The climax was an underground lake where a small boat, lit by tiny lights, silently glided out from behind a rock and moved across with a small ensemble of violin, cello and keyboard playing baroque music. We were only a small group of six or seven people, so it was really impressive, but may be less so in high season with sixty or seventy visitors dragging around together. The caves were very warm which was a surprise. They stay at a constant 20 degrees centigrade all year round and the stalagmites grow one centimeter in 30 years.
Not wishing to drive back in darkness we headed back after the visit, driving through the town of Porto Cristo which seems to be very pleasant with a lovely harbour. We followed the coast round to Cala Millor where we stopped for an evening stroll along the seafront with its grassy lawns and palm trees. The sandy beach had groups of children playing and the wide stretch of sea rolled in with quite large white topped breakers, while to the left there were clear views of the Sierra de San Jordi jutting out as an exciting looking headland. Sadly, there was no time to explore. The sun was low in the sky, and we still had 30 km to reach Alcudia Pins. The side roads through to Artà were lovely, and the view of the town from this side was most attractive, glued as it is to the top of the hillside with its castle, church and windmill.
From here on the route back was straightforward, through pleasant woodlands of pines and scrub or bare, arid hillsides. We reached our hotel just as darkness fell. We handed back the keys of the car, and I'm hoping tomorrow will be sufficiently dry for us to take the bus to Palma for the day.
Friday 17th October 9:30 p.m
Today has been .a last full day in Mallorca. We got up before dawn and at 8:15 were waiting at the bus stop on the main route past Alcudia Pins along with one other lady, also going into Palma for the day. She was staying here alone on a break from nursing her sick husband. We felt great respect for her in her determination to get around and enjoy herself despite the appalling weather. Fortunately, this morning it was not raining but was very chilly. By the time we returned this evening the wet had returned in earnest, but for most of the day in Palma it has been very pleasant for walking around sightseeing.
We were the only passengers until Alcudia, when the bus rapidly filled. It was good to be a passenger rather than the driver, and allowed me the opportunity to observe the countryside in a way I've been unable to before. Across the flat plain either side of the motorway route between Inca and Palma are large reservoirs of water. These belong to individual plots of land and some still have the remains of windmill stumps where in the past they were used to raise the water required to irrigate the fields. The fields are completely flat and mainly bare now. I wonder what crops are generally grown throughout the season – the soil looks very productive. In the distance the area is bounded on all sides by the impressive bare ridges of the surrounding sierras which rise to some 4,500 feet.
The journey took a little over an hour, and cost €8.90 each return. It was so very convenient, and from the bus station we walked quickly down into town. It must be the smartest, cleanest town we have ever visited. Despite its wonderful old Arab quarter, its stunning cathedral, its walled city, its huge beautiful buildings and cool shady courtyards, it is essentially a chic, smart, modern, sophisticated town with a vibrant, active local community that exists in parallel to the German and British tourists who at certain times of the year must quite outnumber the local population.
There is not a scrap of litter to be found in the main part of the town, and council staff are employed permanently sweeping, cleaning, raking and gardening. There is no graffiti, rubbish or dog mess. Indeed, the standard of cleanliness can almost be considered excessive. I actually saw someone polishing one of the recycling containers strategically positioned around the town.
There are shady corners everywhere, with benches placed beneath spreading palm trees. Courtyards have huge terracotta containers with bright green ferns, palms or aspidistras, offering areas of cool tranquility. There is a definite Arab feel to the town with its network of narrow, paved streets, towering date palms and huge stone walls topped with crenellations. Beyond the high city walls is a beautiful park area with a lake in which the walls are reflected. The park is an area of paths, lawns, palms, pine, cactuses (some of them quite enormous), ferns, geraniums, ivy and aspidistras, all looking wonderful in a natural setting. Many I've grown at home, but they look nothing compared to here.
Our first visit was to the Arab baths. These are surrounded by a tranquil walled garden full of firs, succulents and ferns with a fountain playing and cool areas to sit. The baths date from the 10th century and are modelled on the Roman idea of hot and cold baths, a meeting place for social activity. The domed roof is pierced in several places to allow light to enter and is supported on a dozen slim columns. The baths are modest in size and the materials from which they are formed have probably been recycled from earlier buildings.
Next we visited the gothic Cathedral, a honeypot for all visitors. I think it is much nicer from outside; within it is full of really gaudy stained glass. It is very badly lit and there are some 25 or more side altars two different saints. In front of each is an iron grill to prevent anyone getting too close. The paintings of the saints and the frescoes are all too dark to see and the altarpieces are all very repetitive and formulaic. We shuffled our way around with the hundreds of other tourists, and it became rather tedious.
While from the outside the cathedral looks almost squashed and has no tower, inside it must be one of the highest buildings we have ever entered. On display are plenty of pieces of church plate, candelabras, reliquaries of St. Sebastian and others, some of them quite disturbing - paintings of people being martyred with arrows or bits of their bones setting gold and heavily ornamented I find rather distasteful. Needless to say, Palma too has its piece of the original cross of Christ, and quite a large chunk was on display. Even the bits I've seen in my lifetime must be enough to construct Noah's Ark, and who knows how many more pieces are scattered around Christendom.
Once out in the sunshine the explored the gardens, then went down to the harbour from where we had superb views back to the walls of the town and the cathedral towering above. We also saw where the ferries arrived from Europe and the marina full of elegant yachts.
We stopped for lunch on a street terrace. It was the nicest meal we've had in Mallorca, even though it was the menu of the day. Ian had asparagus soup, and I had a huge, freshly mixed salad. We followed this with grilled hake cooked in butter with lemon and parsley. The two meals included beer and coffee and totalled €18.The waiter spoke no English so we had fun sorting everything out, but we got what we wanted, including my jug of hot water with my black coffee.
On the seafront we took a photo of Palma's favourite theologian, Ramón Llul, according to some sources stoned to death in Tunisia in 1316 for trying to convert the Turks to Christianity. My knowledge of him until now has been based entirely on the accounts given of him by John Masefield in his Box of delights, where are Ramón Llul is the travelling peddler in whose charge the magical box is held for safekeeping. Why Masefield picked on Ramón Llul and put him into such a strange role, I've no idea. In reality Ramón Llul began his life as a philanderer who had many different mistresses until, according to one legend, he was shown in a vision the cancerous breasts of his latest paramour. The shock somehow converted him into a model Christian and he promptly deserted his wife and family, learned Arabic, and set about converting the infidel. The rest as they say is history. His writings were always controversial, but highly influential. A couple of centuries after his death his bones were interred in the Monastery of st. Francis in Palma. How curiosity for Ramón Llul having been aroused, we dutifully paid €1 each to enter the church of St. Francis to see Ramón Llul’s tomb.
It proved to be a very lovely church, again with rather gaudy glass and very poorly lit indeed, so it was impossible to see the paintings or tombs properly. But there were hardly any tourists, the church was peaceful and quiet, there was a beautiful cloister of delicate weathered limestone columns and carved tracery, and the central courtyard contained orange and lemon trees, a cypress and a palm tree. It was all very beautiful and to complete it all, we did manage to find the tomb of Ramón Llul who now seems to us a real person.
We then looked at the more recent parts of the town and the chic shopping areas, walking the treelined Passeig de Bom and La Rambla with its many flower stalls and seats beneath the shade of the trees. We also visited the Mercat Olivar or general market. This is indoors, and is spotlessly clean. There is an endless array of fresh fish, all artistically displayed. There is a meat market, fruit and vegetable market, and cheese and charcuterie are also being sold. It was a bit too clinical and smart to have a true market feel, such as we have experienced in France or Greece. However it was probably a lot more hygienic and wholesome.
As we made our way back to the bus station around 5:30 p.m. we heard drumming, shouting and banging. The police had cordoned off the street and groups of young people were marching through Palma on a demo. Actually there were several bands and what appeared to be several demos. It was almost as if the police put Friday afternoon on one side and anyone who wanted to protest about anything could come along and join the end of the queue of demonstrators. It appeared these were all to do with social welfare reforms in Mallorca.
By now it was beginning to drizzle. The bus was waiting as we reached the station and it left packed full. During the one hour drive back back, darkness fell, as did the rain in real earnest.
We had had a dry, pleasant day but back at the site the road was flooded as we stepped down from the bus, and the rain was falling in torrents. It must have been doing so all day to have created so much groundwater.
I've moaned about our resorts but haven't really described it. All along the sand-duned seashore are white, pink or lemon blocks of holiday apartments some five or six stories high, each with their individual balcony. The overall effect of each block is of an egg box. Each is clean and equipped with the basic essentials for self-catering although most guests opt for the on-site dining facilities. We could have selected half board at €20 each per day if we wished
The beach is clean, raked every evening, and equipped with sun loungers with matted grass sunshades. The sea is shallow, with soft waves rolling gently in. Good for kids and a number are enjoying themselves even in the rain.
The accommodation complex at each side is centred around a lawn, flower beds and trees with a couple of huge, curving blue pools around which guests can snooze the day away on sun loungers while drinks are served - that is, when the weather is okay. Here too there is a bar and the entertainment facilities. Outside the complex is the road that stretches for many miles along the seafront. Other areas of the island are similarly developed. There are bars and restaurants, amusement arcades, trike and bike hire, pony rides, car hire firms, go-karting, dodgem cars Molly O'Brien Irish bar, Häagen-Dazs ice cream parlours, MacDonald's, Burger King, Pizza Hut, Kentucky Fried Chicken, Coca-Cola, Pepsi-Cola, the Shangri-La Chinese takeaway, boating lakes, signs everywhere in English or German, supermarkets selling frankfurters and Leberwurst, or baked beans, wrapped white sliced bread and pre-packed mild cheddar cheese. It is quite normal to see people sitting on a terrace with a beer, a doughnut, a burger and chips and a Mars bar. For families with children it must cost a fortune to keep them amused in wet weather.
Saturday 18th October 2003
We are now hanging around Mallorca Airport where our plane back to Exeter has been delayed, as it also was on the way out. Currently it's an hour late but who knows? We've not missed a great deal returning home today as the weather continues cold, cloudy and rather indifferent although it's not actually raining. We had a very good time in Mallorca but no thanks to the weather, which is perhaps the worst with ever had on holiday with the exception of our aborted attempt to see Venice a few years back. Without the use of the car here this week would have been a complete disaster.
