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Mallorca. 14-21 April 2004

Like true expats they came, bearing welcome British Newspapers...

Congratulations to ten valiant Meths(wo)men — nine walkers and one non-walker — who made it to the hotel with only one car insisting upon a short extra recce through the back streets of Portals!

We were blessed/cursed with plenty of patriotic red, white (OK, silver), and blue transport; blessed because it enabled people to 'do their own things'; cursed? — well, you try negotiating a convoy of drivers, unfamiliar with their just-hired cars, driving on the 'wrong' side of the highway, and terrified by curvaceous, roundabout-ridden roads, through traffic which swarmed like a disturbed anthill. Literally HUNDREDS of all types of vehicles were scooting about side lanes trying to evade the effects of a totally blocked motorway! There had been a serious accident.

Much 'fun' was also 'enjoyed' on the day we visited Palma. The Blue car, declaring that it knew the way, vanished jauntily into drizzle. Brandishing an assortment of brollies the others made their sedate way to the castle where they admired the view for as long as it was possible to survive brass monkey weather. Deciding not to suffer the fate of the aforesaid monkey they eventually entered the edifice and lingered as long as they could over the genealogy (legit — in gold, and otherwise — in silver) of Mallorquin royalty. Proceeding smartly UP the gracefully-curving and safely-modern DOWN route and clambering perilously DOWN the steep, straight, worn-silly steps of the official UP circuit, they gawped at the smoked kitchen, termite-munched beams, etc and braved the breezy roof.

The Red and Silver contingent was about to abandon the Blue lot and go on to the Cathedral when Blue materialised — having experienced a 'thrilling' extra tour of unknown and undesirable sections of Palma.

Arrangements to meet at the Cathedral were thwarted by the city council who, as usual, have decided that the start of the tourist season is the moment to embark on extensive road-works and city improvements. A miraculously driven Silver managed to keep in touch with Red in spite of unexpected NO ENTRY signs and newly designated ONE WAY streets. Meanwhile, having taken a cursory glance at the castle, Blue was faced with the same problems and unable to follow given directions. With great skill Blue found a parking slot in the innermost bowels of ancient Palma and the entire group incredibly located each other in the Cathedral. (It must have been the Meths smell!)

The next problem was how to find Blue and then lead the convoy to the restaurant. DM³ said she knew the way to Blue’s prehistoric parking spot... Like hell! She hadn’t counted on more blocked-off streets. Red, followed by Silver, (and other perplexed cars as well) squirmed through ever narrower and darker one-way alleys while Blue waited and wondered what had happened to its pals. The Yorks efficiently followed our route on the map, and uttered encouraging sounds of 'Ja! Ja! You can pass!' while also coping valiantly from the passenger seat with the windscreen wipers and heating knobs. (At the end of the week we used the air conditioner).

Urged deeper and deeper into the labyrinth and finally blocked skin-tightly into a cul-de-sac by an entirely new set of bollards, the procession came to an inauspicious halt not far from Blue. DM³ dashed between raindrops to indicate the address of the restaurant, then did her famous (see below) abandoning act and left Blue to its own devices. A veil should be drawn over the centimetre by centimetre contortions which enabled Red, Silver, and several following cars in the queue, first to reverse down the thread of an alley and then to veer sharply right into an equally anorexic lane. We all drew in our breaths and made the cars slimmer. But Meths folk can’t be beaten. We reunited over a good meal in a fascinating local hostelry.

On the day of arrival a convivial lunch at DM³’s extended (like the tummies) rather further than intended, so we left for the walk on the first evening much later than planned. Having led the jet-lagged throng over, and then up, rocky cliffs to a watch tower the brave leader abandoned her flock in the sunset and raced off alone to attend to unavoidable business. This attempt to evade the responsibility for the meet and lose her sheep failed. They cleverly found the suggested alternative route home and reached the hotel in time for supper.

During the next six days, starting with a hike, we walked on alternate days and sight-saw on the intervening days.

We managed many of the proposed objectives suggested in circular 64. That was both a great, unexpected achievement and a huge credit to the stamina and cheery attitude of all participants. They even put up with the collie’s 'skilful?' diversity of lunch times — all done to avoid monotony, of course!?: once at noon (French Hours) because she mis-read her watch; once at 15.00 (Spanish Hours) due to the adventures in Palma; and some meals actually dotted (by luck) more or less round 13.00 (British Hours).

Walks — other than the first evening run

From the tremendous escarpment of The Archduke’s Circuit DM³’s direct line to the Clerk of the Weather proved faulty so extensive views (down to the sea on both sides, and over lower mountains) were slightly marred by wisps of haze. All 10 walkers completed this long excursion (our second jaunt) and scorned the available two escape routes.

Homeward bound the 'Border Collie' did her best again to discard her responsibilities by shooting off down the motorway. This, of course, was merely a character-building test of the type so beloved by the army!! Would they find their ways back? Our noble Methsmembers rose admirably to the challenge. Both Silver and Blue devised their own more 'interesting' routes home taking in only small deviations to view exciting(?) unscheduled sights before remembering that they should be heading towards 'Anthrax' (ie Andratx) After that DM³ gave up trying to lose her flock.

It rained heavily during the night before the third walk. Four people remained in Portals Nous to enjoy what turned out to be a gloriously bright day there. So then we were seven. We staunchly (or dubiously) set out towards the clouds that glowered over dark mountains. En route a mobile ‘phone informed us that Blue’s driver had left his boots behind at the hotel. That gave him the perfect excuse to drive home after he’d deposited his passengers at the mist-swept start. So then we were six.

Abandoning the idea of doing a peak first and then exploring the lower-level Canaletta, we reversed our plans and were soon rewarded by pleasant sunshine which lit our pretty lunchtime glade. A talkative, overflowing stream made a small water-meadow complete with hundreds of dancing lilies.

Having eaten, we walked along the narrow top of an ancient waterway. This hugs round faces of cliff and slides down a wide spectacular valley with steep sides and gorgeous views. Distant plains showed far below. Water gurgled through the pipe at our feet. The foot-path-thin Canaletta passed over a three-arched bridge with nothing on either side... and when we later had to circumnavigate a promontory into space by threading a short tunnel one member, who had so far borne up extremely bravely, decided that 'enough was enough' and sat down to wait. So then we were five. We promised to return within 20 minutes and left her to the devastating sounds of unexplained falling stones and crackling branches. A little further on another anti-exposurist, sick of our rear views, decided he’d lie low so that he could take full frontal snaps as we returned... (Polevault, of course was all for as much exposure as possible!) So then we were four...

Luckily the day stayed fine so no-one slipped off (!) and we collected our friends on the way back.

Finally we nearly achieved D’Almallux Peak but, discouraged by large boulders with multiple razor-sharp edges on a short cut, we left the summit to its own devices when returning clouds started to embrace it too amorously.

As the week progressed, the weather became finer and finer. The fourth walk turned into two! Books expounding the difficulties and dangers of the climb to Tomir deterred tired members although DM³ assured them that the texts were exaggerating. Three people set off alone and managed to avoid being blown off Tomir before completing a different-terrain circuit back to their car. Meanwhile, Daphne kept her mouth shut (an unusual event!) and led five others on an excursion which, in fact, entailed more tricky exposure than the Tomir ascent. They all managed it without turning many hairs though the wind did its best to upset the whiskers on several knobbly knees of optimists who appeared in shorts for this fairly low-level outing.

An extra amble was introduced into a sight-seeing day when (pagans that we are) we sought the enigmatic Camel Rock near LLuc Monastery instead of following the stations of the cross on the road up a kopje. The extensive monastery area was heaving with people carrying long staves topped with tufts of rosemary. They were celebrating the meeting of two virgins. We are not clear as to when, where or why the virgins of Rocio and Pilar met but we watched, fascinated, as hundreds of people danced Sevillanas and ate at long wooden tables under a vast roof. When DM³ felt a tug on her rucksack she swung round ready to swipe an expected thieving Gypsy only to be over-ecstatically greeted by friends eager to show off their frilly Sevillana outfits.

We enjoyed:

·         views from the heights down to blue sea which sparkled when the sun shone and lashed itself into white horses most of the time.

·         On Caragoli peak: Mallorquin Hierbas served in tiny plastic liqueur glasses’ (routine Mallorquin picnic equipment).

·         daily thermos tea/coffee and biscuits, always below the looming heights of mountains, and once incongruously but hilariously seated on tarmac in a monastery car park round a tablecloth contrived from a (clean) plastic rubbish sack.

·         lunch in a vast hall that was once a wine cellar. Enormous antique wine vats decorated the walls, a grape press, laden with hams and huge peronnes (bottles with long pointy spouts from which to drink without touching the spout), faced the entrance. Bull Fight posters lent colour.

·         an elliptical boat trip (the circuit was elliptical not the boat) undertaken by two ladies who braved the choppy seas.

·         observing the distant islands of Ibiza and Cabrera (and perhaps seeing without noticing Menorca Island).

·         the sight and sounds of a lone Mallorquin bag-piper on a rocky cliff-top which had splendid sea vistas.

·         much excellent camaraderie and many jokes (mostly in good taste, believe it or not! There wasn’t even the slightest communt when a very dark gentleman and his older white lady-friend — both apparently English ! — asked us to take their photograph.).

·         seeing an ancient, but still functioning, olive oil factory with its great conical stone crushers and the 'rush' mats between which mush is squeezed to produce the oil.

·         a memorable drive down the endlessly winding road through strange boulder-ridden scenery to the clear waters of Sa Colobra Gulf and, once there, the longish, damp, narrow tunnels which take pedestrians through a bluff into the lower end of the Torrente de Pareis Gorge. At present this is filled with a lake of cold fresh water.

·         the hotel which provided pleasing seaward views. Despite dead vegetables (offset by some tasty dishes and prawns) we received good value for money in a pleasant environment with friendly cheerful service.

·         the antics of Toni in the hotel restaurant. We hope that he has never watched Fawlty Towers and didn’t realise why we called him 'Manuel'.

·         an uproarious evening when eight performers demonstrated some Mallorquin dancing — (well, the visitors put on a excellent show of seeming to enjoy it and two good sports even joined in at the end) There was a moment when we wondered just what sort of dancing was about to be shown as one of the Marias, hot from her prancing, flapped her traditional skirts and showed precisely what she had on underneath. That really broke the ice and the only reason we didn’t all end up dancing The Gay Gordons and Strip the Willow was because DM³ hadn’t brought a Scottish CD with her. The hotel’s delicious local tapas (snacks) helped the event greatly.

We saw:

·         dotted about in the woods: MANY ancient charcoal burning circles, some antique lime kilns, lots of 'desirable?', though decaying, stone dwellings once used by the charcoal burners and lime makers. One wonders how they survived in those remote areas. Snow pits are large and beautifully lined with stone. Here, in times before fridges and freezers, snow was compacted into ice in layers separated by straw and, in summer, mules carried chunks of ice down to people who could afford such luxury. We found covered springs, another flowing unhindered from the mountainside, and one gushing very powerfully forth from just-below-water-level into the minor lake at Sa Colobra.

·         on cliff tops: watch towers with fine views along the mountainous coastline. In some cases anyone wanting to reach the top level of the tower was provided only with metal rungs — rather loose — and stone steps leading apparently into the void — all very exciting!

·         Sa Foradada: The distinctive whale-shaped peninsular pierced by a huge hole at precisely the right spot to represent the whale’s eye. A white trig point occurs very aptly above the 'blow-hole'.

Birds seen/heard:

·         one soaring and one pair of inquisitive vultures,

·         two inspectorial eagles,

·         roaming ravens,

·         one unrelenting cuckoo,

·         two pairs of hoopoe,

·         scuttling blackbirds in good voice,

·         charmingly tame and rosily russet chaffinches,

·         dozens of doves,

·         scores of seagulls,

·         some sea falcons,

·         cliff martins,

·         night jars,

·         LBJs, and other birds, some sunbathing on beaches while we shivered in sweaters.

Flora:

·         (apart from cultivated plants): three types of ground orchid,

·         cliff-tops of dancing wine-coloured gladioli,

·         dazzling fields of varied yellow/white/mauve flowers,

·         shimmering sprays of pinky-silver shoulder-height asphodels,

·         lovely blue rosemary,

·         not much fruit blossom (citrus and probably cherry and/or apple),

·         numerous lilies of various sizes and vastly-different shaped blooms,

·         red, blue and mauve pimpernel,

·         cephalaria,

·         scabies,

·         euphorbia,

·         globularia,

·         thistles short and tall,

·         cistus (various shades),

·         Cytinis ruber — tiny waxy crimson and parasitic on roots of pink cistus, moluccella, gorse, broom, dandelions, daisies, poppies etc, etc etc for those with eyes to see.

·         Various trees and shrubs, in particular olives, almonds, apricots, carobs, two types of small oak (one with holly-like leaves),

·         and thousands of Mediterranean pines which encroached when oaks were felled long ago by charcoal-makers to pay taxes to kings on the mainland. The Romans first imported the pines to make boats, furniture and buildings.

Fauna on the mountains:

·         loads of (reasonably unfrightened) wild goats,

·         one snake-in-a-hurry,

·         one large bulbous-eyed locust,

·         meandering mules and dreamy donkeys,

·         sheep with tinkling bells,

·         one motorcycling dog,

·         a company of feral cats...

·         some, but not too many, other walkers including two lone individuals who shared our end-of-walks tea and talk.

Sayings:

·         Polevault: as we beheld an 18-month-old nymph cavorting in a woodland glade: 'How did that get here? I’ve just strained a gut to reach this point...!' (We found her parents beside the well.)

·         DM³’s car: 'I can find my own way to that hotel now. You don’t need to drive.'

·         Lord of the Big Ruo: 'I’ve got waterproofs for everything except my codpiece!'

·         The Duchess of York: 'In an ‘art’ display in Oslo one of the exhibits was a disturbed clutter of furniture bearing dirty crockery and filthy cutlery.' Comment: DM³’s house was a Nobel-Prize-winning ‘art’ exhibit for the entire week.

·         Socks: 'I know the way...'

·         Daphne: 'I can’t find...' Her face flannel turned up mysteriously under a pile of dirty plates on the sink. Her radio had taken refuge under the bed in the spare room! ! Her hairbrush was in the toolkit of the car!!!!

Summits attained:

·         Galatzó (by those who arrived early);

·         Cap d’Andixtol (the first afternoon);

·         Puigs deTalaia Vella and Caragoli on the Archduke’s Route;

·         On the last walking day Puig de Ses Bases, and Tomir

After the meet:

·         the weather blew itself out and became crisp and clear as it should have been throughout the METHS week. Dave and Daphne completed the Tomir peak-and-circuit trip in sparkling conditions — and then the Monsoon and the ICE AGE arrived. DM³ is investing in an ark and in ice skates. Meths people were much amused to discover a Ferreteria in the village. So now in Meths-talk you buy hardware in a 'Ferret shop'.

I hope — think — that, in their individual ways, everyone who came enjoyed this Meet which broke new ground in that we ‘sight-saw’ as well as walked. I cannot thank the participants sufficiently for their positive outlooks and enthusiasm without which the whole week would have been a damp wind-blasted flop. I also thank them for the really lovely hydrangea in the pretty cache-pot and for the hilarious card. Not only is the plant beautiful but I’m told that later on I’ll be able to propagate it into several bushes in the garden. DM³

Present: The Lord and Lady of the Big Ruo, The Duke and Duchess of York, Ballcrusher and Crushess, Mr & Mrs Socks, Polevault and Missus. DM³.


© WDYFO, 2004