It’s about damn time that I visited Mallorca. Having lived in Germany for a year and a half now, the number of times I’ve heard of Mallorca in conversations is ridiculous. So I finally wanted to see what all the hype was about. Upon landing there, I realised that it is not only a haven for Germans, but for the English as well.
I stayed at the Boc Palma hostels, which turned out to be much fancier than I expected. It was almost a fusion between a party hostel and a hotel. This was my first stop on my long vacation and I was determined to make the most of it. On the first morning itself, I made a friend who, lucky for me, had an entire itinerary sorted out for the place. After exchanging pleasantries, we decided to do the sites together. A classic empanada and a cappuccino were waiting for me at a pleasant cafe that was attached to the hostel, after which I decided to take a stroll around the old town. The rustic Spanish architecture and walk-only roads in the city centre have always appealed to me. Everything seemed to catch my eye and everything seemed fascinating. I stumbled upon an open library that you could walk around for free, which turned out to be tucked away from the regular tourist attractions. The church in the centre was gorgeous as usual and I continued my tradition to say a somber prayer for friends and family. The plaza had an art installation of pillars, with pictures and summaries of important events in Mallorcan history, to educate tourists about the trials and tribulations of the island.
Once I met up with my new friend, we decided to take a walk to the cathedral, with a quick stop for gelato and a crepe. The magnificence of the cathedral overlooking the port is breathtaking and is one of the miracles of European architecture due to its sheer size and detail. We finally made it to the beach after our numerous stops and made the most of the sun by lazing on the beach with the rare splashes in the water. Followed by a 2 hour beach session, a beach-side bar beckoned. With the sound of the waves splashing against the rocks beside the terrace of the bar, it was the perfect harmony to accompany a couple of cocktails and the exchanging of life stories. Sangrias were clearly on the menu and the prospect of a pitcher was too tempting to resist. The sangrias however, clearly played a number on us and brought us to that ever-so-fine knife-edge of just-drunk enough. The walk back to the hostel was clearly more hilarious, with the conversation ranging from starting our own hostel franchise to the multi-layered problems of modern relationships – a perfect shot for a vacation montage, one could say. The evening was much more raucous however, with the hostel terrace littered with scores of groups enjoying beers and wine. Once the hostel staff called for us to reduce the volume, the younger ones of our crew with the insatiable hunger for revelry – typical of your early ‘20s, decided to haul the group across to the clubs. What followed was a tiny army of semi-drunk party-goers, marching through the streets of Mallorca. The first stop was a little less noisy, but the second was where the dancing started. Taxis were needed by the end of the night to get everyone back home, with 3 of us walking back home in the pleasant Mallorcan night.
The following morning, my friend and I had pre-planned to visit the quaint town of Soller, but that requires a segment of its own. Once I was back, I took a final commemorative stroll around the city to further deepen the impression of this cute island-city into my mind. A goodbye snack followed, albeit with just my first friend from the island as the others had already left for other cities or home.
The memories were amazing, the vibes – immaculate, the company – wonderful. I have a very warm memory of them all and especially my one trusty friend-turned-tour-guide, who was the best company one could ask for.
We Need To Talk 