Nicole schreibt...

Mallorca 2010

Having earned this year's travellers' cred by jaunting about Vietnam and Cambodia solo in spring, I figured I could allow myself a few days of merely crashing out on some nice Mediterranean beach for a summer vacation. The initial destination of choice had been the Greek island of Rhodos, but what with the Greeks going on strike at the drop of a hat during the whole spring, it seemed too risky to end up stranded at the airport. And then there was the none too small matter of the football world cup being held in early summer, something I did not want to miss. I remembered the fun I had on Mallorca five years ago when we accidentally stumbled across a football match at the Playa de Palma and watched it with hundreds of fans at the Mega Park and my supposed travelmate who's never been too curious to check out new places and widening his horizon was eager to return to Mallorca anyway. So I thought: Why the heck not? Ironically said travelmate let me drop dead at rather short notice without any sensible explanation (thanks for nothing, if you are reading this), but luckily I could find a replacement - and off we were to the Playa de Palma, that gorgeous five mile-stretch of golden beach to the west of Mallorca's capital.

Our hotel, the four-star Garonda, proved to be a good choice, for it was not only directly on the beach, but it was also located at Balneario 8, safely far away from the drunken madness of Balneario 6 aka Ballermann and the Schinkenstrasse ("Ham Street") with its huge pubs and discos where all the swarms of lowlives flock to spend a week or two completely off their heads on cheap beer and sangria (Americans: Think spring break). Interesting observation: It were only the boys who travelled in larger groups (that oddly enough seemed to invariably consist of the same types: 2-3 handsome fit guys, 2-3 pale computer nerds and one fatty), while girls only appeared in pairs, rarely in threes and never more.

Since we got there in the evening only, there was nothing to do but to grab dinner at the hotel (already included in our demi-pension) and go for a walk on the beach promenade to the Mega Park, where I had seen the game five years ago, but which had transformed into a huge disco by now, full of drunk teenagers and a couple of emaciated girls in bikini dancing on tables as go-go girls. Ugh.

Thursday we spent the morning on the beach and in the afternoon took the bus into Palma, which I hadn't really been able to see on that last trip (despite having a hotel in Palma, go figure) and which turned out to be a really pretty town full of leafy avenues and grand buildings of the Belle Epoque. Above is the Passeig del Born, a short but gorgeous broad boulevard to stroll along and the town hall. Below are two examples of the pretty old buildings that dot the city. It seemed almost surreal that a bus ride of merely 20 minutes could transport you from a rowdy mass tourism beach to this pretty Spanish town where we could enjoy proper Spanish food and wine and also try the ensaimades, the traditional mallorquin pastry (something like a croissant in a different snail-like shape). I was pleased to find Jorge Drexler's new CD at the Corte Ingles store and to find desigual, but unlike Zara or Mango, that shop didn't turn out to be cheaper in its country of origin. Boo.

Friday was the "footie warm up" when Holland played Brazil in the quarter final. We watched the first half at the Mega Park, since I already knew that love nor money would get us in there for the Germany game the next day (They opened the door at 10am and by 11am shut it to newcomers because it was crowded!), but it wasn't as good as I remembered it. They kept the idiotic stomping disco music going throughout, braindead teenagers stood in front of the screens and overall there was such a busy coming and going that it was impossible to focus on the match. So for the second half we relocated to a quieter nice lounge where we could actually focus on what was going on and enjoy Holland's great victory.

Saturday was D-Day - and since it had been pointless to fork out for the sunloungers and umbrellas on the beach for only a few hours, we had decided to do our bike tour to Palma that morning - a perfectly signposted new bike trail along the coast all the way into Palma proper that takes a little less than one hour at a leisurely pace.

We stopped in Can Pastilla briefly for a look at the Hotel Alexandra there, where I had spent a family vacation many many years ago and finally came to the Parc de la Mar underneath Palma's mighty Cathedral, our destination. It had been closed both times I had tried to visit it (well, actually just one conscious try in 2005, my Mom had told me we had stood in front of closed doors back then too) but now it was open at last - and wow, what a fabulous huge airy building it was full of gorgeous interiors including some stuff by that great Catalan architect Gaudí and another even more modern chapel from 2007.

Pay attention to the gorgeous reflections of light that seemed to bathe the whole cathedral in warm colors... I tried to capture them on this photo and not too badly I think. Above on the left is the altarpiece by Gaudí though if I figured out a board that was written only in Catalan properly, this is only a copy as the original is currently being refurbished. Since the use of flash was forbidden in the cathedral, most pictures didn't come out too well.
Gardens of Almudaina Palace

Right next to the cathedral is the Almudaina Palace, once upon a time seat of Mallorca's independent kings. These days a part of it has been converted into a museum, another part is still being used by Spain's King Carlos who spends part of his summer on Mallorca every year. We didn't enter the actual palace but enjoyed a look at the peaceful gardens that reminded me a little of the Generalife gardens of the Alhambra in Granada.
We also took a look at the pretty Parc de la Mar that was created some years ago when the whole seafront was overhauled (below left) and strolled through Palma's pretty old town where some of the ancient houses of the town's rich merchants and nobles offer a peek into their gorgeous inner courtyards before finally stopping for some more ensaimades and cafe con leche.

There's nary a German tribe that's so relentlessy patriotic and keen on bringing their "culture" everywhere than the citizens of Cologne and so it was no surprise to find a Kölsch Pub called "Et Dömsche" (okay... you seriously want me to translate that? Try The little cathedral - referring of course to the one in Cologne (Dom) and not the one in Palma (Catedral) where we could watch the Germany game with other Colognians.

Dear readers, I do not remember too much of it. I know we played a fabulous game and clobbered the Argentinians 4-0. I know the whole pub hooted whenever Diego Maradona's sad teddybear face was shown on the screen. I know there were prodigious amounts of sangria involved and that, after the game, I fled the stifling heat of the pub to jump into the sea fully clothed and waving a soggy German flag. Luckily there is no photographic proof of that, so if asked I shall deny it all. Of course we had planned to cheer our Spanish friends and hosts in the evening as well, but after dinner the long day, the bike tour, the partying and the sangria all took their toll and I watched the game in bed, half asleep.

Not surprisingly, Sunday was a day of rest on the beach, to take it easy, although sadly by midday it clouded over (the first and only time during the trip!) and we decided to go back to Palma for another walk around town and to have a cafe con leche, almond cake and ensaimadas. The town was extremely sleepy though, with virtually everything closed and only a few puzzled tourists wandering about looking lost. Well, the reason was revealed on a TV screen at the cafe: Local boy Rafael Nadal was playing the Wimbledon final and the Mallorquins were glued to their TV sets.

Sangria

At least on Monday the weather was great again so we could have one last full day in the sunshine on the beach, swimming, reading and not doing much at all before it was time to pack and sleep early, having to get up at 6.15am for the morning flight to Cologne.

I did enjoy this return to Mallorca and especially to finally see Palma properly. And I could envision another trip to Mallorca to see other areas, perhaps a few days on horseback to explore the inner areas of the island, stuff like that. But after five full days at the Playa de Palma, I admit I've had it with this kind of German package tourism. At least the English were mercifully absent here, but I really don't need to fly south for two hours to end up in what might as well be Cologne's bathing lake surrounded entirely by Germans and German food and booze (well, except the sangria). How ludicrous things have become was shown on Monday noon where we wanted to have some tapas one last time and had to pass 4-5 restaurants all offering schnitzels and currywursts until we finally found a place that had tapas at all and most of them rather blah (chicken nuggets are NOT tapas, sorry amigos). For a quick getaway for these days and especially in combination with the football world cup, it was fine and well - but next time I'll be someplace where I can really feel being abroad.