Mallorca

Mallorca is gorgeous.

Let me rephrase that. The part of Mallorca that still hasn't been declared a colony of Germany is gorgeous.

Arriving in our neighborhood of S'Arenal (on Platja de Palma) was like arriving in the place where culture goes to die. German bars with schnitzel lined the streets. An old Spanish castle had been gutted to make way for a German bier-garten with stain glass windows depicting men and women in leiderhosen. Needless to say, it was full of sunburned college students drinking pints. Allison and I were spoken to more times in German than in Spanish, and each time had to politely say that we don't speak German. There was even a fake train to drive around all the "guiris", but it didn't go any further than the beach-front promenade.

Leaving "guiri-landia" we rented a car and were able to see pretty much the entire island. The first weekend was spent with my friends Chio and Javi, who were grateful I had a license (they don't know how to drive even though they are both turning 26), and we went to Cabo de Formentor, Puerto de Alcúdia, Puerto de Sóller and Pollença. Driving through the windy roads of the sierra was beautiful, green, and I couldn't stop saying "ay que bonito!" the entire drive.

Chio and Javi took off on Sunday and Allison and I still had five more days to bask in the sun and go to the beach. Or so we thought. A storm blew through for the next few days, and since we had to wait a few more days to rent our car (a Ford Fiesta that we named "Fabián"), we took the bus into Palma, the ritzy capital of the island and province. We found an amazing restaurant in downtown Palma and ordered duck, potatoes a gratin, humus and pita, and goat cheese with peppers. We shared a bottle of red wine and the entire tab came to 34€. We were in food heaven. Me especially after surviving 6 months on bland Spanish food. The restaurant was situated in a small alley across from a church, and while we were eating, a full-blown Semana Santa penitence procession passed by us, complete with KKK hooded worshippers. Good food AND a show, it made up for the lightning and thunder storm the night before (which turned our street into a river).

We moved hotels (and neighborhoods) because the first one had no heat, no hot water, and was a bit sketchy, and found ourselves still in Germany, but on the border of 2nd Germany and the rest of Mallorca, so we took advantage and found our local Spanish cafetería to eat breakfast and drink coffee. We were the only foreigners in there, which of course meant cheaper and better food. No taco flavored pasta like we had a the "Big Kahuna" restaurant nearby.

A few days before we left we were sitting out on a patio café near our hotel and noticed that TVE1 news reporter and camera guy were wandering from restaurant to restaurant asking people if they spoke Spanish. Apparently no one said yes because when they happened upon us, and asked us if we spoke Spanish, they were suprised to find that we did. Then the full-blown interview began, asking me questions about "La Crisis" and the prices of vacations, and flights, and whether or not they were reasonable. My guess is it never aired, but it was amusing nonetheless.

To see more pictures from Mallorca: Maya's Picasa Album