Holaaaaaa.
Now for the
ultimate post about Mallorca...Because that's right, come tomorrow at
12pm, I will be landing in Manchester Terminal 3 and thus bringing a
bitter end to the sunshine, beaches, tapas and Sangria of my
two-month summer on this wonderful island.
It's so ironic that
in my last 48-72 hours here I have had some of the funniest moments
(and coldest beers) thus bringing me to the fluctuating conclusion
that I'd rather stay another two months until the summer season is
well and truly finished. But in spite of this conflicting “should I
stay or should I go” syndrome, it's probably best if I leave on a
good note (rather than during another Blue Spell).
My last weekend on
the sunny shores of Mallorca has been pretty – in the words of my
housemate Miriam – amazeballs. It included another epic road trip.
Me and four friends rented a car (by the name of 'Manuela Torres' –
yes, we named her – like we named Jesús) and drove her round the
east side of the island to Porto Cristo (where there are some caves)
and Cala Romantica (the beach).
To be honest the
caves were fun but a bit overpriced (14 euros to walk around and the
'promised' boat trip through the water in the caves turned out to be
a bit of a scam) but I suppose if you go to an island, you can't
leave without saying you've at least visited some of the caves.
Felt a bit like Indiana Jones/Aladdin
There was a concert
in the caves. That was the best part. The lights were switched off
and everything was pitch black and then this eerie music started
playing softly and echoing off the walls and three or four long,
lit-up boats emerged from the shadows and went around the caves in a
circle, disappearing off into the shadows with the eerie music still
playing. It was only about 10-15 minutes long but it was the weirdest
and most beautiful thing.
(Just to clarify...these aren't actually my photos, I found them online. But it looked like this!)
It reminded me a
lot of the scene in the Phantom of the Opera when Christine is taken
down into the Phantom's lair and they play the famous theme song...
After the caves
(Cuevas del Drach), we stopped off at at supermercado (how I'm going
to miss buying bread for 18 cents and mineral water for 25) got
ourselves some picnic food and went to a beach not far from Porto
Cristo called Cala Romantica.
I guess it was kind
of romantic.
Saturday night was
a bit epic as well; seeing as we were supposed to go to a beach party
in Palma Nova, we had geared ourselves up for fiesta time immediately
after our road trip (because Manuela was our car for the whole night
until 12pm the following day, so we thought it would be worth making
the most of her). However at about 8pm we got a text from our Spanish
friend (who had invited us) that apparently the party on the beach
was practically non-existent.
So we ended up
going to a house party followed by a night out in Palma – long
story short, I arrived home at 7am the following day, still
unshowered from the beach/road trip, depleted of both energy and
money. (Sunday is payday for me).
So after sleeping
it off until about 11am (badly, because of the background noise of
chickens, dogs and the blinding morning light of Mallorcan sunshine –
you either shut the windows and have total darkness but are left to
swelter like a pig OR you open the windows and get some breeze but
are kept awake by the light and/or the stupid ROOSTERS which crow
from 3am onwards) I got out of bed and just chilled out until the
afternoon when I went into Palma to hang out with Marlena.
Sundays in Palma are weird because the streets are very, very dead. It's kind of nice though. We went and had a little picnic by the library (which, I didn't realise was the library at first because it looked as if it were about to be shut down for good, graffitied and locked)...
...and then went to our favourite
ice-cream parlour which sells ensaimada (I have already posted about
ensaimada). All I can say is...QUE RICO.
(Just to refresh your memory)
And of course, there's always room for a little 'Tinto de Verano' (basically Sangria without the fruit). On Sundays it's one euro! (Montaditos our favourite place for drinks).
Last night was
Tuesday and therefore the last tapas evening for me (and many of the
au pairs). We are dwindling more and more in numbers now, but it was
fun nonetheless (and of course, dirt cheap). I took the last bus home
(11:20) and then for some reason, could not sleep at all when I
settled down to sleep at about 12:30. Tapas is yummy, but the
portions are tiny and you get a beer with each one. And you know what
beer on an empty stomach does to you?
Makes you more
hungry.
So I couldn't sleep
at all. Partly because of the humidity (which even now, after 8
weeks, causes problems), partly because of the DAMN PERROS (dogs for
those of you not speaking Spanish) and partly because my tummy was
growling for some foooooooood! (Proper food, not mincey little
tapas-portioned size food).
I knew for a fact
that in the fridge there was leftover tortilla from the night before.
And I hadn't had proper dinner. I lay awake for a couple hours
fantasising about this tortilla, but not being able to work up the
courage to sneak downstairs and help myself. The problem is I thought
the boy (whose room is next to mine) was awake because we crossed
paths on my way to the loo at about 1am and also his light was on.
For some reason,
it's ok if your parents/family catch you raiding the fridge at 3am
because you don't really have to explain yourself in your own
household. But when it's someone else's house, there are definite
(unspoken) boundaries about this.
It got to 4am and I
was still awake, hungry and roasting in the Mallorcan humidity. I
told myself that unless I ate something I was going to stay awake for
four more hours fantasising about food. So I crept as QUIETLY as I
possibly could out of bed, across the hall, downstairs into the
kitchen...
I was like a ninja
with the tortilla. I don't think I've ever grabbed anything out of
the fridge so quickly. I didn't even rewrap the clingfilm back over
the plate, I just took the nearest slice and ran (quietly).
In hindsight, I
shouldn't have been SO het up about taking a little bit of tortilla
at 4am (there are probably worse things a host family could find
their au pair doing in the dead of night...). But anyway.
Even after eating
the damn tortilla I couldn't sleep. I stayed awake hour after hour,
trying to sleep (you know what I mean – that cycle of 'if I sleep
now I'll get 3 hours...if I sleep now, I'll get 2 hours').
So I stayed awake
until 8am, went downstairs made some coffee (actually I tried to make
some coffee) and ate some more tortilla. My excuse was I had not
slept so it was merely an extension of tapas. The coffee machine
refused to work and made so much noise trying to make coffee that I
think the neighbours 2km down the road could hear.
So this is what I
had to settle for:
Reality
Vs. Dream
I was starting to
get into that jittery, sleep-deprived state where you start seeing
double unless you sit down and when you sit down you fall asleep –
or try to sleep standing up. So I had a cold shower, which seemed to
work...
Until I made the
stupid decision to just 'have a lie down' on my mattress. In my towel
and everything. I just fell asleep straight away. And then I woke two
hours later at 11:30am and felt like death. Death whose eyes had been
scratched out!
It's true what they
say about all-nighters (intentional or otherwise) – you need to go
the whole night with no sleep whatsoever because if you get that 1 or
2 hour window of unconsciousness you will wake up feeling ten times
worse.
So I did my best
that day and drank like 3-4 cups of strong (instant) coffee (the
machine refused to work still). That machine has hated me all summer,
I swear. Every time I try and make coffee it's actually like taking
part in the lottery – there's a CHANCE you'll get a coffee, but
don't pin your hopes on it, just keep trying.
But do you know
what the crazy thing is? I couldn't sleep TONIGHT EITHER. The exact
same thing happened. I was tired, by the way. All evening I couldn't
stop yawning and promised myself 'an early night'.
After 12am I
couldn't sleep and before you know it it's 4am and my alarm is for
5:30 because I have to be at the airport for 7am and that means we
have to leave the house at 6:15. And I have not slept yet.
What. is.
Happening!
I guess I'm just
going to put it all down to 'the-last-two-days-of-summer-delirium'. I
think my week has been so eventful that maybe my body is only now
catching up with it all. In a way it doesn't really matter, the
moment I get home I can have a long siesta and mess up my sleep
pattern anew in time for this bank holiday weekend at home.
But still, Mallorca
has been great fun.
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