Crime Scene

Crime Scene

Amy popped back to London for the night to surprise her sister who is spending a few nights with her folks en-route to a work reccy in Rome.

So naturally I fell into default alone mode…supermarket for supper, then beers and sparkling wine (@ £1.80p for very decent fizz, it would be an insult not to) to settle down to the rugby 6 Nations this afternoon.

Still an hour to go before kick off, so I took my book down to the terrace by the beach to get some rays, layered up for winter wind but the sun was good.

As I lay there, a foxy local chica approached me and asked if I had wi-fi access from the apartments. I of course didn’t understand her, so she rephrased in good English.

I watched her return to the quiet beach, her daughter and I assumed her mother. I in turn returned to my Sebastian Faulk.

Within minutes, and directly before me, she had removed all her clothes except her G-string and attempted the sea, which was obviously much too cold.

She then withdrew, dried her feet off and moved towards a large rock near me, squatted against the rock, pulled back her string and took a piss.

Of course at this point my glasses were hitched upon my head and I focused not on Sebastian's words, but the wintry beach before me.

Having relieved herself, she stepped over to the waters edge and rinsed her pee hand…perhaps ironically…I’m not sure?

Needless to say, I was impressed.

Her bohemian brazenness moved me. It was sunny sure, but not hot and she had removed everything but her skimpy nicks and proceeded to piss against a rock in front of me…

She was obviously I was still there...watching, which left me wondering if this was:

A)   A simple territorial tagging, like a dog marking its patch?

B)   A busy woman getting caught short, realising the sea was just too cold for a sneaky ‘woman pretending to swim’ pees, whilst forgetting there was an onlooker just yards away?

C)   A flirtatious Mediterranean display, put on for my benefit….

Yeah think C’s the one, …..and I’ve still got it, eh? Women still get urge to piss themselves when they meet me!

Not My Damaged Nostrils Then?

So its not my damaged nostrils or old man paranoia! Everywhere I look, amongst the hedgerows and pine trees, a nice green wild bush called Buxus sempervirens, (Boxwood). Lauded by landscape designers and architects but generally infamous for it's  stink of cat urine! The whole area smells of piss!!!...thought I might be a bit more upset, but once the tribulations of the ferries are banished and I realise its just nature (of the plant type), I get to warm to it!!
Right, a few days have passed as been rushing around trying to find our feet. Spent my birthday in a real rural Mallorcan eatery in mountain town of Bunyola. Had Frito Mallorquin, a favourite dish of mine from yesteryear...chips, bacon, liver in a lovely garlic gravy. Either time has abused my memory or the variations exceed my imagination.....what I had today was just chewy offaly bits (meant to be liver, but I didn't think liver was grissly and fatty). As Amy politely pushed every dark and rubbery bit to the side of her plate, I thought I would Man up, and get rustic!.....I withheld my gaging impulse throughout and heroically just left a few bits of heart or stretched anus on the plate. This is usually a fantastic dish, but just think the cook had a heavy one the night before and used the dregs on this one! (probably from his arse). I put on a smile for the camera, but that smile was just of relief it was over!

Still chewing and still smiling

I’ve seen this beautiful island in various stages over the past 40 years, from humming popular ascent to grim deterioration. I’ve visited here through the holiday seasons, from early spring to late autumn, but never in the depths of winter.

 

I thought I would find it morose and depressing, which maybe I would have in younger years, but in this wintry hibernation it possesses a weird tranquillity and a kind of enduring dignity.

From the empty, boarded up decrepit tourist strips of Magaluf and Palmanova, to the hidden colder rural mountain retreats, 

 Last one standing or Early Bird?

                                                        Valldemosa, Tramuntana Beauty

there is a sense of absolute normality enjoyed by the residents, local and imported alike. 

Just taking a breath, consolidation and recharge of batteries, in readiness for the next tourist insurgence.

 

Platje des Trenc..series of old pillboxes a reminder of a feisty past

The island had its great boom years and inevitably, the bust years, but seems to have found an equilibrium to satisfy most residents. Constantly fighting for survival.

It sold it's soul for the tourist Peseta, but soon many felt buyer’s remorse.

It really did once have quite a sophisticated tourist market, which eventually found more pleasing destinations, leaving behind just the types who don’t care so much about much.

That was a while ago and the island has rebalanced and really does seem content now, or at least, resigned and settled to its position....sounds familiar.

Been travelling the island with Amy the last few days, checking on where we want to settle for our brief stay here (a bit of work and a lot of fun we hope). 

The resorts are just not appealing (in summer, spring or winter) The depths of the Tramuntana mountains, though stunningly beautiful feel just a bit too taxing for my ageing bones, with their snowy peaks and rainy disposition (we came away partly to avoid London weather, so don’t want to volunteer ourselves to more), so their foothills appeal and we find ourselves drawn away from the capital of Palma and the south east, to go up north eastwards to the ancient town of Pollenca.

The rental market here is annoyingly fickle, dominated by the tourist patterns of course so our choices appear very limited as we just need somewhere for a few months and the vast majority of quality property is already rented out for the lucrative months from Easter to summer.