Ca'n Pastilla

I made it to Mallorca, and while I didn’t see Rafael Nadal or any pigs in the intersections, I did see my backpack at the Palma de Mallorca airport, which was a very pleasant surprise given how chaotic things were when it went rolling away from me on the conveyor belt in Barcelona. I really thought we were not going to be reunited for days, if at all.

I’m staying tonight in Ca’n Pastilla, which is a beach resort town just outside of Palma, the big city. The biking guide makes all kinds of excuses about Ca’n Pastilla, pretty much implicitly asking me to reserve judgment about Mallorca and not form any opinions about the island as a whole based on this place alone.

I understand why. It reminds me a little of Ocean City. They’ve got souvenir shops with New York Yankees baseball caps, Fleetwood Mac is playing through the speakers of the outdoor restaurants and there are “My [insert family member here] went to Mallorca and all I got was this lousy shirt” shirts. But the beach is pretty and there are lots of volleyball players and wind surfers.

Unlike Ocean City, English isn’t the dominant language here. It seems like there are a lot of Germans and people speaking, I don’t know, German-like languages, perhaps Danish because it’s easy to get here from central Europe. I built a whole career out of having theories about things I really know nothing about.

Regardless, it’s easy for me to reserve judgment because I slept for about one hour last night and am pretty much ready to go to bed even though it’s not dark out.

Every room in my hotel has a balcony overlooking the ocean. I have a corner room so I have two separate balconies. But I won’t get to try them both out because I have to get up in the morning and start my bike ride. 

I read the directions for tomorrow and they really make very little sense to me (like the instruction that says “generic pass petrol station”). I don’t know if it’s because I’m so tired or because the people at the bike company assume I’ll just figure out the details on my own. I’ll know more about that when I see where I end up tomorrow evening.

Doing it Again in 2022

After a three-year hiatus, which I figure is about a decade in COVID time, my bike rides in Spain have finally resumed. I am currently over the ocean somewhere wiggling my toes in the 2 extra inches of legroom I purchased for $150.00. 

When I came out here in the spring for little get away, the United Airlines staff initially wouldn’t let me on the plane despite the fact that I was holding a United boarding pass because they claimed there was no record of me in their system. This trip has gone more smoothly so far except for the guy next to me at the gate, who in every conversation with anyone in person or by phone kept saying that our gate (C4) was “Charley 4.” Why did this bother me? No idea. Also, the plane claims to be going to Boston (see image) and the guy next to me told me he sweats a lot on planes. 

But I’m not focusing on those things. I’m focusing on the fact that by sometime tomorrow I’m going to be on the island of Mallorca, a place I knew very little about until ten minutes ago when I completed some extensive research.

1.  The top stories today in the Mallorca Bulletin carry the headlines “Large Pig Causes Mallorca Traffic Accident” and “74 Year-Old Injured After Fall at Home.” Not that I don’t feel bad for the guy, but why can’t we have more headlines like that?

2.  80,000 people a year come to Mallorca to bike, which I figure means that there will be roughly 220 people joining me as I start my bike ride Sunday. I guarantee you it’s going to take more than a large pig to stop us.

3.  One of the nightclubs in Mallorca has the biggest foam machine in the world. As long as everyone there is wearing N-95 masks and I can be in bed by 10:00, count me in.

As I settle in, pretending to read the New Yorker magazines I brought with me, I am browsing the movies available on the flight. After filtering out all the ones that involve singing or dancing, that have the words “inspiring,” “uplifting,” or “heartwarming” in the description, or involve hobbits or knights, it looks like I’ll be watching the Bourne Ultimatum on a plane for the sixth time.

Also, I’m peeing a lot because Martha, concerned about my tendency toward dehydration, advised me to drink water whenever I think of her. Not the most common request from a spouse whose husband is on the verge of leaving for Europe, but I’m doing it.