What Are The Chances Of This?

Well, a break didn't work out quite as it had been intended. The reasons why involved a story of a burning-out clutch (not mine), an access track of winding, narrow, wall-lined, steep impossibility - impossible even by some of Mallorca's impossibilities - and a reluctance to park up at a nearby inn and find a wheel clamp or a tow-away the following morning. The details don't really matter and shouldn't bother you.

It was a great shame. Here was a finca house in largely untended finca grounds with nary a hint of modernity, two sheep that insisted on invading the terrace, views of cloud-topped Tramuntana. Anyone familiar with the road over the mountains will know what driving is like, but get off road and driving becomes all but impossible. This was another world, one disinclined to worry about convenience for vehicles or convenience for anything very much. This was Mallorca in the raw, and it was all rather splendid.

The road from Sóller into the mountains is interesting, to say the least. You are never quite sure where you are going and so if in fact you are going the right way. It is road bereft of signage, bereft of most things, save, mercifully, tarmac. The rendezvous point was meant to have been the Cas Xorc agrotourism. There was a note appended to its highly misleading access track, saying that it was closed because of a private party. The misleading track was misleading as it was far from clear that it was the access track. I concluded it was when a car with obvious wedding sorts drove into it.

Because of the private party, a different rendezvous point was needed. Fortunately, it was close at hand, the rather wonderful Son Bleda finca hotel. This is a stunning place, not because the hotel is that stunning (it is understated but lovely), but because of the vista into the valley and towards the Puig Major. A coffee and a lemon Fanta came to 4.50 euros. Too much? No, not at all. You pay for location and pay for loveliness.

I was meeting with an old schoolfriend, Andy. He was staying in a finca house in largely untended finca grounds some twenty minutes walk away and off the dry-stone hiking route that crosses the Tramuntana. I hadn't seen him for twenty years. Or his wife. I had never met the couple with whom they had rented the house - Dawn and David.

The point of all this is that I could, were I inclined, write a twee piece about quaint, rustic, mountainous Mallorca, but I'm not going to. Far more important was the most remarkable coincidence, and it is one that will resonate with some Alcúdia veterans.

Andy, his wife Lynne, Dawn and David live in Norfolk. Dawn and David used to live in a place called Harleston near to Diss. I found this out as the result of a phone call I received while we were sitting on the terrace, watching the invading sheep. I wouldn't have otherwise, I suspect. Lack of modernity the finca may have, but there is still the mobile phone. I didn't recognise the number, it wasn't on my phone, but it was from the UK. This in itself was odd, as I rarely receive calls from the UK on my mobile. I thought that I recognised the voice, but I also thought I was listening to the voice of a ghost. "Andrew, Andrew, is that you?" "Yes, who's ... I don't believe it. Izzy!?" "Yes, Izzy."

Let me explain, though some Alcúdia veterans will not need any explanation. Izzy used to run what was then the Agra Indian restaurant, the one that became Taste of India and which is now closed. I hadn't heard from him for, how long, five years? I knew he had ended up in Cardiff, but this was ages back. I had never thought that I would hear from him again. I now had. And this is where it all got highly coincidental not to say weird. Izzy explained that he now has a Chinese takeaway. It is called Orient Taste apparently. Where is it? Harleston, Norfolk.


Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.