The sunrise at Mallorca greeted us nice and early around 6; the sea journey was an absolute torture. Compared to the pleasant ferry trips back in Greece, this 7-hour sail was most intolerable and uncomfortable; ear-drum blasting announcements at 1am, corpse-preserving air-con and interrogation style lights throughout. Not a wink of sleep. Foot passengers were last off the ferry as a coach drove onboard to carry us off.
Bus No.1 runs from the Port to the Airport near Can Pastilla via the City Centre. Although I have booked a hotel by the beach, we wanted to catch some breakfast in the city before checking in. The town was like any other town. Dad thought it looked more ‘normal’ than Madrid and Barcelona even, because we could see people in suits, queuing for buses, heading to work. It was 8am for crying out loud.
Bar Cristal won my Dad over with its nostalgic touch; ceiling fans, tiled walls, tarnished mirrors and the odd jukebox in the corner.
The hotel was a 5min walk to the Beach. This side of the island was simple, just bar and restaurants, souvenir shops and bike rentals on the sea front. My only intention for the day was lots of sleep on the white sandy beach. I got it.
It’s always difficult to choose a good restaurant by the beach; they don’t need to be good. Menus look generic and despite going to the one with most people, food was still downright awful. In the end we gave up and ate anywhere with a panoramic view of the sunset.
Fully recharged with plenty of sleep, we rented bikes to venture along the coast. The vision was to conquer the entire Mallorca Island, and hardcore biking was obviously the strategy. Dad was put off by the taller bikes we all chose and opted for one with (what he thought) smaller wheels. It was a freaking racing mountain bike, you know, the ones where your bottom hang in mid-air most of the time. 30mins into the ride, he kept whinging about his aching butt and proved to be a public threat, I swapped my bike with him – it was a prettier sight for most.
The views along the coast were breath-taking to say the least.
4 hours later my brother busted his tyres at Cala Blava. While we were waiting for his replacement bike, I realised we probably made 1/200 of the island. So much for finishing the day with a tour around the Cathedral in the old city. Ha ha ha. Instead we went to the other side of Can Pastilla with a rockier coastline after lunch.
Except for Mum’s minor fall (low energy on an uphill slope) and Dad’s near-collisions throughout the day, I think we did pretty well.
We spotted PuroBeach and Marina’s club restaurant for the posher meals. Had I came with Mister and brought my better dresses, I would have given them a try. But on this holiday, none of us were in the mood.
Then the rest of the holiday just floated…on a float bed… on calm waters.