Strange co-incidences pt. 94

We got back from holiday fine. Onto a dirty train at Gatwick full of nasty Sussex oiks. And I mean "f-ing, c- ing" retards. Welcome home...

Two days ago I found myself driving along the Euston Road, crossing over Baker Street. And for the rest of the journey I was trying my damnedest to get that song out of my head. Have you ever tried whistling it, you know, straight from your head? Could I get the sax solo right, the bit where it goes all twiddly? No, I could not.

And then for the co-incidence.

First let me explain that way, way back, when I was at boarding school, I used to spend half-term holidays in this country, either with my maiden great-aunt in Salisbury, or sometimes with my sister and brother, who shared a house in Bramley, near Guildford. And we would go to a pub, the Wheatsheaf, where I would have a Coke while my siblings would consume pints, and we would play pool, and I would put some pocket money (25p?) in the juke box, and my favourite selection was Gerry Rafferty's Baker Street. 

And yesterday afternoon, re-routing my sat-nav to avoid a congested M25, completely unexpectedly I found myself driving through ... Bramley. And past the Wheatsheaf, and there's Baker Street pounding inside my head yet again.

The end of the holiday

After our trip to Sóller we ate again at Ses Oliveres.

And yesterday was a bit of a non-day really, and in the evening after cocktails at the hotel, we ate at a little tucked-away upstairs terrace restaurant.

And today we fly home...

The Spanish Armada* is late

Bit pf a catch-up here, sorry.

More sun yesterday - wow this is soooo tiring! Lay by the pool for an hour again, then a little later sat on the beach while Steve swam enjoyably in the sea for a while, doing handstands! That is to say, he was doing handstands in the sea - I wasn't doing them on the beach...

Last night we walked further round than usual, to 'Es Passeig' restaurant. Apart from a German mother and her two unruly kids nearby all was good. We started with salads and I had spagetti while Steve had fish - as in a whole fish, baked. I've never been keen when fish is served with head and tail intact, and eating it is more a biology lesson disection exercise than a meal. Still, he seemed to be enjoying himself.

During the course of the meal my new green check shirt, already well-fitting, became tight, so now I am officially fat.

Despite the service being slow and us dragging the meal out as long as possible with dessert and coffees, we still found that Miguel Pastor was playing his merrie organe when we got back to the hotel, so we ordered cocktails and endured (and I do not use the word in any exaggerated sense) it for half an hour before going to bed where we could still hear him murdering various standards ('Please Release Me' springs to mind for some reason) as well as unknown Spanish compositions.

A word or two about birds. This morning while sitting out on the balcony just before the 0800 national anthem from the naval base (only the usually-efficient Spanish Armada* didn't play it until 0805 today) I watched three swallows (or were they swifts?) wheeling about, almost in formation like little jet fighters, catching insects before the heat of the sun. There are sparrows everywhere here: they hop onto the back of the chair next to you when you are eating a sandwich at an outdoor café, they flit around the hotel balconies looking for dropped crumbs, and I even watched one hopping along the beach yesterday. And they're noisy little buggers. Ducks here like the sea - a lot. We often see two or three bobbing along a few metres from the beach. In the dried up river you can see ducks, geese, seagulls and last night some weird bird (like a chicken or turkey yet with webbed feet). And when we went for a wander the other day to a great place up by the old church (now a museum) where you can sit and look out over the headland to the exit from the harbour, we watched a gull for probably five minutes wheeling about without flapping his wings even once, enjoying the air currents off the cliff face. I swear he was enjoying himself.

You can hail the tram right outside our hotel, and this morning we did so, and clattered our way into Sóller where we spent three hours or so having a coffee, a look around the shops, a longish (for us) walk through orange and lemon groves, some lunch including of course plenty of fresh local orange juice (Sóller's wealth is built on oranges), and then caught the tram back.

I may have mentioned this before, but when I was little I came to Port de Sóller with my parents on holiday from Paris, where we lived at the time. Way, way back in my memory I can recall visting a shop where Dad bought the large olive wood cheese board and fruit bowl they still use to this day. Now I think I found the same shop/workshop in Sóller, right by the tram terminus. On chatting to the nice lady inside I discovered it opened forty years ago (which would be about right) and the photograph of the then owner she showed me brought back more memories...

Oh, and when we arrived back at the hotel - joy of joys - the air-conditioning is on. Won't go lower than 21° unfortunately, but hey, it's air-con!

*Armada in Spanish just means Navy

Fantastic news!

See what we have to look forward to tonight!!

A day in Palma de Mallorca

After breakfast, a 'Tunnel Express' bus direct to Palma, for a gentle day of sightseeing.

In the 'Museu d'Art Espanyol Contemporani' I sat for some time in front of a large yellow daubing, but try as I might I didn't get it. It was cheerful, though. There were some things of interest (including some Picassos and Dalis).

We did a little fashion shoot in a colourfully-lit exhibit (at least I think it was an exhibit: it might have been a tanning salon).

Then we visited the 'Palau March Museu' to see some sculptures (including by Henry Moore and Barbara Hepworth) and some absolutely stunning eighteenth-century Neapolitan Nativity scenes. See more of these pics here.

Then we just went a bit touristy, had a spot of lunch in a café on a square, wrote some postcards, wandered the shops, had a rather expensive coffee in a very hip establishment called Cappuccino, where we were paying for the exclusivity and the ambience, before catching the slow mountain bus back through Valldemossa and the beautiful village of Deià (where Michael and Catherine famously live).

A special meal

Once every holiday we treat ourselves to an extra-special meal and last night we did so, slightly unexpectedly, when, on a whim, we decided to dine at 'Randemar', a fine restaurant set behind a hedge and a railing, which we have passed many times on our way to eat at lesser establishments.

We had the full works, and where Steve had a main of duck, I chose a tuna steak. And I learned something new. Now I would have expected the answer to the question, "How would you like your tuna steak cooked, sir?" to be, simply, "Properly, please." However, I have discovered that the correct answer is, "Medium, please." We enjoyed a bottle of fine, dry white wine, and I finished with a delicious sorbet.

When we returned to the hotel for a drink in the bar, the stereo treated us to possibly my worst nightmare: Karen Carpenter* followed by Chris de Burgh followed by the Everly Brothers followed by the Jackson Five ("Ben") followed by - Gawd help us - the Bee Gees with "Massachusetts". At least we are, so far at least, spared any of the outside 'entertainments' which we endured last time we were here, as the season hasn't properly started yet.

*Apparently I'm not allowed to diss Karen Carpenter.

Another beautiful day in paradise

Possibly the hottest day yet saw us going for a wander after breakfast around the old lanes above the marina, stopping at a bar to sit and watch the world of Port Sóller go about its business.

The myna bird we occasionally hear wolf-whisling lives in a cage on a balcony above the dress shop next-door.

I rarely sunbathe even on holiday, but this afternoon I spend a very pleasant hour covered in lotion on a sunbed by the hotel pool.

I have declared that I fancy fish tonight.

2 pictures

Me last night in the hotel bar.

Steve swimming in the pool this afternoon.

Hotels

This is the second time we have stayed in the Hotel Eden in Port de Sóller.

But there are two other hotels here I like the look of:

The Hotel Aimia, which is next door,

and the imposing Espléndido.

Sunshine does not equal happiness

I'm aware that my blogs on holiday are beginning to be a bit "...and this is what we ate for lunch, and the weather is hot..." rather boring nonsense. So a change is needed.

Last night unfortunately I was feeling down. It doesn't happen too often, but with Steve ill - indeed, signed off sick - with severe depression, it doesn't help when I too find myself feeling low. It's difficult to see what's happening around us with any kind of objectivity; it's like we're both trapped in the tentacles of some sea monster. There was a problem with the paella; there was a problem with noise (it was Saturday night, and I think the local youths were just letting off steam); and there was a problem with the heat (which might seem odd as the weather is now so wonderful after the rains - but when you're down, any problem is just a problem).

There is, we discovered this morning after talking to the hotel, nothing to be done about the air-conditioning - which doesn't come on in the room even with the balcony door closed - it's automatic. Whether or not the heat today will trigger it to come on tonight, we shall find out.

Steve has been writing the first essay of his OU course today to submit later, so I've been paddling, wandering, photographing, and reading. There are pictures here (from number 33 to 48).

The History Of Port De Sóller

I have shamelessly copied this from the back of the menu at 'Albatros', our favourite morning coffee bar.

"The Port de Sóller has long attracted an ocean of conquerors, invaders, settlers and now tourists, who have all contributed to its rich and colourful history.

"The first settlers were shepherds and metal prospectors arriving around 4000BC who buried their people in rock carved caves. Next came the Talayotic period around 1000BC and cone-shaped towers can still be seen from this time. Phoenician and Greek traders followed and it's probable that the name Balearic comes from ballein, the Greek for sling throwing. These skilled sling-throwers helped the Carthaginians fight the Greeks and Romans. By 123BC the Romans had control of Mallorca introducing their infrastructures, roads, towns and Christianity. However, during the 10th century the island was annexed to the Emirate of Córdoba and followed 300 years of Muslim rule.

"The port was formed as part of the territory known as Sulyar (Valley of Gold) and with a strategic position between Africa and Islamic Spain, trade prospered as agriculture improved. In 1229 the prosperity tempted King Jaume I of Aragón and Catalunya who, angry with the Emir of Mallorca for stealing his ships, took the island. The northern port established itself as the centre of the great trading routes and a lucrative export trade of oranges, lemons and olive oil followed - evidence can be seen in the manor houses and farms whose façades show an elegance that is unusual in Mallorca. However, trade was continuously threatened by attacks from bandits and bloody battles were fought and won between the Moors and Christians over the following centuries. Each year proud locals celebrate the Mallorcan victory known as 'Es Firo' with a mock battle - a fascinating and energetic festival not to be missed*.

"With the growth of the shipping trade during the Middle Ages and up to the French Revolution, the Port of Sóller prospered with an extensive fleet of merchant ships, fishing boats and shipping lines. In the eighteenth century a commercial port was fitted out with new quays. However the Civil War (1936-1939) changed the focus of the Port. After the Civil War, the shipping trade had virtually disappeared, though the Port soon took on a new challenge with the growth and demand of tourism.

"Now the port enjoys a much more passive role where a proud traditional culture and lively fishing industry quietly live alongside the unique combination of mountains, beach and sea which attract visitors from far and wide."

*We did miss it - by two days.

We'll pass over the "Christianity" introduced by the Romans in 123BC, the quick skim over the Civil War and the complete lack of any mention of WWII, shall we? But that gives you a flavour of where we are.

...and a goat sneezed

This morning we hiked up to the lighthouse on the promontory, which is a fair way, though the views out to sea, and back towards the town, are magnificent. And there are goats in them thar hills. Goats sneeze, too, which sounds quite funny.

We had cold drinks (I had lemonade) at the top.

The houses whose entrance gates we had passed on the road on the way up revealed themselves in all their glory against the cliff-face on the way back down.

This evening

Steve paddled in the sea earlier.

Now you want to know what we ate tonight, don't you? We started with just some bread, olive oil/garlic mayonnaise and some olives. Then Steve had chicken, and I had grilled swordfish and a baked potato.

We watched the sun set, always a magical moment in Port de Sóller. Then we - perhaps foolishly - ordered tiramisù for dessert, before escaping back to the hotel for coffee (Steve) and vodka-based-cocktail (me).

Insmonia

Ses Oliveras was open last night, so we had a fantastic meal. Please, if you ever come to Port de Sóller, promise you will visit Ses Oliveras, and order the shoulder of lamb. You will not regret it.

Was the waiter Dutch, or Welsh? Did it rain, and rain, and rain? Was the place full of ex-pat Brits? Did that matter? Was it annoying that two people, favoured guests, perhaps family of the owner*, were smoking inside, and when I asked if I could smoke I was told, no?

*He has a portait of himself, a painting, hung above the entrance to the toilets. It's a fairly large painting, and was done a few years ago when he was a little less grey than he is now. But he is a very nice man, and when we paid our second visit in a week two years ago, we left with a bottle of wine from him as a gift, so he is forgiven for all these things. And his lamb is so, so nice.

It is possible, in hindsight, that the vodka cocktail in the hotel bar aftwerwards was one drink too many.

I woke at precisely 0340hrs. Boom. Wide awake. Absolutely, completely, totally awake. I toyed with the following possibilities: going and sitting naked on the balcony and watching the lighthouse; setting up the laptop and randomly surfing; putting the light on and reading. I did none of these things, but lay, staring at the ceiling, contemplating the fact that I was so much happier being awake here, with the sound of the sea lapping against the beach, than back at home, with the alarm perhaps due to go off at 7.15... I think that helped me drift off again.

In fact the alarm did go off just before 8. This was because I had caught drifts of an anthem wafting from unseen PA speakers somewhere nearby each morning at about this time, and I wanted to get up, go outside and work out where. Now I know it comes from the (very small) naval base across the harbour. I recorded it, and offer this file (only as a WMA until I get home) for you to listen to. Is it the Spanish National Anthem? Anyone?

So, I was up. But Steve wasn't. He felt rough. A heady mixture of beer, wine and vodka cocktails, and the (perfectly legal, indeed prescribed) head-drugs that are slowly but surely twisting his mind back into the shape it should be, conspired to make him feel like s**t. Or that's what he told me, anyway. So I went to breakfast, smuggling back some of those trifle sponge fingers, before sitting out in the sun/cloud/sun/cloud/sun/cloud by the pool with a decent cup of coffee, until he joined me. Some people were even attempting to sun-bathe.

And now, later on, the sun shines very brightly upon us, and all is well with the world.

Wetness

Yesterday afternoon we watched a man try out some flags on the four flagpoles on the hotel roof. He ran up a St George's flag, and a small Turkish one, before removing them and instead running up an EU one and a rather ragged Spanish one.

EU, Spanish, Mallorcan and Hotel Eden flags

I was rather impressed that after tying off the lanyard on each flag, he fixed it to the flagpole with cable-ties to stop the clang-clang-clang which can get very annoying.

Out for a small lunch and coffees, and to get cash and cigarettes. It was damp and we were pestered by sparrows. Then a wetter walk around the marina to look at some of the larger boats. 'Eagle III' from London was particularly impressive, as was a wooden yacht.


We came back to the hotel for Steve to sleep, while I read* and snoozed. The wind really got up at one point, testing the flag-man's attempts at silencing the clanging lanyards. I can report that, tested under pressure, he was only partly succesful. The harbour did its job of protecting the boats very well, while wind-whipped waves washed against the small beach below the hotel.

Beers dowstairs were followed by pizza at Diablito's, and then cocktails back at the hotel.

Woke up this morning to sun! At breakfast there is a good selection of cereals and traditional cooked eggs, bacon and so on, plus the more continental selection of cold meats and cheeses, as well as toast-making facilities, and a slightly odd (yet, again, typically continental) collection of miniature cakes, from which I sampled yesterday. The thing that looks like a dry trifle sponge finger turned out to be ... a dry trifle sponge finger.

The coffee, however, is possibly the worst coffee this side of the Pyrenees, so that is why we have not long come back from a trip to a proper cafe for a proper cappuccino.

Unfortunately we failed to miss the 'emergency sham', news of which has been posted about the hotel since we got here. We evacuated when the alarms went off, but I think it was more a bell test than a genuine attempt at an evacuation exercise, which I think should have involved marshalls on each floor and a serious attempt at checking rooms.

We was naughty and sneaked out without handing in our key at reception for a burger and baguette and beers at a nearby bar. It rained heavily. We bought more water and mystery chocolate biscuits at the shop under the hotel.

By the way, I'm aware this blog is a bit crap. I can write well, and if you want to see a better example of my travel writing, then click here.

The complete collection of photographs from the holiday can be found here. It will be updated whenever possible.

*This holiday's reading list: Rock Me Amadeus by Seb Hunter; Imperium by Robert Harris; The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde (eBook); Grimm's Fairy Tales (eBook); Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka (eBook).

Note to self: use gracias not grazie

Got to Gatwick early yesterday, but the flight was late. A gratis text first thing had confirmed the flight time, but apart from an uncalled-for advert for exchange services when we got to the airport, there was no info text about the delay. So EasyJet were true to type.

Airbus A319 pushed back at 1307, took off at 1320, and an uneventful flight.

Snow-covered lumpy bits (the Pyrenees)

In Palma we lost the bus station. Where it had been last time we were here two years ago was now a car park. We found it in the end - underground. Caught the bus through the tunnel out to Sóller and on to Port de Sóller - which felt, Steve said, like coming home ("It feels as if we haven't been away, as if we just popped into Palma for the day").

By 7pm we were on the balcony gazing out across the small bay to the lighthouses.

We went for a wander. Marley's had gone, and Ses Oliveres was closed, but, after some unpleasantness at one restaurant where we were pushed out by some Germans, we ate well, and returned for bed.

This morning at breakfast was every species of German on show: the rude ones, the arrogant ones, the intimidating ones. And the ugly ones. But there are no towels on the sun-loungers, at least yet.

Despite the fact that it's dull yet warm, several tram-loads of day-trippers have arrived from Sóller. Steve has studied this morning, so it's time to go and seek a decent cup of Mallorcan coffee.

A**e

Quick pop into town for sun screen and some new sunglasses (but not the books I'd ordered, which aren't in yet), in preparation for our holiday next week. Then quickly back home with time to spare to watch the Spanish Grand Prix - or so I thought. I didn't check the Radio Times, but I had it listed in my calendar as 2pm. Only it started at 1. Like I said, a**e. 

We went to Denise and Peter's yesterday, for a delicious meal and a very nice evening, with Kevin and Stephen there too. Peter has a rather fab new car, which I happily drooled over.

vil! The Story of Anvil, An

The above is exactly how I have just seen headed a film review on the web. I can see what happened - can you?

A somewhat pointless post

I have an interesting* journey to describe. I kind of burbled away into a tape recorder during it. But for a couple of important reasons I can't post it yet. But when I can, I will.

*Well, you be the judge.