Mallorca! (PART 2)
Day 2 (first full day in Mallorca)
At
9am (early for me) Jonas banged open our door and quietly peaked in to see if
either me or Vero were awake. I sensed him there, but pretended to still be
asleep so he wouldn’t drag me out of bed already. I could see through the
curtains that the sun was already brightly shining and I could hear the
crashing waves outside. I couldn’t lay in bed any longer. I threw on some
shorts and a t-shirt (it felt so nice!) and went downstairs to the eager Jonas,
who was left alone while Niki and Oli went to buy food. I walked out onto the
porch with him and literally my breath was taken away by the view.
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| Our house! (picture taken from the beach) |
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| View from my balcony! |
 Side of the house with front lawn/garden. Small door and balcony is where my room was. | |
Our
house sat on a big cliff, over-looking a large cove with turquoise water
shimmering in the sun, the waves crashing onto a giant white sand beach just 40
meters from our gate. When I could finally catch my breath, I could smell the
saltiness of the ocean and the fresh scent of palm, a typical scent for the
Spanish islands. The porch was lined with classic white columns and arches,
forming a kind of frame for the beautiful scenery behind. I felt like I was
looking at one of those moving pictures you hang in your living room. On the
other side of the cove, there was another cliff that was just full of shrubbery
and trees growing from the jagged rocks, no houses or big hotels or anything. I
later learned that this area was a nature preserve. A nature preserve on
Mallorca? Who knew?!
Well,
Jonas was getting anxious to go to the beach, so we grabbed a sand bucket and
made our way down the rocks to the soft sand. We had the whole thing to
ourselves. We had come to Mallorca right at the end of the tourist season, so
many of the hotels were closing and the restaurants and souvenir shops were
already dead. It was good for us though, to have this beautiful area to
ourselves. When I thought of Mallorca, I thought of crazy tourist trap with
tons of people (mostly Germans, who basically take over the island in the
summer). But this area were we were had barley anything going on. No shops,
except for one that was completely shut down for the winter, and one hotel at
the beach that was very quiet, with just a few German guests left.
It
is really kind of strange the way Mallorca has adapted itself to its German
visitors. All the signs are in at least German and Spanish, and even in the
supermarkets they have giant signs hanging from the ceilings with “Deutsche
Produkten” written in bold. Many of the Mallorcan people working on the island
as waiters, boat tour guides, hotel lobby workers, all learn German. One night
when me and Vero went out, we got into a nice conversation with our waiter, who
told us how he tried learning German for a couple years but just gave up
because he found it so difficult, but his girlfriend is still learning it now
because it is important for her to know it for her job in the tourist industry.
We also learned that in Mallorca, people speak “Mallorcan”, not Spanish. It is
actually a completely different language, not just an accent. It’s amazing to
me how many new languages I have learned about while living here. It’s just
incredible, the amount of different ways to communicate that exist in this
world.
Anyway,
went a little off tangent there. Jonas and I went Wellen reiten (jumping
over the waves) and a dog came along with a family and joined us, jumping over
the waves too! Jonas thought it was the greatest thingJ He is a little
scared of dogs, and I think that actually helped him see how smart and friendly
they can be. Later, when we were sitting on the porch together, eating
breakfast, suddenly Oli piped up, “Is that a cow on the beach?” We all got up
to take a look. A giant black animal with a big bell was standing awkwardly in
the sand, staring at the waves. The few kids that were on the beach were
staring at it, staying a few meters away. I looked closer through my camera
lens…yup, a cow!! He looked so awkward and confused. Alter, our renter told us
that they sometimes come down form their home in the nature preserve above to
eat a beach-goers sandwich, but then can’t find their way back home. The cow
wandered around the beach for the next few hours, the ring of its bells and its
faint mooing could be heard. But as I looked closer, I could see cows and
sheep carefully walking around, their bells ringing across the cove.
|
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The confused cow... |
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| Building a sand castle!
Well,
we spent the day with the boys on the beach, climbing on the rocks, playing
soccer with Jonas, and boogie boarding.
      
Later
I went on a jog following the rocky path along the cliff. At some point, the
path ended, but it seemed to begin again over the other side of the rock wall.
So, I simply climbed over the wall and kept jogging. Suddenly, I looked out the
corner of my eye and saw an angry-looking man waving and yelling at me. I
pulled out my ear-buds, but that didn’t help because all I heard was Spanish.
But, his sign language and facial expression was pretty easy to understand. He
wanted me off his path. Apparently I had wondered onto private property without
even knowing it, and this guy was NOT happy about it. I apologized in English
and simply said, “Sorry, but there is no sign!” I don’t know whether he
understood me or not, but he just shook his head. Well, I booked it out of
there, climbing back over the wall.
I did
get some nice pics (from my phone, so sorry they are not the best quality, but
you get the idea)
           
GIANT
Aloe-Vera plant!!
   On my way back home, I ran through the nearest “town” which was completely dead. It was literally like a ghost tourist town. All the shops were covered and locked up, only their big signs reading “SOUVENIRS” (in 5 languages, of course) and “ICE CREAM” and “RESTAURANT” looking out of place and lonely. I was the only one on the street. It was so…eerie  
Old restaurant,
completely closed up for the winter
 
Where
we stayed
I
passed the beach near our house, and saw that the cow was still wandering
around in the sand, completely lost and confused. He had positioned himself
directly in front on the big red and blue sign for the RIU Resort that stood in
front of the giant white building at the end of the beach. What a strange
setting for a big black cow.
At
dinner we skyped with Sylvia, and Niki excitedly explained to her about how he
climbed on the rocks that day. He yelled into the phone: “Wir haben auf
Felsen geklettert!” But since the connection was not so good, Sylvia
could barley understand him and
earnestly replied, “Ihr habt gekleckert?” Niki: “Nein!!”Everyone
(except me) at the table started laughing. Apparently, she misunderstood and
later I found out that the verb kleckern means to make a mess of yourself
(specifically when eating). Great J now I could laugh… sometimes its
really hard being the only non-native German speaker in a 6 person group.
That
night (it was a Friday), Vero and I already wanted to go out...we needed some
time to ourselves and a way to let out the craziness when with the boys. The
problem was, we were staying in an area that is literally the most rural part
of Mallorca, and has nothing going on at night. We wanted to go to Palma, but
quickly ruled that out because when we looked up how much the taxi would cost
for the hour drive, it was going to be 85 euros one way. Checking through the
maps, we found a town called Manacor just 15 minutes away from us, and the
guide book said they have quite a big night life with lots of clubs and bars.
Sounded good enough to us! Well, we weren’t done yet…. We had to call a
taxi. We tried calling three different numbers, until finally someone picked
up. Vero: “Hi, do you speak English?” Lady on phone, “No.” Vero: “Ummmm shit
(under her breath). Well, taxi? Pour Passeig des Estany d’en Mas” (the very
complex name of our street, we were most likely butchering the pronunciation).
The lady of course didn’t understand us, and so we gave up and called another
number. This time, a very distressed sound man answered. Me: “Hello? Do you
speak English?” Man (yelling almost) “Yes miss you need a taxi? Where? I can
geta you a taxi. Where you want it” He would not stop talking to let me say
anything…what the heck?? Then finally, Me: “Yes, I need a taxi to..crap
crap crap what was the name of our street?? “Umm one moment.” Man:
“Miss, wherea you needa the taxi?” Me: “ONE MOMENT!” Me again, struggling:
“Paasseig des Estanny d’en Mas?” Man: “Miss, I no understand you!” Then lots of
laughing on the line, then. Click. Great, he hung up. I tried calling him
again, he answered and just kept asking me where I wanted the taxi. I kept
starting to say the street, and ten he’d interrupt me saying something in
Spanish I didn’t understand. I finally just yelled at him through the phone,
“CAN YOU JUST STOP TALKING FOR 2 SECONDS???” Then he started laughing really
really hard, and I just couldn’t help but laugh too. What the hell was going
on? Vero was sitting on the bed across from me, laughing at this whole
conversation as well. Finally, the man handed the phone over to a woman who
spoke much better English, and we got the whole thing figured out. Thank god.
In
Manacor, the whole town also was, well… dead. We passed a few girls in slutty
tight skirts and high heels, a few sketchy men smoking on the corner…but that
was pretty much it. Vero decided she needed to buy some cigarettes, and boy did
that prove to be a challenge. We walked into a cafeteria/bar place and asked
the bar tender if they sold cigarettes (usually these kind of places do). He
gave us a very confused look and shrugged…he didn’t speak English. Great…neither
of us knew the word for cigarette in Spanish. The guy asked some people sitting
in the bar something (I’m guessing he was asking if anyone spoke English) but
everyone looked shyly away. We kept saying the word until I did a kind of
“smoking” hand signal. He understood that immediately and pointed to a store
around the corner. Hand signals definitely come in handy in Spain. Well, in
that store, the automatic cigarette machine (yes, they have vending machines
here for cigarettes) would not work. So, we had to try to explain to the
waitress, who also didn’t’ speak English. Finally, a lady eating a one of the
tables saw we were having trouble and SPOKE ENGLISH! WOW! (I’m sorry, but it’s
just amazing to me when I’m in a place where no one speaks English, because in
Belgian, everyone speaks English. It’s kind of bad because whenever I try and
speak French to people, they just switch to English because they want to make
it easier for me. But that just defeats the whole purpose of me begin here!)
Anyway, after 20 minutes of struggling with the machine, we got the cigarettes
and left.
Reenactment of
The Beatles Abbey Road album cover... :)
Freaky
door handles...
We
wandered around a bit more, finally finding a nice restaurant/ bar to get some
drinks. Our waiter was a very tall, dark haired, tan gorgeous man who spoke
very good English with a slight British accent. We asked him about it, and he
said his mother is British so he grew up speaking English with her. It’s crazy
how many people I’ve met in Europe whose parents are from two different
countries and they grow up speaking two languages in the house. The other day,
Jonas was showing me his class picture and pointing to each kid and telling me
where their parents were from. Out of the 24 for kids in his class, 22 of them
have parents from two different countries, and they live in a household with at
least two languages (some even three if they have a nanny or cleaning lady who
peaks another language with them). I think that is just amazing. There were
children whose parents were from the places like…Bulgaria, Hungary, Zambia,
Greece, Lithuania, Italy, Luxemburg, Germany, Austria, Canada… All over of the
map.
Beer
and olives, a must have in Spain.
We
got ourselves drinks and waited. The music started to switch to more Spanish
style. And more and more people started coming in. By around 1, it was getting
crowded. Vero and I got into the crowed and danced crazy like we always do
together J When they switched from the Spanish stuff to “Call Me
Maybe”, we gave each other a look and then started screaming the lyrics that we
knew so well. I looked around to see if any of our fellow Spaniards could sing
along. Most of them definitely seemed to know the song and were smiling and
dancing along, but that didn’t seem to know the words. I find it so weird that
Europeans loves listening to American music, but most of the time they don’t
understand the lyrics at all..
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