Mallorca, Majorca -- you decide.

 The next stop in our adventure was Mallorca (Catalan) or Majorca (Spanish). An island off the coast of Spain, southeast of Barcelona, and nearly halfway to Algiers. The largest of the Balearic islands, it was a major seaport during James I, Crown of Aragon, and had one of the best cartographic schools during medieval times. 

Mallorca or Majorca -- either way it's a great place to hang with locals!

A commerce port for Christopher Columbus, who is suspected to be of Mallorcan descent, he hid his true origins in order to favor financial support for his explorations by various nations. It becomes very obvious why the Spaniards liked California — the coastal-scape and weather are very similar. Olive groves and wineries pepper the land; palm trees are intermixed with cactus. Spain is like our Mexico but much cleaner. The Spanish take care of their coastal desert far better than the North Americans do in Central America.

Man in middle lost his tapas. 
We were fortunate that our hosts had an extra bedroom in the FINCA ES CAULLS. An Airbnb with aqua-blue swimming pool and beautiful people, it is located inland in Llubi. The icing on the cake was Evie having Thursday through Sunday off from classes. We could bring our baby with us. 

Free your tatas sunbathing!

During the first day, I had to work on my Master’s program, and stayed home. The boys went for a beachside bachelor day, and our hostess also had online school and event planning going on. It was during this time I discovered I had caught Evie’s sinus infection. (No really, it’s not Covid, Evie had to get an antigen test to return to England,) I crashed pretty hard. Evie opted to go to the beach with a vibrant Auntie of our hostess, who only spoke Spanish (good thing for Google Translate, and good on ya, brave girl). Auntie was a lovely, and well-kept woman of her 60s, and a free-your-tatas-at-the-beach kind of woman — Evie did not partake. The beaches and outskirts do harbor mosquitos — so bring sunscreen/repellent. Many German tourists with lesser ideal bodies willingly pinked their nips — to the point of red and swollen, boiled-lobster bodies compounded with bites. Yikes!   

Mirador Es Colomer Formentor 

 (viewpoint of Colomer's formation).

We were in Mallorca for a commitment ceremony. Saturday, the day of the event, John, Evie and I took a morning drive to Mirador Es Colomer Formentor — the highest vantage point of the island. From here, we could see the seaport, the city, the arid rocky cliffs, and the blue, blue ocean. They have a feral goat problem. Several bearded billies strolled along the hiking trail, ducking my attempts to photograph them. It reminded me of Isabel Island in the Galapagos — also an old Spaniard stomping ground.

Their ceremony was a lovely event of Spanish style. The festivities (and drinking) started at 1pm and raged until 1am (literally thumping music outside our window, la música es vida). Actually, the drinking started even earlier. Most everyone ended up in the pool — except this old matron (actually, I was getting really congested and removed myself from the crowd. The copious amounts of local white wine helped me nap over the music! At least for a while.) But, what a party!
Oh my heart

They had two very talented singers perform — gratis! It was just a good time all around. I will shout out to a friendly Glasgow boy who runs a bar in town, follow @paulkeenanofficial. He’s a good guy and a fun cover singer. The food was several iterations of Spanish tapas and an open bar. I had forgotten all about being young and drinking to excess (it’s been a hot minute), but I remember my wedding, and an older lady throwing up on my father’s custom patent-leather boots. Several people tossed their tapas back up by the end of the night, including the Auntie. Who had also stripped down to her revealing skivvies because she too had been tossed into the pool. But Evie danced the night away (fully chlorinated) with handsome IT and soccer lads all around — Oh my heart.

Our daughter had an early flight back to London, and we had to get our PCR test to fly back to the States in a few days. Spain, curiously, only required proof of vaccination to enter, unlike England. We tested at noon and I received electronic results by the time we landed in Barcelona at 4pm. (America takes several days to get test results. Remember my awful experience on day one? America, you are doing it wrong) I was negative.

America, you are doing it wrong!