Week with the ‘Rents

The local village festival is up-and-at ‘em this morning at the decidedly un-Spanish hour of 8:58 am. Las festes de Es Migjorn mean that in just 8 days, I will be on a midnight train to Georgia midday flight to the U.K. The summer has passed by, the reading list has come and (almost) gone (Don Quijote and I still have to acquaint ourselves), and I’ve had a pleasant number of visits with friends and family-the familia and my cutie friend N. in Barcelona and my cousin and my family HERE in Menorca.


They arrived on Monday, July 20th after 24+ hours of travel thanks to a chunky delay in Dulles. Against the odds, they kept their wits and found the next flight to Maó during their layover in Madrid.

Though my dad insisted the first night that he would be just fine with a dip in the pool, but I knew something better awaited if I could just get two flippers on his feet in the nearest beach, Santo Tómas. As soon as he endeavored to jump off the 3 or 4 meter rock with his classic canopener, it was clear that I was right; they had arrived and would do just fine on their Mediterranean vacay.


During that time, we managed to see the prehistoric talaiots, get close to horses dancing on their two hind legs in the jaleos of Es Castell, wander around Ciutadella for pizza and gelato, pop our nose in a jazz concert after a taste test of local pomadas (a gin and lemonade drink), and drive and SURVIVE a 15-km hell road called Sa Calobra (full of more twists and turns than the trashiest soap) and even take a dip at the beautiful beach that awaited us on the other side.

At the top of Sa Calobra. AHH!














One of the coolest parts of the trip were the rooms we rented in a seaside villa (found on AirBnB). The place was likely several hundred years old, but had been tastefully restored with a nice combo of Ikea bedding and original furniture. The 15-minute walk/hike down to the rocky beach below in Lluc-Alcari was an unexpected bonus (and I’d say, the best swimming we did in Mallorca, despite the more-challenging access).

Naturally, when the ‘rents are ‘round, you get to eat at delicious restaurants, and the local Italian place and Xelini in nearby Deià did not disappoint.Image


On the terrace at Xelini

Even better was the show we got from their terraces starring an unsuspecting young neighbor wrapped in a towel with the windows opened. When the Brits at the table to our right started to giggle, hoot, and holler, we knew we had to look. Thankfully, our waitress shouted over to him, “Hey, buddy, you’ve got my whole terrace exitada! You might want to shut your window!” Belly laughs abounded.

I’d say this trip was muy bueno. Wouldn’t you agree?


Ry. even started to look like the locals!

[So, now that I’ve done this travel thing a few times,  if you too want to experience Spain first-hand, contact me and I’d be your travel arrangements and even accompany as your personal tour-guide, chauffer, gastronomist, etc. My rates are reasonable!)


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