Lovely Day

It dawned a lovely day. The mist of this November morning was the mist of an English Indian summer postponed for a month or so; summer in winter arrives later here and lingers much longer. The chill of the early morning, though, gives rise to uncertainty. What to wear exactly? A sweater or sweatshirt definitely, but a coat, too? And how might it be in the café? Interiors everywhere soon lose any of that heat of summertime.

So on a Sunday morning - wintertime and the living is easy - I intend to meet Jake from the El Laberinto maze at Café Dallas in Playa de Muro. It's about the only place you will find open. Except it's closed, as it's Sunday. We head off to Puerto Alcúdia and to Kroxan. Jake was raised in the Balearics. I'd never given the meaning of the café's name any attention. He had not been before. A Mallorcan corruption of croissant, he'll be bound. It could be. I'd only thought of it in terms of a Police song - "Kroxan, you don't have to wear that dress tonight".

Every post-season, it seems, Jake and I meet for a coffee and develop ideas for something or other. These something or others have been variously grandiose or small beer. What they have in common is that they remain ideas. It's the problem when someone has a hundred ideas a minute as does Jake. But among other things, I mention that association, the one of British and Irish businesses and residents, and say the organisers are interested in contacts in Menorca. Of course there are far fewer expats actually in Menorca, but a point he makes is interesting - that, apart from the retired expats, the Menorca-based Brits tend to all be a part of the community. Maybe it's just because there are fewer of them in Menorca, but by comparison many Brits in Mallorca live in a bubble, a bubble of, I suppose you could call it, expatishness. A bubble. I'd never thought of it like that, but it's a good description. Coming from a Menorquín Brit with a business in both Mallorca and Menorca, it had a degree of authority.

There are those, like Jake, who, because they have grown up here, are difficult to categorise. They are British, but not. They are totally integrated in that the languages pose no barriers and nor do the social mores. They can see Mallorca and the Mallorcans as it is and as they are, without a certain jaundiced, unappreciative perspective or, on the other hand, one that is so gushing as to ignore the differences that exist. But the fact that Mallorca has a relatively large expatriate population, whereas Menorca does not, does tend to emphasise a point I have made before; that the very existence of that relatively large population makes it easy to sidestep a more complete embracing of the local community and its society. Fewer other expats means there is more incentive to do otherwise. It's an obvious point, I guess, but it is still a pertinent aspect of the non-socialisation of many an expatriate who shrouds him or herself in a bubble of Britishness.


After the coffee on this lovely day, it was back to the terrace. Wintertime and the living is easy. The sun is now very warm. It's heading towards the middle of November, and what is the temperature? Twenty degrees? Feels like it's higher. Reading the papers. First the sweatshirt is discarded. A couple of minutes later, it's no good, off come the trainers and socks. A couple more minutes, you give up; and it's down to just shorts once again. There seems something absurd about this. Nip inside and the house is like an ice-box, and yet why would you put on any heating when it's summer outside? I've been thinking of establishing a lounge on the terrace, but then there would be the problem of when it chucks it down and the terrace roof leaks.

But sitting on the terrace, reading the papers, some things come and join you. Flies. The flies want to read the football reports as well. Either they come and crawl over Arsenal versus Man U or sit on your head or try and get into your ear. Flies can make a lovely day, wintertime and the living less easy, as can the mosquitoes that take to coming out in the afternoons. And then, what's that? It's a full-on great big bumble bee. It's a shock to see one. Bumble bees and wasps you hardly ever encounter. There was this thing a few days ago about a "plague" of bees in a street in Inca, which turned out to be the result of a colony kept by one of the neighbours. Bees tend to confine themselves to the countryside, so it said in the newspaper report. Maybe that's why you tend not to see them around much. But with all the plantlife in gardens it is surprising. And bees are apparently in danger. We should all be worried. Vince Cable, he of the two brains of the Liberal Democrats, raised the matter a while ago in the House of Commons. Remarkable man, Cable. Not only can he, at a stroke, prescribe solutions for the world's economy, he can probably also recite the complete works of Shakespeare backwards and carry a torch for the humble bee, and he does this seemingly very green Liberal Democrat thing without sporting a beard or sandals - in the House at any rate. The point is though that we are running out of bees. And their reduced numbers threaten the entire world's eco-system. Not enough pollination, you see. So bees, do come and join the flies in reading the papers. Maybe the flies will piss off if you are around as well. And the more you are around, the more it will still be a lovely day, and the more wintertime and the living will be easy.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - "Sister Ray" by Velvet Underground and also Joy Division (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NdlcNt2lR_o). Today's title - "when I wake up in the morning, love ..."

(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)