A day out for mayor Cifre and environment minister Company to the La Gola park in Puerto Pollensa yesterday. Nice for them. 70 different species of bird have visited the park as well, they heard, and said that the visitors' centre will close again at the end of June because it gets too hot for birds to come during the summer and then re-open in September.
See more: Diario de Mallorca
Showing posts with label Birds. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Birds. Show all posts
Friday, May 25, 2012
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
MALLORCA TODAY - GOB adds its voice to La Gola criticism
Following yesterday's news of the criticisms by the Alternativa Party as to the apparent closure of the visitors' centre in the La Gola park in Puerto Pollensa, the environmental pressure group GOB has voiced its concern as well, attacking the regional government for seemingly having reneged on a promise that the centre would open at the start of April and for having little interest in the promotion of birdwatching tourism.
See more: Diario de Mallorca
See more: Diario de Mallorca
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
MALLORCA TODAY - La Gola visitors' centre closed
The visitors' centre in the La Gola wetland area of Puerto Pollensa did not open as it should have done on 1 April and its continuing closure as well as any obvious move to tender for its management has caused the Alternativa Party in Pollensa to suggest that it might not open at all this year. In 2011, the centre received nearly 6000 visitors, half of them British, and the Alternativa says that it has done good work since its opening in 2010 in giving information about birds, including the 70 species to be found in the La Gola area.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Unfinished Symphony: Albufera
Two in the morning. Save for the Saturday-into-Sunday night birds that swoop along the main road to and from the clubs and bars of the north and who create their sampling of engine rush and techno from the in-car system, the nights are quiet. With the arrival of May, the music of the machines will start to become unrelenting. But for now, there is motor silence. Not that there is silence.
During the day, it is hard to tell what noises come from Albufera. Those which there are, are usually drowned out by the incessant traffic. At night, it is a different matter. Amidst the quietness of the road, there is only one man-made sound that comes intermittently; the throb and sometimes roar of the Es Murterar power station, a rumbling synthesizer that conveys a mood music of mystery, an industrial electronica that is aurally surreal when set against the other sounds - those of the nature park. In April, in springtime, the sounds of Albufera build up, they are constant, always changing; they are their own unfinished symphonies.
In the mix of sound and limited vision, to the fore there is the sight of the puff monsters of pines silhouetted against moonlight or the distant lights of Muro and Sa Pobla. They are the maestros, the mute conductors of the orchestras that they hide. Unseen, in the pit of Albufera, whole string, horn and percussion sections stay up all night and play for a sleeping audience. They are the phantoms of an opera that the puff monsters mask.
It is too early for the crickets. In summer, they come to dominate, with their drum-box rhythms. For now, it is the marsh frogs that are the main percussion. It is subdued, understated at present. As the weeks pass, the frogs' chorus reaches a crescendo before being supplanted by the crickets in this unending and cyclical opus.
The music of the wetlands is variously symphonic, jazz orchestra or an ambient soundscape dreamt from the imagination of Brian Eno or Philip Glass. The syncopation of the frogs is a rapid chatter of scat drumming over which wails an improvised, viola screech of a startled barn owl or over which is the high-pitched piping blast of a scops owl. This jam session with its shifting members can bring the single, irregular hoot of a different owl, a sonic bleep that rises and falls as though it were being spun around on a radar screen.
The counterpoint to the melodies of nightingales and even robins are the crow-like bursts of a night heron on its discordant Ornette Coleman sax or the comedic intermezzo of a duck disturbed into a deranged trumpeting. The party animals that fly-dance to the tunes of the Albufera night club are the bats, darting and diving and ignoring the admonitory stares of the puff monster conductors.
You can sit and listen to all this. You can have a front-row seat for an astonishing concert that costs nothing. But you can't sit too long. Not before there is a different sound, one of a sawing buzz by the ear. The mosquitoes are alive again and they are giants in spring. The bats are hungry, thankfully. They do their best, but there are only so many mosquitoes they can eat as though they were chomping on their equivalent of popcorn taken into the auditorium for the Albufera concert.
As the night orchestra quietens around dawn, so a different shift takes over. There are over hundred different types of bird in Albufera at present, some that are there all the time, like the hoopoe which joins with the bats in being a natural destroyer of the nasty. For the hoopoe, it is the moth of the processionary caterpillar. Other birds are passing through, one or two are there by accident, such as the golden eagle. And most announce themselves as dawn comes, when they can be heard because the road is nearly always silent. Just at the moment.
The sights of Albufera, during the daytime when it can be seen, are what attracts, but there is a different attraction. What can't be seen but can only be heard. At night. The unfinished symphony of Albufera.
Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.
During the day, it is hard to tell what noises come from Albufera. Those which there are, are usually drowned out by the incessant traffic. At night, it is a different matter. Amidst the quietness of the road, there is only one man-made sound that comes intermittently; the throb and sometimes roar of the Es Murterar power station, a rumbling synthesizer that conveys a mood music of mystery, an industrial electronica that is aurally surreal when set against the other sounds - those of the nature park. In April, in springtime, the sounds of Albufera build up, they are constant, always changing; they are their own unfinished symphonies.
In the mix of sound and limited vision, to the fore there is the sight of the puff monsters of pines silhouetted against moonlight or the distant lights of Muro and Sa Pobla. They are the maestros, the mute conductors of the orchestras that they hide. Unseen, in the pit of Albufera, whole string, horn and percussion sections stay up all night and play for a sleeping audience. They are the phantoms of an opera that the puff monsters mask.
It is too early for the crickets. In summer, they come to dominate, with their drum-box rhythms. For now, it is the marsh frogs that are the main percussion. It is subdued, understated at present. As the weeks pass, the frogs' chorus reaches a crescendo before being supplanted by the crickets in this unending and cyclical opus.
The music of the wetlands is variously symphonic, jazz orchestra or an ambient soundscape dreamt from the imagination of Brian Eno or Philip Glass. The syncopation of the frogs is a rapid chatter of scat drumming over which wails an improvised, viola screech of a startled barn owl or over which is the high-pitched piping blast of a scops owl. This jam session with its shifting members can bring the single, irregular hoot of a different owl, a sonic bleep that rises and falls as though it were being spun around on a radar screen.
The counterpoint to the melodies of nightingales and even robins are the crow-like bursts of a night heron on its discordant Ornette Coleman sax or the comedic intermezzo of a duck disturbed into a deranged trumpeting. The party animals that fly-dance to the tunes of the Albufera night club are the bats, darting and diving and ignoring the admonitory stares of the puff monster conductors.
You can sit and listen to all this. You can have a front-row seat for an astonishing concert that costs nothing. But you can't sit too long. Not before there is a different sound, one of a sawing buzz by the ear. The mosquitoes are alive again and they are giants in spring. The bats are hungry, thankfully. They do their best, but there are only so many mosquitoes they can eat as though they were chomping on their equivalent of popcorn taken into the auditorium for the Albufera concert.
As the night orchestra quietens around dawn, so a different shift takes over. There are over hundred different types of bird in Albufera at present, some that are there all the time, like the hoopoe which joins with the bats in being a natural destroyer of the nasty. For the hoopoe, it is the moth of the processionary caterpillar. Other birds are passing through, one or two are there by accident, such as the golden eagle. And most announce themselves as dawn comes, when they can be heard because the road is nearly always silent. Just at the moment.
The sights of Albufera, during the daytime when it can be seen, are what attracts, but there is a different attraction. What can't be seen but can only be heard. At night. The unfinished symphony of Albufera.
Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Huntin', Shootin', Fishin': Mallorca and hunting
"Madonna has opened up this world for us now, sweetheart. She's made it stylish. Re-invented it."
"So you're going to kill things because of Madonna."
The "Absolutely Fabulous" take on huntin', shootin' and fishin'. Mallorca's winter tourism industry is missing a trick by not appealing to the Notting Hill/Holland Park set and shipping them in for a bit of wildlife slaughter. A fine rural hotel, a touch of agrotourism, evenings in the spa and then in the morning out into the Tramuntana range or onto a finca and give some fauna a good seeing-to with a high-powered rifle. If you're lucky, you might get it served up. Fancy some goat? How about some partridge? Rather plumper than a thrush or a starling.
To the north of Alcúdia old town, in the mountains of La Victoria, the quality of goat is first-rate. It was awarded a certification a couple of years ago. The excellence of the catch, promoted as such, was partly designed to bag an overseas hunter tourist.
Hunting isn't exactly big when it comes to Mallorcan tourism, but it is pretty big in Spain as a whole. An organisation known as Ibex Hunt Spain ("the taste of professionals", says its website) can help with the hunting of the Balear goat. It can help in other ways: "you will enjoy hunting our wild animals in a natural and rugged environment ... another outstanding feature is our rich and varied gastronomy ... we can also offer you a variety of accommodations (sic)". What did I tell you? A country hotel and you can wolf down the catch. That's the taste of the professional presumably.
Cue dramatic music. Mountainous terrain. The poignant plucking of a guitar. The sighting of the gun. The falling of the goat. The huntsman with his trophy. This describes a video from Ibex Hunt that you can see on YouTube - "Hunting Balear Goat". Tasteful and professional. Not, one imagines, that everyone would agree.
Oh dear, the sensibilities of anthropomorphisising homo sapiens. Personally, while I find the stabbing to death of a bull less than completely agreeable, I have no qualms with hunting. No, this isn't quite accurate. I have no qualms because it's not something I ever think about. The subject only looms into gun sight once the local hunting seasons get underway. Even then, until the transposition of human attributes onto dumb animals is given an airing by the outraged, it all passes me by, despite the sounds of gun shot that ring out daily from Albufera.
It can all be reconciled by invoking our inner hunter-gatherer. Where the anti-hunting lobby may have a point is the rather less equal contest nowadays. Our forebears lacked a Winchester semi-automatic or a silver-engraved Browning, but rest assured that if the technology had been available, they would have used it. A further difference is that those ancient ancestors would have removed the head and eaten it and taken to wearing the horns rather than mounting the head on the living-room wall, a singularly peculiar thing to do. But if someone wants to, then who am I to say they shouldn't.
Local hunting falls into two distinct categories. One is for sport, as with the goat, the other is for control. Blasting birds out of the skies or trees does have a reason, such as ensuring that those with animal-centric sensibilities can be guaranteed their olive oil or wine. Birds quite like some of Mallorca's produce as well, which is one reason for the culls. Wildlife management isn't only about keeping the wildlife alive, it's also about killing it.
Mallorca's hunting tradition is part and parcel of the island's ruralism. It may not be as strong as it was for the obvious reason that Mallorcan rural life doesn't exist in the same way that it did before mass tourism. But it's still very much there. It is celebrated each year at the hunters' fairs. For example, in 2009 this was in Pollensa, for which they had the Council of Mallorca to thank for stumping up over a hundred grand to stage it. Money well spent no doubt in helping to preserve Mallorca's alternative tourism as well as the cadre of licensed hunters on the island, of which there are over 25,000. Which sounds like an awful lot.
It isn't only the animal-rightists who get into a tiz about hunting, there is also the environmental group GOB. It has made the not entirely stupid point that it does seem somewhat contradictory to have reserves where birds flock in, only to go and start taking a pop at them. But you come back to that management, of both flora and fauna. It's all done in the best interests of nature, so be thankful that Mallorca's countryside hasn't been overrun by Barbour-wearing Madonnas or Eddys and Patsys. Yet.
Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.
"So you're going to kill things because of Madonna."
The "Absolutely Fabulous" take on huntin', shootin' and fishin'. Mallorca's winter tourism industry is missing a trick by not appealing to the Notting Hill/Holland Park set and shipping them in for a bit of wildlife slaughter. A fine rural hotel, a touch of agrotourism, evenings in the spa and then in the morning out into the Tramuntana range or onto a finca and give some fauna a good seeing-to with a high-powered rifle. If you're lucky, you might get it served up. Fancy some goat? How about some partridge? Rather plumper than a thrush or a starling.
To the north of Alcúdia old town, in the mountains of La Victoria, the quality of goat is first-rate. It was awarded a certification a couple of years ago. The excellence of the catch, promoted as such, was partly designed to bag an overseas hunter tourist.
Hunting isn't exactly big when it comes to Mallorcan tourism, but it is pretty big in Spain as a whole. An organisation known as Ibex Hunt Spain ("the taste of professionals", says its website) can help with the hunting of the Balear goat. It can help in other ways: "you will enjoy hunting our wild animals in a natural and rugged environment ... another outstanding feature is our rich and varied gastronomy ... we can also offer you a variety of accommodations (sic)". What did I tell you? A country hotel and you can wolf down the catch. That's the taste of the professional presumably.
Cue dramatic music. Mountainous terrain. The poignant plucking of a guitar. The sighting of the gun. The falling of the goat. The huntsman with his trophy. This describes a video from Ibex Hunt that you can see on YouTube - "Hunting Balear Goat". Tasteful and professional. Not, one imagines, that everyone would agree.
Oh dear, the sensibilities of anthropomorphisising homo sapiens. Personally, while I find the stabbing to death of a bull less than completely agreeable, I have no qualms with hunting. No, this isn't quite accurate. I have no qualms because it's not something I ever think about. The subject only looms into gun sight once the local hunting seasons get underway. Even then, until the transposition of human attributes onto dumb animals is given an airing by the outraged, it all passes me by, despite the sounds of gun shot that ring out daily from Albufera.
It can all be reconciled by invoking our inner hunter-gatherer. Where the anti-hunting lobby may have a point is the rather less equal contest nowadays. Our forebears lacked a Winchester semi-automatic or a silver-engraved Browning, but rest assured that if the technology had been available, they would have used it. A further difference is that those ancient ancestors would have removed the head and eaten it and taken to wearing the horns rather than mounting the head on the living-room wall, a singularly peculiar thing to do. But if someone wants to, then who am I to say they shouldn't.
Local hunting falls into two distinct categories. One is for sport, as with the goat, the other is for control. Blasting birds out of the skies or trees does have a reason, such as ensuring that those with animal-centric sensibilities can be guaranteed their olive oil or wine. Birds quite like some of Mallorca's produce as well, which is one reason for the culls. Wildlife management isn't only about keeping the wildlife alive, it's also about killing it.
Mallorca's hunting tradition is part and parcel of the island's ruralism. It may not be as strong as it was for the obvious reason that Mallorcan rural life doesn't exist in the same way that it did before mass tourism. But it's still very much there. It is celebrated each year at the hunters' fairs. For example, in 2009 this was in Pollensa, for which they had the Council of Mallorca to thank for stumping up over a hundred grand to stage it. Money well spent no doubt in helping to preserve Mallorca's alternative tourism as well as the cadre of licensed hunters on the island, of which there are over 25,000. Which sounds like an awful lot.
It isn't only the animal-rightists who get into a tiz about hunting, there is also the environmental group GOB. It has made the not entirely stupid point that it does seem somewhat contradictory to have reserves where birds flock in, only to go and start taking a pop at them. But you come back to that management, of both flora and fauna. It's all done in the best interests of nature, so be thankful that Mallorca's countryside hasn't been overrun by Barbour-wearing Madonnas or Eddys and Patsys. Yet.
Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Bang Bang, You Shot Me Down
Bang bang. The hunting season started yesterday. It lasts until January. There are apparently 26,000 licensed hunters in the Balearics; that sounds like an awful lot. As of yesterday, there were any number of birds, such as thrushes, starlings and partridges, as well as rabbits (and quite possibly other species) keeping a beady eye out for the sight of a long barrel. At least there is some control. A hunter cannot just go and blast everything out of the skies or off the land, but it may well come as a surprise that the likes of the partridge are included in this annual cull, and some of it is just that - a cull, as a proportion of the hunters are so-called preservation hunters.
To what extent the non-preservation hunters are actually making a contribution to planned wildlife management, I am not altogether sure. At a guess, I would suggest it is not that great a contribution. The hunting of wild birds sounds like a sport of the landed classes, as it is elsewhere, though here I wouldn't be so certain; it is still not that long ago that much of Mallorca was essentially rural with therefore rural pursuits. Hunting is as much a tradition as the fiesta; there is an annual hunters' "fiesta" which alternates its venue across the island. Another target of the hunter's gun, the mountain goat, is said to be of superior quality here and one that it is hoped will also attract a certain tourist, one with a rifle.
But one cannot put Mallorcan hunting into the same class as the hoorays who might pitch up for the glorious twelfth. Apart from anything else, there are no hoorays as such here; well, not among the Mallorcans at any rate. Of the older Mallorcans, I know of some who, wealthy, are also what one might describe as the salt of the earth; they shoot, they ride horses, the rural pursuit is still a part of their lives, as it would have been that of their fathers and grandfathers.
Nevertheless, not everyone is happy with the hunting. And up pops, once more, our old friends, the environmental pressure group GOB. Barely a day passes it seems without GOB making a pronouncement or a denunciation about something or other. Much as I may incline towards the environmental cause, my take on it is essentially pragmatic; GOB's is if it moves or if it grows or if it's about to be built upon or interfered with in some way by mankind, it should be left alone. It's why I referred the other day to a certain Carlism in the environmental movement here. The desire, it seems, is to revert to the pure and natural state; it is a dogmatic stance.
The power that GOB appears to now exert suggests that it might be brought into the governmental process. I doubt very much if the group would fall for that one. Once formally politicised, its members would be pressured themselves into being somewhat less one-eyed and one-issued; they wouldn't go for it. Far better to be unofficially politicised and to lob the enviro grenades (harmless ones and no doubt biodegradable, to boot) onto the political or commercial or even the environmental agenda, if this last one doesn't sound a tad contrary. For GOB has raised objections as to what is going on at the Son Real finca near to Can Picafort, the one that is managed by the sustainable development foundation, who, one would imagine, wears its environmental badge with pride. GOB would beg to differ, as hunting for birds, specifically thrushes, is to be permitted on the finca. The pressure group believes, not perhaps without some justification, that a preservation area should not be one for the extermination of the very migratory birds that it attracts and which are to the fore in the environmental argument for such preservation in the first place. GOB also reckons that tourists (yes, all those thousands upon thousands who don't come) will find it a mite peculiar that they have to dodge a hunter's aim as they are targetting the very same birds with a binocular lens. (Actually, that's sort of what is reckoned; it's not what has been said in those words exactly.)
GOB may well have an argument, but the sounds of gunshot I now hear are coming from where? Unless the sounds are travelling an awfully long distance, they are emanating from Albufera, the other and more important nature-preservation park in the area; as they have since I have been a neighbour. Even were they not, the problem with GOB is that it just can't keep its gob shut. Its pronouncements are so regular that they start to become tiresome; the group is in danger also of crying wolf (as opposed, naturally, to hunting wolf). What may have escaped GOB's attention is the fact that if it is deemed necessary to cull and to hunt, where better to do it than in areas which attract birds. The hunters are unlikely to be wandering through the middles of towns taking potshots at a passing thrush. It may indeed seem strange, to GOB, that they hunt birds in Son Real, but for the group to now make it an international issue by informing those in countries with tourists to Mallorca is taking it all a bit far. GOB devotes too much energy to hunting for new battles; these get to a stage where those who might otherwise have sympathy switch off, and so they become counter-productive. Just a little less gobby, please.
QUIZ
Yesterday's title - The Commodores - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FFHbGuSRAwg. Today's title - the one-time other half of an Irish-sounding fellow.
(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)
To what extent the non-preservation hunters are actually making a contribution to planned wildlife management, I am not altogether sure. At a guess, I would suggest it is not that great a contribution. The hunting of wild birds sounds like a sport of the landed classes, as it is elsewhere, though here I wouldn't be so certain; it is still not that long ago that much of Mallorca was essentially rural with therefore rural pursuits. Hunting is as much a tradition as the fiesta; there is an annual hunters' "fiesta" which alternates its venue across the island. Another target of the hunter's gun, the mountain goat, is said to be of superior quality here and one that it is hoped will also attract a certain tourist, one with a rifle.
But one cannot put Mallorcan hunting into the same class as the hoorays who might pitch up for the glorious twelfth. Apart from anything else, there are no hoorays as such here; well, not among the Mallorcans at any rate. Of the older Mallorcans, I know of some who, wealthy, are also what one might describe as the salt of the earth; they shoot, they ride horses, the rural pursuit is still a part of their lives, as it would have been that of their fathers and grandfathers.
Nevertheless, not everyone is happy with the hunting. And up pops, once more, our old friends, the environmental pressure group GOB. Barely a day passes it seems without GOB making a pronouncement or a denunciation about something or other. Much as I may incline towards the environmental cause, my take on it is essentially pragmatic; GOB's is if it moves or if it grows or if it's about to be built upon or interfered with in some way by mankind, it should be left alone. It's why I referred the other day to a certain Carlism in the environmental movement here. The desire, it seems, is to revert to the pure and natural state; it is a dogmatic stance.
The power that GOB appears to now exert suggests that it might be brought into the governmental process. I doubt very much if the group would fall for that one. Once formally politicised, its members would be pressured themselves into being somewhat less one-eyed and one-issued; they wouldn't go for it. Far better to be unofficially politicised and to lob the enviro grenades (harmless ones and no doubt biodegradable, to boot) onto the political or commercial or even the environmental agenda, if this last one doesn't sound a tad contrary. For GOB has raised objections as to what is going on at the Son Real finca near to Can Picafort, the one that is managed by the sustainable development foundation, who, one would imagine, wears its environmental badge with pride. GOB would beg to differ, as hunting for birds, specifically thrushes, is to be permitted on the finca. The pressure group believes, not perhaps without some justification, that a preservation area should not be one for the extermination of the very migratory birds that it attracts and which are to the fore in the environmental argument for such preservation in the first place. GOB also reckons that tourists (yes, all those thousands upon thousands who don't come) will find it a mite peculiar that they have to dodge a hunter's aim as they are targetting the very same birds with a binocular lens. (Actually, that's sort of what is reckoned; it's not what has been said in those words exactly.)
GOB may well have an argument, but the sounds of gunshot I now hear are coming from where? Unless the sounds are travelling an awfully long distance, they are emanating from Albufera, the other and more important nature-preservation park in the area; as they have since I have been a neighbour. Even were they not, the problem with GOB is that it just can't keep its gob shut. Its pronouncements are so regular that they start to become tiresome; the group is in danger also of crying wolf (as opposed, naturally, to hunting wolf). What may have escaped GOB's attention is the fact that if it is deemed necessary to cull and to hunt, where better to do it than in areas which attract birds. The hunters are unlikely to be wandering through the middles of towns taking potshots at a passing thrush. It may indeed seem strange, to GOB, that they hunt birds in Son Real, but for the group to now make it an international issue by informing those in countries with tourists to Mallorca is taking it all a bit far. GOB devotes too much energy to hunting for new battles; these get to a stage where those who might otherwise have sympathy switch off, and so they become counter-productive. Just a little less gobby, please.
QUIZ
Yesterday's title - The Commodores - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FFHbGuSRAwg. Today's title - the one-time other half of an Irish-sounding fellow.
(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)
Monday, October 01, 2007
Fly Like An Eagle
Following on from the piece about Son Real, more in the way of ecological soundness, this time in the form of little plastic figurines. The “Ultima Hora” newspaper is giving these away, their being representations of eighteen protected species to be found in and around the Balearics. So now I am already the proud owner of a little plastic fish-catching eagle which, in its moulded form, doesn’t look anything as vicious as the one in their booklet; indeed it looks quite cuddly, if plastic can ever be described as cuddly. Among the rest of these protected species are a number of birds such as the multi-coloured abellerol (whatever that is in English, but it’s like a long-beaked budgie), a falcon, a red-beaked seagull, one distinctly odd thing that’s like a cross between a chicken and an eagle, a type of puffin, and an unpleasant-looking vulture. All quite interesting, at least I think so, and it just goes to show that Mallorca and the Balearics are more than just your sand and sun.
And weather. Really humid. There is a feel to the weather in October when it is hot that it is like an oven. That’s a very simple and obvious description, but it’s apt in that there is an almost electrical feel to the heat; more kitchen, more artificial than natural.
QUIZ
Last time - Dire Straits. Today’s title ...?
(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)
Index for September 2007
Aerodrome Puerto Pollensa - 5 September 2007
Agriculture - 6 September 2007
Air Berlin - 27 September 2007
Andratx - 12 September 2007
Animals - 15 September 2007, 26 September 2007
Autumn - 22 September 2007
Balearic economy - 6 September 2007
Balearic Government - 7 September 2007, 20 September 2007
Bars - 23 September 2007
Beach umbrellas - 1 September 2007, 20 September 2007
Beaches - 1 September 2007, 9 September 2007, 20 September 2007
Bullfighting - 15 September 2007
Can Picafort - 15 September 2007, 29 September 2007
Carretera Arta -25 September 2007
Coffee - 28 September 2007
Competitiveness - 6 September 2007
Construction - 6 September 2007
Crocs - 5 September 2007, 7 September 2007, 12 September 2007
Cruises - 9 September 2007
Diet - 9 September 2007
Dogs - 1 September 2007
Dunes - 1 September 2007
Fiestas - 15 September 2007, 28 September 2007
Figs - 9 September 2007
Floods - 23 September 2007, 24 September 2007
Fruit - 9 September 2007
Golf - 29 September 2007
Hospitals - 5 September 2007, 7 September 2007, 12 September 2007
Hotel occupancy - 25 September 2007
Innovation - 6 September 2007, 7 September 2007
Mallorca Day -12 September 2007
Mallorcan economy - 6 September 2007, 7 September 2007
Medical staff - 5 September 2007, 7 September 2007, 12 September 2007
Mile, The - 13 September 2007
National cultures - 4 September 2007
Pedestrian crossings - 4 September 2007
Palma metro - 23 September 2007, 24 September 2007, 27 September 2007
Playa de Muro - 1 September 2007, 20 September 2007, 22 September 2007
Police - 11 September 2007
Pollensa - 11 September 2007
Productivity - 6 September 2007
Property market - 11 September 2007
Public toilets - 23 September 2007
Puerto Alcúdia beach - 9 September 2007, 13 September 2007
Puerto Pollensa bypass - 5 September 2007
Restaurants - 1 September 2007, 23 September 2007
Road accidents - 16 September 2007
Roads - 5 September 2007, 7 September 2007, 25 September 2007
Royal Family - 2 September 2007
Russian tourism - 28 September 2007
Santa Margalida - 29 September 2007
School - 15 September 2007
September - 3 September 2007
Smells - 11 September 2007
Son Real - 29 September 2007
Storms - 15 September 2007, 16 September 2007
Street names - 17 September 2007
Sunbeds - 1 September 2007, 20 September 2007
Toilets - 23 September 2007
Tourism statistics - 25 September 2007, 27 September 2007, 28 September 2007
Tourism strategy - 18 September 2007, 20 September 2007
Tourist spend - 1 September 2007, 2 September 2007
Tourists - 22 September 2007
Unemployment - 6 September 2007
Vermar - 28 September 2007
Weather - 15 September 2007, 16 September 2007, 23 September 2007, 27 September 2007, 29 September 2007
And weather. Really humid. There is a feel to the weather in October when it is hot that it is like an oven. That’s a very simple and obvious description, but it’s apt in that there is an almost electrical feel to the heat; more kitchen, more artificial than natural.
QUIZ
Last time - Dire Straits. Today’s title ...?
(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)
Index for September 2007
Aerodrome Puerto Pollensa - 5 September 2007
Agriculture - 6 September 2007
Air Berlin - 27 September 2007
Andratx - 12 September 2007
Animals - 15 September 2007, 26 September 2007
Autumn - 22 September 2007
Balearic economy - 6 September 2007
Balearic Government - 7 September 2007, 20 September 2007
Bars - 23 September 2007
Beach umbrellas - 1 September 2007, 20 September 2007
Beaches - 1 September 2007, 9 September 2007, 20 September 2007
Bullfighting - 15 September 2007
Can Picafort - 15 September 2007, 29 September 2007
Carretera Arta -25 September 2007
Coffee - 28 September 2007
Competitiveness - 6 September 2007
Construction - 6 September 2007
Crocs - 5 September 2007, 7 September 2007, 12 September 2007
Cruises - 9 September 2007
Diet - 9 September 2007
Dogs - 1 September 2007
Dunes - 1 September 2007
Fiestas - 15 September 2007, 28 September 2007
Figs - 9 September 2007
Floods - 23 September 2007, 24 September 2007
Fruit - 9 September 2007
Golf - 29 September 2007
Hospitals - 5 September 2007, 7 September 2007, 12 September 2007
Hotel occupancy - 25 September 2007
Innovation - 6 September 2007, 7 September 2007
Mallorca Day -12 September 2007
Mallorcan economy - 6 September 2007, 7 September 2007
Medical staff - 5 September 2007, 7 September 2007, 12 September 2007
Mile, The - 13 September 2007
National cultures - 4 September 2007
Pedestrian crossings - 4 September 2007
Palma metro - 23 September 2007, 24 September 2007, 27 September 2007
Playa de Muro - 1 September 2007, 20 September 2007, 22 September 2007
Police - 11 September 2007
Pollensa - 11 September 2007
Productivity - 6 September 2007
Property market - 11 September 2007
Public toilets - 23 September 2007
Puerto Alcúdia beach - 9 September 2007, 13 September 2007
Puerto Pollensa bypass - 5 September 2007
Restaurants - 1 September 2007, 23 September 2007
Road accidents - 16 September 2007
Roads - 5 September 2007, 7 September 2007, 25 September 2007
Royal Family - 2 September 2007
Russian tourism - 28 September 2007
Santa Margalida - 29 September 2007
School - 15 September 2007
September - 3 September 2007
Smells - 11 September 2007
Son Real - 29 September 2007
Storms - 15 September 2007, 16 September 2007
Street names - 17 September 2007
Sunbeds - 1 September 2007, 20 September 2007
Toilets - 23 September 2007
Tourism statistics - 25 September 2007, 27 September 2007, 28 September 2007
Tourism strategy - 18 September 2007, 20 September 2007
Tourist spend - 1 September 2007, 2 September 2007
Tourists - 22 September 2007
Unemployment - 6 September 2007
Vermar - 28 September 2007
Weather - 15 September 2007, 16 September 2007, 23 September 2007, 27 September 2007, 29 September 2007
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