I suppose chronological progression might be the easiest route but I warn you, the beginning was certainly the roughest part... Of course, anything is rough when compared with a piña colada on the beachfront. To begin, we had a 6:40 am flight out of Glasgow Prestwick and as foolish Americans, we assumed there was only one airport in Glasgow. To be safe, we took a 12 am bus out of Edinburgh, planning to spend the night in the terminal. Unfortunately, the discovery that there were in fact two airports "in" Glasgow was realized at 1 am in the morning in the sketchiest bus station I've had the pleasure of being stranded in. I say "in" because Prestwick is a little less than an hour away in a 60 quid taxi ride- something I've learned from lived experience. To say we slept would be faulty- in reality, we tossed and turned the night away in a freezing airport awaiting the opening of check in. However, all this soon fell by the wayside as we breezed into Palma.
Our hostel was a fantastic deal, costing a total of 40 euros for four nights including breakfast- don't know how we got so fortunate but luck seemed to follow us around after landing. The first day was really about getting familiar with our surroundings. Indeed, it was a tasking effort:
This photo belongs to my friend Jessie who only had to walk a mere
20 seconds from our room to take it.
The second day we boldly headed where every tourist had gone before us, into the city center. However, I'm not one to scoff at clearly marked multi-lingual signs, especially when my Spanish was as rickety as the brakes on my 1997 Pontiac Grand Am--mind you, it failed inspection with flying colors. Now, before we delve into photography that will transform you, personally speaking as one, into a green-eyed monster, we'll do a bit of a history lesson on Majorca. The island has been under Roman, Byzantine, Islamic as well as Moorish rule and then squabbled over by a series of prominent figures in Spanish history. What can I say? You do want the abridged version correct? Honestly, I'm sure Wikipedia would be a more fruitful investigation than my tedious jabbering. However, what's more interesting is the reality that each of these cultures left a mark on the island. It's visible in the eclectic architecture, woven together through a series of conquerors fixed on making themselves immortal. Ah, but enough history and back to scrapbook blogging.
This is La Seu Cathedral and arguably the most impressive building in Majorca.
Hell, I'd go to bat for its architectural prominence any day of the week.
The inside was a fantastic mix-and-match between traditional Gothic themes and
contemporary additions. However, this is only fitting for a building that Gaudí had a
hand in- the same of the whimsical park in Barcelona.
Guessing game time: how long do you think it took to build this cathedral
given construction started in the 13th century?
Answer: over 350 years. Can you imagine beginning something with the
knowledge that you wouldn't be present for its completion, building in complete faith?
Me neither...
This is central Palma and there are horse carriages everywhere. However,
despite a strong equine representation, the city smells completely floral. Go figure!
Posing with some swans right below the entrance to the palace and cathedral,
conveniently located across from one another.
Now, nothing soothes a sangria-induced haze quite like chanting within convent walls
which was exactly what we experienced here. I'm sure had they known my love for
Spanish profanity, they wouldn't have readily let me in their doors.
This is a picture from the Arab Baths or Banys Àrabs that we visited, dating to
Moorish occupation with some Byzantine construction as well. I think I could
settle for this if I was in a pinch, don't you?
This is the famed Parc de la Mar that sits right under the cathedral.
Also, if ever you need an intellectual ego boost, just write in italics.
It's my personal recipe for instant sophistication.
A street performer from whom I was able to purchase a CD of Spanish guitar music to
accompany the first night I have back in Brunswick, Maine.
Do note the green backpack, which, between my family members,
has traveled nearly all over the world now .
Trying my best to balance for a photo shoot.
Fortunately, vanity did not lead to being soaked.
Just another typical Palma fountain. Alright, maybe typical isn't the word.
So, while the first day exploring in the city center amazed me, it was, and don't take this in a catty fashion, nothing compared to the second. However, this is because the second day was literally a dream brought to life. No, not dream in a fluffy, air-headed sense. Dreamlike in the "this is so bizarre, I can't fathom that it's reality" sense. This day was the 21st birthday of my friend Jessie so we all hunkered down in the lobby of our hostel deciding what fantastic plan to attempt.
Las Cuevas del Drach (don't ask be about the strange language mashing) holds one of the largest underground lakes, Lago Martel, which stretches 177 meters long and can only be reached after an a 25 meter descent. However, on the way down you are accompanied by the most fantastical stalactite and stalagmite formations. Of course, due to pressures to suckle every last euro from a tourist's wallet, pictures are not to be taken, "remedied" by their purchasable availability at the end. Yet, I am an American and the severity of the phrase "prohibited" holds great situational flexibility. While mine do have a sort of contraband charm, the ones from the cave's website give more of a wow factor and what can I say? I'm all for sensationalism.
This hangs over your head and on different occasions, we all made the mistake of
pointing out the truncated ends that lost the battle with gravity, imagining them
landing on some poor visor-capped vacationer's dome.
It truly looked like the most intricate of modern art designs but crafted with a patience
no human could ever muster. I mean, I get upset when my internet loads too slowly so
I think thousands of years of formation is far out of my league.
This is part of the underground lake, but do you notice something out of place?
Perhaps the gondolas laced with sparkling lights? Why, yes! Now we get to the most sensational part of this experience. Yes, it was a dash of surrealism that really made this splendid.
After a lengthy descent, you've come to a clearing, best described as some cavernous amphitheater. You think to yourself, dear God, this has got to be some sort of twisted cult practice I've stumbled across. In a sheep-like mentality, you funnel into the crowd and wait. As you wait, the lights, your only source of vision for all 25 meters down, begin to dim. Suddenly, remembering that "Drach" translates to dragon, you begin conjuring images of things that go bump in the night. However, as quickly as your nerves ignite, they are calmed by the soothing and characteristic echo of a violin. Then, bending round a giant stone formation, come three gondolas like the ones pictured above. Two are captained by a rower alone but the third boasts a string ensemble complete with other indiscernible wind instruments. They proceed to play a series of classical movements on the lake's surface in the dimness. Surreal, no? I have a hard time admitting that I preface this story with "In Porto Cristo" instead of "I had this weird dream where....". And, of course, your concert-viewing experience comes complimentary with a gondola ride across the lake to the exit, where you stumble out wide-eyed and stunned by the reality you've just seen and heard. Talk about a bucket list item that, until scratched off, I would have never imagined.
The rest of the day, obviously soaked in post-cuevas euphoria, was spent on the magnificent beachfront of Porto Cristo:
Some ships docked outside of what I can only guess are the apartments of these lucky, lucky sons of guns.
Obviously, we played the "which yacht, which house is mine" game.
I thought images like this existed only in the land of postcards and romantic movie scenes.
I was very happy to find that this was incorrect cynicism.
And, if I could travel the world with anyone is my decked-out- I recently discovered my blog has been sadly deprived of puns-sailboat, it would certainly be with these three stubby-legged mates. In Palma, I guess it's a dog-sunbathing-with-dog type world.
My friends and I, baffled at our good fortune but enjoying the sun on our
characteristically Scottish, alabaster skin.
Our last day was spent on the beach, burning ourselves in full recognition that travel and sunburns have a long-lasting animosity. However, it was fully worth the trouble:
As another fun guessing game taken from our last round of tropical cocktails,
can you guess which one was mine?
If you guessed the one with the sophisticated sprig of mint, paired with a
delicate slice of lemon, you were terribly wrong. As I have a worsening Napoleon complex,
I have to compensate for it by having overly decorative drinks.
And so we come to the final stretch of study abroad. This is perhaps the only reality more surreal than my bizarre cave concert. What's ahead in these last 28 days? Well, tomorrow night I am going to the Beltane Fire Festival that celebrates the coming of May in a very Celtic fashion which should be a fantastic time. I've even created a list of a couple things I must do before I leave which was a strange experience. However, as much fun as I've had, I look forward to that moment when I crawl from Logan to 45 Mckeen Street. I can't wait to walk through the door and become swarmed by emotionally needy cats, open a fine red to let it breath and recount my adventures to my parents while the kitchen fills with the aroma of my celebratory return dinner. Take note: Italian with a tongue-bitingly spicy sauce would suit this weary traveler just perfectly.
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