Meandering Mallorca

          The 4 am cab to the bus station was awful, I was half asleep and was struggling to stay awake the entire time.  Of course the bus stop was closer than I thought, and I was there at 4:15.  I did some head bobbing (you know the type), where I awoke every time gravity took over and my head hit my chest.  I set my alarm for 4:50 and shivered myself to sleep in the deserted bus terminal.  Once the bus arrived, I slept walked onto the bus into my seat and woke up in Girona an hour later.  It was 6:30 by the time I was through security and I tried to sleep on a row of chairs until I boarded at 8:30 (only thing I got from that was a bad pain in my neck, no rest).  The flight was typical; we took off, bumped around a little bit (thank you Ryan Air, [worse than Difficult Jet]), and landed.  I collected my baggage and went to the tourist office to gain my bearings.
          Bus 1 took me the 10 km northeast to the heart of Palma for 2 euros.  I was shocked to find a city, which was similar to Marseille in building type and size.  This port city holds nearly half of the islands population with 390,000 inhabitants.  I took an intercity bus (#3) to the closet stop to Hostal Corona and scurried up to the gate as if my life depended on it.  And it did, I was delirious; pulling an all nighter before traveling to an unknown place (alone) was not my greatest of plans.
          Once Lupa showed me my room;

 a nice size single with a tiny view of the water,

I jumped on the bed for "a little" shut eye.  I awoke at 2; I had slept for 3 1/2 hours.  Not exactly my original plan, but it was much needed.
          Bus 3 took me back to the center, where I walked along the port towards the gigantic cathedral.  There was an enclosed lake at the bottom of it, and it looked like a good place to sit.  It was peaceful sitting there, admiring the enormity of the 17th century Gothic cathedral which was unfortunately closed due to siesta

(I did make it in later to see Gaudi's altar centerpiece and Miquel Barcelo's rendition of the miracle of the loaves and fishes).  I walked still further before making a left to find streets to wander.
          Palma is said to be full of spectacular courtyards and if you look closely, they are everywhere.  I stopped in a few, before entering a book store.

   

It was ran by a british lad that brought all his books from England and opened shop here.  A sucker for food and cooking books, I bought 2; one in spanish about the Balearic Island Cuisine (I don't know why in spanish, maybe Beto can help me out) and another in english about spanish food in general.
           Other stores proved fruitful as well.  I bought a shirt and a beaker full of saffron (what am I gonna do with this stuff?).  The place I bought the saffron was also a sausage and meats store,

one of the many hippies in these islands didn't appreciate their candid uses of meat and proclaimed their opinion on the door next door.

I transitioned from explorer to beach bum and spent the next hour and a half on the beach.  It was a nice beach, a little crowded (for the time of year, I was expecting empty), but serene nonetheless.

At dark, it was time for my siesta.  I returned to town at 9:30 looking for some grub.  Sections of the town streets were blockaded for the nightly Easter procession.  These people, dressed like the KKK (no negative connotation here), march all over the city to the beat of drums.

     

Some hold crucifixes, others candles, and others shrines.  Children are involved as well, but they down wear the cone shaped hats.  Each parish has their own color and patch, but to a foreigner, it looks like a city wide clan meeting in Montgomery, Alabama.
          At dinner, I had some tapas and chatted with the couple next to me.

       

(Left: Variati (Calamars, Xampinons, croquetes i patates amb allioli [Fried Calamari, Champignon mushrooms, potato croquettes, and potato salad with homemade aioli], Center: Tapa de pollastre a la riojana [Chicken Rioja], Right: Patatas Bravas (French fries with spicy sauce [basically thousand island])

They were Americans from the midwest, who now live in Amsterdam, but keep a house in Atlanta.  The guy was stationed in Fort Ord during his stint in the army and loves carmel (it really is a tiny world).
          The next day, I traveled to two remote cliff towns on the island's northwest coast.  It doesn't get much better than getting dropped off at a hillside farm town with a population of 350.  The bus in to Estellence was spectacular, a little frightening, but spectacular.  It cost 3.50 euro to bus from Placa d'Espanya to travel 60 windy kilometers to Estellencs.  The travel book said that it is a hilly town which hikers and cyclists use as base camp.  This was an understatement.  Forget the Tour de France, I want to watch the Tour de Mallorca.  Who knows if there actually is one, but this road would justify it.  Winding like in the Pyrenees, the road through the Serra de Tramuntana mountains hugs the cliffside with white knuckles, or maybe that was me on the bus.  The intrepid bus driver was obviously oblivious to this side of the islan's austere beauty, and drove as though the entire world looked this way.  I can tell you it doesn't, and I appreciated its pine forests, dropping cliffs, and white capped ocean much more than the urban sprawl that is Palma.

              Once I got off the bus, I had no idea of what to do.  Kinda the theme of my trip, I just took off and left my surroundings behind me.  Since this is only day two of ever being alone on vacation, some restraints do remain and I went into one of the three hotels and asked for a map.  With a blank stare, she asked if I meant the island and that Estellencs doesn't need one, there is only one main road through it.  With that, I took a dirt/paved road down through the sprawling agricultural terraces and headed to the ocean.

       

It was a lovely hike where I found sheep (whose front and rear legs were chained together on one side for some reason I can't comprehend), a horse, mountain goat, ponies, and a turtle.  It was just of 1.5 km of switch backs down to the islands edge.  What was there was not a beach, but a rocky coastline with 8 - 10 ft swells dancing playfully on the jagged cliffs.  There was a way down to the water where a small boat port resisted the oceans force, but not much else.  

   

   

   

Instead, I climbed the rocks out to the edge simliar to those found in Pacific Grove or Pebble beach but of completely different rock.  This stuff was porous and sharp to the tough (I believe of volcanic origin) where as the Monterey Peninsula is litered with sandstone.  I took my pearch like I have done at Point Lobos, and thought about how small I am and admired the red rock slopes in front of me.  There's something about listening to the ocean and gazing at a 1025 meter high mountain behind you that makes you realize what is important.  This thought would remain with me for the rest of the afternoon and prove useful as well.
          After 15 - 20 minutes, it was time to leave because it would take me a good 40 minues (the sign said an hour) to climb back to the top; I needed to be back by 5 so I could make the bus to Banyalbufar 8 km away.  I started the hike back up the hill at a pace in between speed walking and job, hoping I could keep the stride on the steep parts.  Soon my sweatshirt was off and hip support on the backpack was on.  I was drenched in sweat and wished I had more water with me, but even still it felt great to hike.  This endorphins business is real; I hadn't felt this good in a while and this enjoyment was coming from walking up a 40% grade in 23 degree celsius weather.  I thought it would be a great accomplishment to make it to the top in under 40 minutes and sped up.  But all of a sudden a car came whipping around the corner below me (it startled me because I had my ipod in, thanks Dierks Bentley) and I stuck out the thumb.  They stopped and the German couple inside was kind enough to lug my sweaty ass the rest of the distance.  At the top, I offered to pay them something and they quickely declined.  I said thank you a million times and with this extra 15 minutes headed to the one bar in town.  I got a refreshing beer and bought a bottle of wine that was made locally in town.  I had conquered the slopes that the grapes had grown from, so why not drink that memory on some later date?  With beer in hand, I sat outside relishing my last few moments in Estellencs by overlooking the valley I had just trekked.

          At the bus stop, I talked to a group of 14 women, all of them greying, who were friends from Palma but originally from all different towns in Mallorca.  They gaffed at my itinerary for spending 2 days in Formentera and 2 in Ibiza, stating that I should spend 4 here and 2 there.  Not a bad idea, now that I had been there, but my travels were booked.  The bus arrived and I got some quick shut eye in before the second hike in Banyalbufar.
          I was dropped off on the outskirts of town, so 20 buildings away from the other end.  It was similar to Estellencs, a few buildings left, a few right, and a road going through it.  I started walking towards the middle and took a left down some steps not knowing where they would lead.  It lead to the farmland below and after opening a gate that said private, I was next to an irrigation pool and a chicken coop.  There irrigation was impressed me, water flows down the hill in a series of covered and uncovered ditches and then drains into a pool which is probably 10 x 10 and then starts all over again, like a series of lakes and rivers.

It was a dead end however, and I trekked back up.  After stopping in a couple of shops, I took another left, this one with more promise.  It was a winding street through a couple rows of houses and then opened up into farmland and ocean views.  This switchback trail led down to the village core.  I thought it was comical to see corn growing because Michael Pollen is currently describing the industrial corn business to me in his book Omnivore's Dilemma.

   

I don't think these kernels made it into the commercial corn highway that would end up as a Big Mac or Coke.

          Once I got down the steps to the baech, I saw another boat dock and a breakwall.  What was different from Estellencs was a waterfall coming down off the 50 ft. cliff.  The one thing wrong with the beach was there was this material covering the sand.  IT was almost feathery and took on qualities and color of mud.  It was everywhere and as I learned later, on many beaches across these islands.  I'm not sure what it is, but it reminds me of frayed rope that has accumulated, but it can't be, there is too much of it.

     

          After a quick photo sesh and moment pondering life, it was back up the same steps to the tope of the 460 person town to make the bus back to Palma (a place I wasn't too interested in going after coming here).  When you get out into these small towns and you can hear your thoughts, things change.  The world is a playground not an obstacle.  It works to please you, not you to tire over it.  These travels have taught me that there is so much in this world besides me.  If someone really traveled, even if an international celebrity, or president, I don't understand how you could be self-centered (Obama).  The world doesn't revolve around any of us, it's just there, and we do whatever we can to make it our own.

          The bus came about 2 minutes later and the bus back to Palma was "easy" with the same spectacular views and frightening turns.  That night in Palma, I took it easy.  My ferry was at 8 and it said to be there at 7.  so becoming Paka (my grandpa for those that don't know), I set my alarm for 6:20, but woke up at 4:30 and 5:30, worrying that I missed it.  Dinner wasn't great, although I did have the best patatas bravas I've ever had.  Gastronomically, I can tell you 3 places not to go on Palma, but no one place to go.  Antsy for my ferry, I was restless form 4:30 on.  I finally rose out of bed at 6:30 got dressed and left Hostal Corona behind me.  I waited for the bus to show up, but after 15 minutes nothing came.  I succumbed to a taxi and arrived at port at 5 til' 7.  Boarding was easy (my 2 bottles of wine and saffron made it through easily) and I climbed onto the behemoth of a boat.  It was the size of a cruise ship with a capacity of 900.  I took a seat close to the door and prepared for sleep.  The only way to describe the cabin is to compare it to an airplane.  There were rows of 2-3-2 on each side and in the middle were chairs and tables to sit at, a duty-free store, a bar, and a ball pit for kids to play in.  The seats were similar to domestic first class with ample room for everyone.  What has surprised me up to this point was the amount of handicapped access that the island and this boat offered.  What made this clear was the blind man sitting 2 rows away from me.  Once his friend had helped him into his seat and exited the boat, an attendant (is that what they are called for a boat like this?) came over and told him if he needed anything just to buzz her and she would be right over.

         It's nice to see people helping each other like that; it let's you know that there is good out there, that it's not full of selfish assholes.  With that happiness, I promptly fell asleep to the gentle rocking of the boat.

Things that didn't make it in to this post, but worth noting.  The Cathedral:

      

The color on the girl is caused by the second stained glass window, the metal thing is Gaudi's alter piece, and the final chapel is the miracle of the loaves and fishes (pay close attention to the windows, they were very distinct and decorative).

The Mercat de l'Olivar which had a vast seafood and vegetable market

     

Mallorca was an unbelievable place.  I was happy to have a few days by myself and experience traveling alone.  Although the entire trip was planned alone, two friends decided that they liked my trip better and ditched theirs.  I met them in Ibiza, where the journey continues next time...