Mallorca. An island simply found. Just a hop from Barcelona. Yet it hides the utmost beauty. Endearing, friendly people. Pristine, jeweled beaches. Charming, quaint villages. Windmills can be seen from the plane. Standing tall along side the turquoise blue ocean. Transportation is run by gorgeous Mallorcan men. Buses. Trains. Trolleys. Boats. Yachts are run by Kiwis and Aussies.
Palma, the main city, is filled with lavish shops, outdoor eateries and boats galore. The labyrinth of streets hides the magnificent Catedral de Mallorca and remarkable Bellver Castle. To celebrate mothers I shared beers and great food in Virtual Club Bistrot, a restaurant built into a cliff at the beach, Illetas. Utter perfection.
An antique train ride took me through the vines of oranges, lemons and olives. Gliding through mountains reaching a village of charm and beauty, Sóller.
A festival of triumph began the day I arrived. El Firó. Their history of constant war being mimicked. I had an unanticipated discovery of friendship. An international bond existed between these men and I found it’s heart. I was so quickly welcomed with open arms and invited to a lunch of true locality. Snails, mussels, calamari followed by paella containing the sea. Preparation begins. We transform into Moros by blackening our skin and covering our heads.
The journey to battle the Christians begins. Any skin seen bare will be blackened. Guns fire and cannons blare. The town metamorphosed. Festivities through the whole night. Into the morning. In one day this town captured me, forever.The plane back to Barcelona I feel like it all was a dream. Five days of an experience unparalleled.
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