Tag: Majorca

Placeta de Les Verdures

There is a town on the island of Majorca.

The town is called Alcudia. 

Alcudia town is walled.

Within these walls there are winding streets. 

On one of these winding streets is a square. 

This square is called Placeta de les Verdures. 

By night, it is quiet and keeps only the company of three trees.

By day, three restaurants throw open their doors, take out their tables and chairs and stretch out their arms and awnings for the people in the know. The sun peeks between the leaves on the trees and darts over the edges of the white sun shades. The space is small and yet unashamedly inviting. 

Whenever we visit, we are shocked to find a table. This place is popular. You can feel the hum of the town in the air, you can hear the laughter, conversation and clink of glasses around you and yet the very effortless nature of this place feels beyond serene. 

The food at most is a reflection of why I love Spanish food. It is simple yet elegant, fresh, tasty and wholesome. It is the type of place you can order a beer and sip it as slow as your heart desires. You are not rushed and you are not certainly bothered. 

I often think of this small square when my mind needs a place to escape to. In my memories I am sitting in the dappled shade, sipping on my soda and enjoying the very easy pleasure of having a meal with my family. It is as if this square is built for stillness. Outside of its alleyways and walls there are market traders, tourists and locals going about their day. If you really listen you can hear their rushed ramblings, their strolling shoes and their feverish flip flops. Otherwise, this square contains within itself a calm and seclusion that is hard to find in this world. 

All life is here. Going about it’s usual every day. And yet it is a place you can get lost in your thoughts without being disturbed. It is a place where you can escape from your sofa, at home, 1200 miles away.  

Keep going!

We live in a big house on a council estate. We own our house. It took us two years to save a deposit and a further six years to have finished 80% of the renovations. We have scrimped, saved, learned and upcycled our way through some big DIY projects which include tiling a living room floor, overhauling a garden from a shingle nightmare to a green paradise and installing new walls in the kitchen. We stepped onto the property ladder and have found challenges at each step. Most have been fun, some have been tedious and others have seen me throw massive hissy fits and leave the room to calm down. 

There are memories ingrained in the very fabric of this place that call out to me, even in the short amount of years, this place is special. Our first home.

Without much DIY experience we have found each step so hard, but ultimately really rewarding. Mr W and I take on new projects together and I am so proud of the couple we are. 

We tackle things like tiling for the first time head on and keep each other going. I remember laying a wooden floor 2 months after moving in and thinking it was relatively easy. We started at 9am and after a brief break for tea, we didn’t stop until we finished at 9pm. That is, until Mr W said we needed to do the edging, he cut the small strips of wood while I glued them down. Half way through the job, I hit a snag, the walls were bowed and caused tension on the strips of wood. Once I put my hand on one end, the other would ping out of place. I end up like a freaky yoga goddess covered in glue with one foot reaching out to hold the left end of the strip in place while my hand held the right end in place. And PING it happened again. At 11:30pm, I cracked,  stormed upstairs, slammed the bathroom door behind me and sat in quiet and tired frustration. Ten minutes later, I opened the door and there he was. Sitting on the stairs, waiting for me. No words spoken, just a look to say let’s carry on.  Walking down those stairs felt easier knowing he was leading the way. We ended up finishing the project, hoovering and mopping the floor, moving all of the furniture back into the room and crawling into bed at 1am. The next day, the frustrations lifted as we came downstairs to the morning light flooding the floor for our first glance at our hard work. 

When visiting Pollensa, Majorca in 2019, we decided to stroll around the town and lose a few hours. And then, around a corner there appeared the Calvari Steps. All 365 of them. My flip flop wearing feet were feeling ambitious and my brain thought it knew better. The staircase is absolutely stunning. Lined by trees and hidden residences you don’t know until you reach the very top what is on offer to the achievers of the climb. After climbing up one third in flip flops, I decided the shiny, worn stone was too slippery for my meagre footwear and I took them off. The October sun warmed the stones enough that it was pleasant and did not burn my feet. As Mr W and I continued our walk, we took it slow and watched as other people passed us, glancing at my lack of footwear. I laughed at the thought that I looked like a pilgrim on some religious mission. Every so often, there would be a brief break in the stone strings of the stairs and we could step away into the trees and appreciate how far we had come. 365 stairs are by no means a vast number considering other staircases of the world but this place felt peaceful, unexpected and tiring all at once. Being unprepared footwear wise had made it more of a challenge, but adapting came easy. Mr W had gone from walking beside me to hold my hand to stop me from slipping, to staying beside me to take it all in. Just a few steps from the top, a man in a crisp shirt and hat sat in the shade playing his guitar. The music was soft and euphonic. It felt like we were on a film set, where was the director shouting ‘Action’? You don’t believe that scenes like that happen in real life. Once at the top we were greeted with the smallest church I have had the pleasure of stepping foot in and the single most sweeping view of the Majorcan landscape I am yet to see. The journey was hard, enlightening and I realised on our descent, my calves were going to thank me later! 

Today, I don’t feel the pain, I only have snapshots in my memory of a spontaneous moment that not only led somewhere beautiful but felt like a really special journey itself. 

Today, I felt really unhappy. We are in week one of the school holidays here in the UK and that means kids. A LOT of kids. I used to love seeing them out and about on our community green because all you hear today is how kids are glued to tvs, phones and iPads. And yet there they were, outside playing and laughing. Lately the scene has soured and there is litter everywhere, broken toys and various degrees of destruction taking place. It makes me want to close the blinds, play exceptionally loud music and pretend we have airlifted our home to a secluded area. I feel so sad because we take great pride in our home and have done since we moved in and when it comes to visitors the mess outside is the first thing they see. It feels like it’s a misrepresentation of us. It is embarrassing. I have tried hard over the years to ignore, ask for help and look at the bigger picture when I feel particularly stressed. Sometimes it works, sometimes, like today, it doesn’t. 

We have made the choice to move. There are several reasons and the above is one of them. Does it make living here today easier? Absolutely not. This house is my second ever home. Our first home as a couple. We grew here as a couple. Apart in the first year of stress. Together again as we prepared for our wedding. We became man and wife here. The walls here echo with the family who we have lost. The air still rings with laughter at private jokes and family game nights. 

Moving is a fair few years off yet. Do I feel forced out? Yes and no, if I were mentally stronger, I think living here wouldn’t bother me as much as it does but I also know there are other factors we aren’t happy with which means moving is the only option. Each step of accepting this being our future is hard. It feels like the staircase in Pollensa. By stripping it back, take all the feeling out of it leaving only logic. Clothing myself in the necessary memories and the fabric of our time here is making me slip on our decision. Sometimes, I can step aside and see this place for what it is, a beautiful singular chapter in our story.

I imagine over time, it will get easier to accept. 

It hurts now, like the first time DIY projects and the Spanish staircase did. Once it is over the pain will only be a memory, and thankfully it’ll be in a sea of memories that are absolutely stunning. Today, and the other difficult days like it, are part of a journey to something beautiful and unexpected. 

Travelling after a pandemic

Other than Italy in September 2020, we have not left the country since October 2019. There is no denial that our trip in September 2020 was incredible. The freedom we felt travelling was second to none. We were so lucky and I know we experienced an Italy that few get to see. Virtually empty, the streets were pleasant to wander in and yet a stark reminder of what the world was enduring. (Links to the Italy trip are at the bottom of this piece.)

Since then we have dabbled in travelling the UK. I set my first foot into Scotland and we have been to Northumberland three times. I truly believe that we have travelled more of the UK than ever due to the pandemic. It begs the question, would we have done so otherwise?

In only a few weeks we’ll be spending two weeks in Scotland travelling the NC500 and it’ll be our biggest and most involved trip ever as a couple. It will challenge our body capabilities and sense of perseverance more than any other joint trip together. And we are so excited! Together we have my stubbornness and his positivity, I have no doubt that we will meet and complete every challenge head on!

Owing to the fact that the world is becoming a less scary place and feeling the need to completely shut down, we want to book a trip away to do nothing. As amazing as our last few trips have been, we have started to realise that we do not stop. When we travel we go full throttle. Up early, on the go all day, physical challenges and often have late nights. Most of the time this is true for life at home. We have a very busy social life and even busier time going out for the day and enjoying every minute of our weekends together. I am sitting here reminding myself that these busy times are NOT to be seen as chores and they are there to be enjoyed. It is a change of mind that is necessary to stop the ‘we’re always busy’ thought pattern. Yes, we are busy, but it’s not something to moan about, it is something to enjoy. We have taken to blocking out days and at times full weekends in order to force ourselves to stay home and spend time in the house we love. It has helped us massively. 

It is only recently, with the hot weather, we have started to consider travelling abroad again. In the past we have spent time renting a villa and car in Majorca and deciding if and when we want to explore when we get there. Just the other day I was saying to Mr W how much joy I find in shopping for groceries when we are on the island. We often land in Palma, go to the car rental office and then head to the supermarket. It is so relaxing. There aren’t too many people, the food is so fresh and I find that we eat so much healthier when in a hot country. Fresh, crunchy salads and lots of crisp, sweet fruit. Eating is more intuitive than at home because we aren’t parked in front of a tv. There will be nights sat out on the terrace in the cool temperature and no wondering what needs to be done on a list of household chores. 

We have never done one of these trips alone and we’ve discussed it a fair few times. So in our talks regarding 2023 travels we have come up with a plan to have one relaxing trip and then an extended backpacking trip. Possibly in Italy. (Watch this space.)

With a relaxing trip in mind, we once again returned to the idea of renting a villa. Just us. On one of our coffee mornings in bed we started (meaning me) collecting prices and putting together a rough budget for said trip. We found a lovely little villa on the outskirts of Pollensa within our budget and set about looking at dates and flights. By now we know where to look for the villa, car and flights so it feels like a really easy process. 

As of two days ago it seemed it was full steam ahead and after the recent heatwave you may have some understanding of how exciting it will be to be able to escape the Spanish sun by jumping in the pool or retreating into the arctic air that is pumped out by the air-con. Oh how the UK needs to adopt the air conditioning movement of other countries!

With the restrictions in place over the past 2.5 years and all the recent chaos in airports around the world we have started wondering when it will be the right time to travel again. It has transported me back to March 2020. Our impending trip to Italy had been cancelled and most of the money was tied up in vouchers to be used within a year. I did not like the outlook. How could the biggest pandemic this generation had ever known be over within a year? So, with a ‘sodd it’ yet cautious attitude we rebooked our trip just 6 weeks ahead of the September travel time. And it worked out amazingly. We did not need to take covid tests, there was no extra paperwork and restrictions were at their worst, wearing a mask in all public areas.  

Yesterday our minds made up, budget set and a very similar ‘sodd it’ like attitude, I secured our house sitter and sat down to click those all consuming ‘confirm’ buttons. There are so few restrictions now that it’s down to the individual to whether they wear a mask and most countries, especially in Europe, require proof of vaccination rather than a clear PCR test. Sometimes you do need to do a PCR test which is always a bit risky but Spain has three requirements, only one of which you need to fulfil. We fulfil our one by being vaccinated. 

So I sat down to book the trip. Flights. Villa. Insurance. 

And then the provider sucker punched me through my laptop screen. In the space of 6 hours the price of the villa had increased by 30%. I mean, come on! This has completely derailed our budget and after checking out other providers it seems it is an industry wide increase. So I send this question out into the void of the internet. Why? What has happened to suddenly skyrocket the prices?

I spent the better part of an hour this morning having a look around and can’t seem to find a reason. So for now, I’m sitting back and waiting. Something I really hate to do but finding a sense of growth in myself that never used to be there. The patience will surely pay off when I find a villa that hasn’t slapped our budget all over the show. 

Until then I will remind myself that travelling is a privilege not an entitlement. Maybe I need to plan a UK break within the same budget parameters just in case? If I open the car window and feel the wind in my hair I can pretend that I am soaring above the clouds. Although… windows don’t open on planes. The plan is flawed. But I’ll do it all the same!

A piece of Pisa
Faith in Florence
Food and fretting in Florence
Hot chocolate in the clouds
Final frolics in Florence
Stories of Venice – Part one
Stories of Venice – Part two
Stories of Venice part three
Hindhope Linn
A hop, skip and a fracture.
Donuts
Northumberland in 4 days

Man with the big broom

The first time I went abroad I was 5 months old. So for storytelling purposes it is null and void.

But oh, the third time abroad. Well, I was 10 and it was Halkidiki, Greece. My first ever time on a plane. (We were driven to Spain when I was a baby.) It’s funny when I think of the trip I don’t remember the airport. The luggage. The hotel reception. I’ve always thought that I have a weird memory. Ask me who that guy was in that film that one time and I’ll tell you his name, his dog’s name and where he’s from. But ask me about my childhood before the age 11 or 12 and I’m pretty clueless. Maybe when senior school started my brain had to make room and sent in a little man with a big broom and swept most of my childhood memories away!

I remember a lovely evening meal we had. More of the feeling it gave me. It was on an outside terrace with big pagodas on the side of a residential street. The voices were loud. But happy. The streets were musical with the swallows flying overhead. The night was warm in the pathway of the setting sun. All considered I don’t remember being at a table or what I ate, I just remember the huge sense of family and community that I felt. The loveliest part of the memory isn’t what food it was or the view, it was the feeling that has stayed with me all these years.

Thinking about this today has made me realise that you can plan and plan a trip to better your chances to see as much as possible and weaken your anxieties. However you can’t plan for those moments that stick out. That made the whole trip.

In 2019 we rented a villa in Majorca with my dad and his partner. It was planned to be a completely relaxing trip with possible short day trips thrown in. We had meals of simple salads and chicken that everyone had a part in making and serving. Days off were spent by the pool, reading and snoozing. There were a few trips out in the car but mainly it was about a sedentary life with the odd swim and alot of snoozing. And yet in those often viewed as mundane activities the magic happened.

I woke Mr W at 6am one morning and we went up to the rooftop terrace as the sun was coming over the mountains. The whole landscape came alive as the night turned into day. Mr W had complained initially about being woken up. But soon enough we were arm in arm, watching the island wake up. A nearby farm dog started barking, a cockerel crowed and the haze over the fields lifted like a veil.

We took a very brief drive up to Cala San Vicente and had a walk along the small roads that lined the frequent coves. As we approached the top of one road the sea was crashing against the cliffs’ rocks with such force that it sent a huge wall of water droplets 20 or so feet in the air. Being particularly windy here the droplets were caught by the ferocious wind and sent in our direction. It was a brief vacation from the heat of the Spanish sun and it was hysterical. It wasn’t planned. The day trip of course was decided but how do you plan for waves, rocks and wind that work together so succinctly in order to make four people cackle so witch-like? I remember the chill that flooded my body for the briefest of seconds. And the laughter. And the feeling of freedom. That I could jump off that cliff and fly away on the wind and water. It’s something about moments like that that make a trip.

Later that week, Mr W and I introduced Dad and Pat to a drinking game. It involves cards and a lot of drinks. You get drunk very fast. And
gets messy. Was that the plan? No. Did it happen? Yes. But pray tell, can you plan to have someone spit their drink across the table in laughter? Absolutely not. Is it a stand out memory. Abso-freaking-lutely.

I like to think of the beautiful places we are yet to travel to in the world. Of places far and wide on our list. What we’ll see and do. What’s more important lately is how those components become almost secondary memories. It’s the pieces of magic in-between that I treasure.

The time my mum ordered a ‘dirty granny’ cider in Melbourne.

When I cut my brother’s hair in Bulgaria and was doing fine until I had no idea how to frame his face. He was stuck that way for a fortnight.

When Mr W had me splitting firewood on our first camping trip.

When my brothers and I snuck out of our rooms at 2am in Egypt to go swimming. The competitions in the pool and the hilarity that ensued.

If the man in my brain with the broom returns I’d ask him to take out the memories of the Vatican and the Empire state building and leave all the jewels I so treasure.