Majorca II

It is precisely 3:14 pm, and I'm sitting cross legged on a random platform at the departure lounge of the Majorcan airport. The airport is tiny, and the shops are boring. Food is extremely expensive (€5.60 for a silly looking sad sandwich? No thanks.) and the light is dim. This is a sad, sad airport. But then again I've been to sadder - the airport in Luang Prabang, the airport in Puerto Princesa. I guess I am pretty well traveled. Boarding's in 45 minutes and I am already bored. I figured that I might as well start writing.

Day 2: 28 March 2012

I wake up at about 9:10 am, despite setting my alarm for earlier. I rush everything, and arrive to eat breakfast at about 9:40 am. Magali (as I've just learned her name is spelt) is already there. Luckily (or not?) breakfast is a small affair, with just a tea and a croissant. I quickly wolf it down and we manage to leave at 9:50 am, and arriving just in time to catch the 10:10 am tram to Soller. We had originally planned to catch the 10:50 am tram, and were happy to get the earlier one. Also Magali speaks excellent Spanish, for she lived in Barcelona some years before.

The tram ride itself was billed as a tourist attraction. An old school tram dating from about a hundred years ago, it was a very charming sight. And of course filled with tourists. During the ride, Magali and I step outside periodically to take photos of the beautiful countryside, and laugh when the train enters long tunnels. I also talk to some other passengers, and sadly mistake an Irishman for an Englishman. I feel bad (I imagine he'd be so offended!), but make it up (hopefully!) by offering to take a photo for him and his wife when we stop at a viewing platform above Soller. The tram stops at the platform for about less than 10 minutes, and everyone clambers out to take photos. As I talk to the Irishman and his wife for a wee bit, an Englishman comes by (pretty old grandfather looking this one), and exclaims "I didn't know Americans traveled!" and I try very hard to not crack up.

He reminds me a bit of a good old fashioned Colonialist, and I am very amused. He is genuinely curious, and has no qualms sharing his interesting opinions. He talks about his grandchildren (or is it grandchild) learning cooking now, and how they're going to learn Chinese cooking and that makes him happy. Also says he prefers Hong Kong to Singapore. I imagine he must've been running around khakis and white knees socks around Asia when he was younger. The Irish man and wife to the side look a bit unhappy at him butting into the conversation, I think they wanted to speak to me too, but he drowned them out. Yet another example of the British dominating the Irish I suppose, ahaha.

When the tram arrives in Soller, we buy a bottle of water before catching the next local tram down to Port de Soller. Port de Soller is beautiful. It's set in a little bay, with a huge marina in the middle, and of course lots of docked ships (clippers? I don't know). The sun is high in the sky and the sea is a lovely deep blue. Magali and I settle down to eat Fidelus, which is a Catalan version of Paella, that is with pasta instead of rice. I pop into a mini-shop to buy more junk food, like biscuits and come across a pack of chocolate covered biscuits like Filipinos. Of course I bought it, heh. They're tasty btw. I also bought two wee oranges which are from Mallorca (according to the sign) for €0.19 for Magali and I. After lunch we eat them, and they are so lovely - juicy and sweet! Mmm.

We go about the town, exploring. We find the high points, take lots of pictures. Magali draws me, cause she says she's never drawn a Chinese person before and she wants to try. Says our eyes are interesting. Funny cause I never thought my eyes were that Chinese. We laugh a lot, at silly things like me feeding a hungry stray cat pistachios (she says they eat them), and the place smelling like cat shit. She disses the German mentality (and of course Majorca is teeming with Germans), makes fun of Americans (she had an ex-boyfriend) and says they only speak three words: "what the fuck?". Also thinks that Singapore is near China, confusing it with Taiwan.

We attempt to catch a bus to near Cala Deia, but according to the schedule we missed it by a whisker. Then we tried to look for the bus to Beinaraix, but we missed that too. So off we went, back to the tram station area and had an orange juice, and caught the next local tram back to Soller. At Soller, we found out that Beinaraix is within 30 minutes walking distance, so we decide to make a try for it. The walking route from Soller to Beinaraix is lovely, with orange and lemon groves on both sides of the road. Oddly enough, I also see a Malaysian restaurant in Soller, called Kopitiam. Magali jokes that I can move here next time. She keeps saying this is paradise. Beinaraix itself is a nice old town, with houses made of stone and cobble stone roads. On our way back we espy a trio of middle-aged Germans, with the women picking lemons from someone's grove. They saw us and sort of giggled to themselves, feeling naughty.

Back at Soller, my feet are really starting to hurt. I've worn a good pair of flats from Clarks, but they've never had to deal with uphill and downhill sort of heavy walking before, and my feet were swollen. We stop at a patisserie and I buy a local Catalan pastry, with I think a custard centre. To my amazement, some German tourists come in and they speak to the owner in German, and she understands! In fact, all over Soller I noticed signs in German. The Germans really invaded alright, but peacefully I suppose.

The tram ride back to Palma is far more sedate, as Magali and I are dead tired. Back at Palma, it starts to rain a bit, and I manage to tease Magali back. I'd been carrying an umbrella in my backpack, London style, and she said it was a waste of space. Ahaha. We wander about for a bit, then we part as I say I want to shop around and she wants to talk more photos. I end up shopping lots (oh dear), and decide to eat KFC for dinner.

At KFC I ended up waiting for ages for my food. The consolation was that they fried the chicken really well. The Spanish man next to me very nicely offers his two ketchup packets, when he sees I've used all of mine. He smiles and I smile back. When he leaves, we wave goodbye to each other. I love little things like that. On my way back I stop at a mini-mart to buy water, and end up having a short conversation in Mandarin with the shopkeepers, who are from PRC. Back at the hostel, I end up reading East of Eden for hours, before my roommate comes back past midnight, and we go to sleep.

Day 3: 29 March

I wake at 10:54 am and promptly freak out. I have no idea how the heck I managed to sleep till so late, but eventually calm down when I realise it's ok. I slept badly the night before the trip, and on the first night, so more sleep is acceptable. Plus! I'm on holiday. I ought to relax. I realise my feet are still swollen and painful, but put on my flat shoes anyway.

I end up dressing slowly, and making my way to Placa St. Eulalia, and order tea and a tuna salad from a cafe. The sun's out, and it's nice and warm. The tuna salad however, sucks. While there, I realised that I forgot to bring out a scarf, and after finishing I try to head back to the hostel, but take a wrong turn somewhere (left instead of right) and end up near Placa Major, the old town square. Giving up, and taking it as a sign from God, I walk into a shoe store that I browsed on my first day, and ended up buying a pair of brown leather sandals that I was admiring. Still however, I didn't switch shoes as I intended to head to the Cathedral next, and didn't think it was respectful.

The entry to the Cathedral costs €4, but it's worth every penny. Inside, I'm awed by how beautiful the place it. The sun is nice and strong in Mallorca, and shines through the many stained glass windows throughout. Plus there are modernist bits like the chapel by Barcelo (weird and trippy looking) and the main Gaudi altarpieces (also weird and trippy looking, but less nightmarish than Barcelo).

Again after leaving the Cathedral (exit's located somewhere else), I take a wrong turn. However I spot a sign for the Arab Baths, another prominent tourist attraction, and decide to head for that instead. The Arab Baths turns out to be a mini hammam, which I guess is kinda cool. However it's more of a significance sort of thing rather than anything remarkable, as it's the only remaining Arab building in Majorca. Still, there's a nice garden outside, and I end up sketching the exterior in my handy dandy notebook, which eating pistachios. It was then that I finally switched to my new sandals and OH GOD, IT WAS SO GOOD. Like walking on marshmallows.

After the Arab Baths, I attempted to head to Placa la Reina, where the bus to Bellver is located. Yet again however, I am waylaid. This time by the Almudaina Palace which is open. There's a student concession, which is awesome. Almudaina is really nice, and a lovely change from the usual North-Western sort of Castles (take me to another English castle and I'll scream), plus as a bonus it's still being used as a Spanish royal residence.

The next bit however, was annoying. I was under the impression that there was a public number 50 bus that went to the tourist spots, different from the usual open-top sort of overpriced rubbish. Talking to a policeman however (who seems to be very very excited to talk to me for some reason, in his 1/2 English), I learn this is not the case and am disappointed. He directs me to another bus stop, and feeling uncomfortable from his exuberance, I started walking towards it as soon as he let me off, nevermind that I hadn't actually decided what to do. However the 29th is also a strike day, and upon reaching the bus stop I learn the next number 3 bus is almost 30 minutes away. I ended up pulling out a map, and trekking 20 minutes to the next bus stop on the tourist bus route. I was really not happy at the whole situation. Plus when the bus ambled along about 10 minutes later, I had to pay €15 for the ticket. Knn.

The spot I was so intent on visiting was a fort on a hill, called Castle Bellver. As an aside, the policeman called it "bonito". Anyway I suppose it was quite worth it. The view from the top showed the whole of Palma, and you could walk around the top. Somehow I really liked the Castle, although there wasn't must substantively to see or do. There was an exhibition on Jovellanos, who was a prisoner there during the Napoleonic era. Might include him in my exam answers. As I left, I spotted the bus about to leave and ended up running after it, like a mad woman. I caught it though, oho.

I ended up exiting the bus around Jaume III, which is a shopping area. I popped into a departmental store, in hopes of finding an adaptor, which I finally do. I end up however, spending a heck of a long time (and money) in the clothing department. When I finally made it up to the cafeteria, hungry as hell, I had to stop for a moment and admire the scene. The department store, was the tallest building around and had a clear view of the Cathedral and Almudaina Palace. The sun was at a lovely, evening sort of angle, and everything was a nice warm glow. I ordered a strange bolognese crepe.

After exiting the department store, I ended up going into a Mango nearby. As I was paying however, I started to hear shouts and recalled the strike. Magali mentioned something about a march starting at 6pm. I checked my watch and it was around 7:30 pm. True enough, I start to see hordes of people pass by on the streets all chanting, holding signs. A shopgirl from upstairs runs down and quickly shuts all the doors.

Not surprisingly, after leaving Mango, I followed the march. I must've been the unlikeliest person ever, carrying lots of shopping bags and being clearly not-Spanish, yet there I was, following and taking many photos. At one point, I half wondered if I was going to be lynched, as I stood in the path of the marchers with the banner, and realised it said 'ANTI-CAPITALISM' on it at the side. Of course it was a non-violent sort of thing, and I never felt like I was in danger at any point. When I finally decided to leave them, I realised I was near the spot where I had dinner on the first night. I ended up at a place called St. Ambros or something, eating a not-too-tasty vegetable lasagne cause all the seafood was sold out. Still, I was too exhilarated and happy to care much. Also very exhausted.

On my way back to the hostel again, I stopped by the mini-mart. It's called Estrella. This time, I ended up having an extended conversation with the Chinese couple. Apparently the mini-mart is owned by their daughter, and they help out at night. They came over from Fujian 5 years ago with their entire family. We spoke a bit about me traveling alone, the strike and how they liked Spain. Funnily enough, they even mentioned the lack of manners in China, and how they much preferred it here as a result. They spoke pidgin Spanish (their daughter's the one that speaks it properly), and when I was there I ended up trying to help them translate a little for English speaking tourists. I felt kinda puffed up and proud of my heritage, just for that moment, aha. Then I went back to the hostel and watched more Adventure Time.