Viva la vida en Mallorca

Webster’s Online Dictionary defines déjà vu as “the illusion of remembering scenes and events when experienced for the first time” or “a feeling that one has seen or heard something before,” and when literally translated from French, déjà vu means “already seen.”

I had a surprising déjà vu experience this weekend when I arrived at one of the various beaches-- Arenal, to be precise -- of Mallorca. Several times this weekend, I had to shake my head to get rid of the déjà vu feeling when I thought I was at home in Panama City Beach, Florida (one of several "hometowns" that I like to claim). The tacky tourist shops, restaurants, bars, and mini-golf courses lining the beach-front road seems all too familiar after all my days spent in the US’s #1 Spring Break destination. However, I got over that feeling with a simple turn of the head. Several miles past Arenal’s beach, I could make out the profile of Palma’s cathedral, set against the backdrop of the sierras (the mountains)… which we definitely don’t have in Sunny Florida. Seeing several topless women (of all ages) also reminded me that I was not at the beach that I grew up on! Oh, European beaches. You never know what you may come across.

SK, Ida, and I arrived on the island Friday afternoon. We spent a couple of hours in the sand and the sun. Ida and I did get in the water, but opted not to submerge ourselves because it was a bit chilly. We got some sun while still remaining considerably more clothed than others!

Mallorca, the largest of Spain’s Balearic Islands, has become the vacation destination for the Germans and the British. Ever since the tourist industry took over the island’s economic prosperity, Mallorcans cater to these two groups specifically (in addition to the Spanish, of course). I heard more English this weekend (British-English, that is) than I’ve heard since I was back in the states. Our hostel--Hostel Terramar--was actually run by Brits. Hearing English was a refreshing travel experience, but to see so much of the German culture prevalent in what’s supposed to be Spanish territory was somewhat disorienting. What’s even more confusing is that Catalan shares with Spanish the title of official language(s) of the Balearic Islands. Our bus stops were announced first in Spanish and then in Catalan, and signs were often written in Catalan. Spanish, Catalan, German, and English… talk about identity crisis. As much as I would have loved to live on that Mediterranean island this year, I think I’ve dealt with enough identity issues of my own that living in a place with the same problem would be disastrous.

Palma de Mallorca is really the only city on the island. The main artery of the city begins at the Plaça de España and flows downhill towards the waterfront cathedral. A curvy series of narrow, pedestrian-only streets guide the flow of people, a living tide that moves between the tiny capillaries of shops and eateries before reconvening to animate the pulsating pathways once more. Ida, SK, and I enjoyed our share of “I’m-at-the-beach-and-on-vacation” food while walking around town: pizza-on-the-go and gelato.

We shopped out at a favorite European store called Stradivarius, whose confusing insignia inspired Ida to rename it Squiggles.

The cathedral in Palma is the main attraction. We happened to arrive at the cathedral at the same time as dozens of cruise-disembarkees who had just arrived in port and were taking their cruise excursions onto land. Yippee. Other than throwing a few elbows inside God’s House, I really enjoyed our tour of the cathedral. I’ve seen a lot of cathedrals in my day, especially in the past six months, and this one was made unique through a touch of Gaudi, that famous architect who has brought much notoriety to Barcelona. In the midst of this spacious Gothic cathedral, Gaudi created a modern masterpiece, devoting a small chapel to the sea and its spiritual roll in Mallorcan life (see pic on right).

Mallorca has a lovely diversity of terrain. Sandy beaches. Rugged mountains. Steep sea-cliffs. Quiet coves. Underground caves. Olive groves. Sheep pastures. ¡Casi hay de todo allí! Since the weather wasn’t so bueno on Saturday and we had already passed through the majority of Palma’s circulatory system, SK, Ida, and I hopped on a bus to explore the town of Valldemossa in the mountains. A soft blanket of grey mist gently hung over the mountains, as if billowed by the distant sea breeze, and slowly settled lower into the valley. Rooster crows and sheep bleats were about the only sounds we heard while ambling through the cobblestone streets. My experience in Valldemossa can be summed up in one word: tranquil.

In actuality, Mallorca isn’t like PCB, Florida, and my déjà vu experience was quickly righted to reality after a few discoveries mentioned above. Yet, I was relentlessly assaulted by a reoccurrence that I couldn’t escape. Although I never saw it, I heard Coldplay’s latest hit, Viva la vida, at least once every day during my weekend in Mallorca. But that was when I ruled the world…