The Mallorcan Bulldog Spirit

When Good King James, Jaume I the Conqueror, crossed the seas to Mallorca in 1229, he brought with him more than just the Catalan language. Also on his journey of occupation were, among others, wannabe landowners, religious cults and what was to become a breed of dog. This canine, which came from guard dogs that were on Jaume's ships, is considered to be the only dog that is native to Mallorca. Its name is the Ca de Bou: bulldog.

Jaume's dog developed various skills other than just guarding people and property. It possessed a ferocity that came in handy in warfare. It was employed by butchers to slaughter cattle, thanks to its powerful jaws. It was used to hunt deer and wild boar, the latter of which used to be abundant on Mallorca (we're talking the late Middle Ages). But it wasn't the finished article. The Ca de Bou was to undergo development through cross-breeding before it definitively became the dog it now is. In the process, its temperament changed. It was used as a sheep dog, rather than one that would have previously spread fear among herds. It did still, though, have an innate aggression which was exploited for the wrong reasons. It fought bulls. It fought other dogs. It even fought exotic creatures imported to the island, like leopards and bears. Its role as a fighting dog was to come to an end by the turn of the twentieth century. Today, it is still very much a guard dog but it is very much more amiable and perfectly companionable if, as with any dog, it is the product of how its owner raises it and treats it. 

The Ca de Bou is of significant enough symbolism for it to have been the subject of endless debate. Its precise provenance has been disputed, though it is generally accepted that it was a descendant of the dogs that Jaume brought. However, there was to be further dispute in the late nineteenth century which threatened to undermine the claim of Ca de Bou native status and of its lineage from a breed of Spanish mastiff. An argument arose, and it was one that was centred on the colony of Gatamoix in Alcúdia.

Gatamoix was established by the English engineers who were undertaking the work at Albufera to drain large parts of it and to turn it over to use for agricultural cultivation. Bateman, Waring and Mister Green introduced workers mainly from Pollensa to this colony at the foot of the Sant Marti mountain. They also, so the argument went, introduced the British bulldog. If this were true, then the subsequent story of the Ca de Bou would have been turned on its head. The native dog wouldn't have been nearly as native as thought, as it would have been infiltrated by the English breed.

In order to establish the truth about the dogs at Gatamoix, an historian from Campanet, Damià Ferrà-Ponç, undertook research at the turn of the last century. It was principally through interviews with people who had worked at Gatamoix (by 1900, the colony was in decline). These established that there hadn't been any British bulldogs. The purity of the Ca de Bou was thus preserved.

The World Canine Organisation, more usually referred to by its French name, the Fédération Cynologique Internationale, decreed in 1964 that the Ca de Bou should officially be known as the Mallorcan dog of prey. But it has another name, a Spanish name, and that is the Dogo Mallorquín.

The word dogo is applied to several breeds, all of them mastiffs and mostly all large, such as the Great Dane (Dogo Alemán); the Dogo Mallorquín, by contrast, isn't anything like as large. But where did the word come from, as "perro" is the usual word in Spanish for a dog? The answer is pretty simple. It was lifted from the English "dog", and it started to become usage in Spanish around the seventeenth century, the reason being that English dogs, notably mastiffs, were increasingly popular and increasingly well-known.

So, although English (or British) influence on the Ca de Bou breed has been dismissed, there is a legacy in this alternative name. Not, one fancies, that it will be being used much at the fair in Muro today, where there is a Ca de Bou show and contest (not a fighting one of course). And why does Muro have such a show? Well, there's a good question, and the answer to this might be found in those interviews by Damià Ferrà-Ponç. The intimation from his research was that there was a fair deal of rivalry between different towns as to the history of its dogs. In Muro, so it was claimed, its Ca de Bou was older than others.

Who Would Poison A Dog?

What in heaven's name is going on in Puerto Pollensa? Seven dogs have now died as a consequence of ingesting poison, and the cases are no longer confined to the dog-friendly part of Llenaire beach. They have occurred as far apart as in front of the Club Pollentia on the coast road to Alcúdia and opposite the Uyal hotel. Vets seem to think that a poison to kill snails is being used, but there is still some uncertainty as to this. Regardless of what poison it is, the situation is deplorable.

The first instances of poisoning occurred in the summer of 2013. Following these, Pollensa town hall requested the installation of security cameras at the dog beach and nearby on the promenade. The office of the government's delegate in the Balearics, Teresa Palmer, which has responsibility for such decisions, felt that such a measure would be disproportionate. The town hall is now asking again for cameras. It also making it mandatory for dogs to be muzzled when they are in the relevant areas - this is for the dogs own safety - and to further remind owners that dogs have to be on a leash. This would not, however, get over the problem of dogs being allowed out unattended, so the town hall is really going to have get tough on this as well.

There is a worry that the poisonings could have an adverse impact on tourism, though one wonders quite how much tourism there has been as a result of the dog beach having been established. Nevertheless, the cases do nothing for the image of Puerto Pollensa, and so it must be hoped that the hateful person responsible for these appalling acts is discovered. But that is much easier said than done.

MALLORCA TODAY - Dog initiatives in Santa Margalida

Santa Margalida town hall is getting tougher with owners who allow dogs to roam the streets unattended and so foul the streets without any subsequent removal of excrement. There are, however, to now be so-called "caniparks" for dogs, one of them having opened in Son Bauló, while the beach of Na Patana (a "rustic" beach away from Son Bauló) is to be made available for owners to take their dogs.

See more: Diario de Mallorca

De Do Do Doggy Doo Doos

It's one of those nice dogs. On the small side, distinctly scatty and mongrelish, with blond woolly hair that hints vaguely of poodle, it isn't in the least bit precious or snooty as poodles can be. It has a jolly old time this dog. It does a fair bit of spontaneous barking for no obvious reason, indulges in some car worrying, takes itself off for merry little trots around the neighbourhood.

Yes, merry little trots around the neighbourhood. Minus a chaperone. The neighbourhood is by the beach. The dog came romping across the sand, wearing one of those looks that dogs have which suggest they've been up to no good. It stopped, had a gander, woofed at a lilo and then promptly urinated by the beach fence, a fence used as a touchline for kids' beach football games.

Beaches are meant to be no-go areas for dogs. They are go areas in winter when no one much takes any notice and when no one much is rolling around in or lying on the sand. In summer, however, whether with a chaperone or not, dogs should give a beach a wide berth. The trouble is that when a dog is flying solo, it has a habit of going where the hell it likes.

Dogs are incredibly stupid animals. They can of course be trained and conditioned. They can demonstrate some "intelligence", but their innate stupidity governs their inability to appreciate the fact that they are perambulating and indiscriminating toilets. The dog exists, as with other animals, for one purpose. Sorry, two purposes. One is to micturate, the other is to defecate. Were a dog capable of a Descartian "cogito ergo sum", it would be expressed as "I crap, therefore I am (a dog)". And more to the point, I crap wherever takes my fancy. Such as the beach.

The dog question is one that seems always to be with us. Along with inflated prices, it is a sine qua non on the list of tourist complaints (and not just tourists, it must be said). I myself have developed over the years a demeanour akin to David Carradine in "Kung Fu". Head permanently bowed, not in humility but in the constant look-out for Rover's message from a bottom.

I don't normally do requests, but recently someone said to me that I should do something about the dog question. So, here it is. But of course, I fall into the trap myself. This piece has started with the abysmally meaningless word "nice". There again, dogs are often nice. They look nice. They act in a nicely ridiculous fashion, and so we all love man's best friend.

Man's best friend. It's a tag that does disguise the true nature of the man-dog symbiosis. The dog looks upon man not as his mate but as his meal ticket; it has at least had the nous to work this out. And man isn't and wasn't daft. Had he not started to feed the dog, he wouldn't have been the meal ticket, he would have been the meal. Thus began the relationship, one in which, because of the provision of the meal, has simply added to the dog question. It eats, therefore it must defecate.

The British have long been guilty of sentimental anthropomorphism where it comes to dogs. The Spanish, on the other hand, have a hard-earned reputation as dog and animal abusers, one they haven't completely shaken off. They are, though, becoming as guilty as the Brits in assigning human values to the dog.

At Alcúdia's Sant Jaume fiesta, there is something called the "Puppy Party". Such cutesiness has echoes of the way in which the British managed to make nice (that word again) what dogs do, when the Poop Scoop was introduced. Make it all sound like the kindergarten and we can gloss over what is really going on, except when the kindergarten is struck down with toxicariasis, having had a day out on the beach.

This puppy party is in fact some sort of dog training event. It is organised by the Balearics centre for dog psychology.

A scientific starting-point for human psychology is a study of the brain. Perception, the link between the eye and brain, is crucial. Consequently, dog or any other animal psychology is a form of anthropomorphism, as we express how dogs perceive something in human terms. It isn't a pointless exercise, despite dogs' stupidly small brains, but more meaningful would be a puppy party for dog owners. For those who let their dogs go for merry little trots around the neighbourhood and to go onto beaches full of tourists and do what all dogs do. Doggy doo doos.


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De Do Do Do

Further to the note about the Puerto Pollensa "platform" in yesterday's piece, I should add that Garry tells me that this coming-together kicked off with a discussion of the very fine mess that is the front line and the pedestrianisation, but expanded its scope, as he puts it, to "nothing less than the regeneration of the dirty, neglected port". Mess, dirty: note these words. One is tempted to believe that Puerto Pollensa is the only place that suffers from filth. I can assure you that it isn't, but there is certainly a level of disquiet - no, wrong word - disgust at the state of the pavements and so on, which brings me, of course, to dogs, and what dogs do. Doggy-doo.

The other day, there was this what, had it had a sugary coating, a layer of marzipan and a sprig of holly, might have passed for something that would find itself among the Christmas fare alongside the turkey and the Brussels sprouts. There it was, slap bang outside the front of the house. What sort of giant of a hound had left that there? Some dog of war; it must have been extremely frightened. So, I think, well, am I going to get rid of this, or do I just leave it and wait for a natural degradable process to take its course? It would have taken months. A handy shovel and a copy of a local publication were put to decent, or indecent, effect, and the canine Christmas log found its way to the general rubbish container. Shame that Muro town hall seem to have cut back on what used to be daily collections, but have upped the rubbish tax not insubstantially. Still, it has now gone. Until the next one.

Dogs out on their own for a bit of a trot, a bark and a visit to the on-street throne are one thing, even if no dog is meant to be out without a chaperon and, moreover, without being tethered to one, but dogs with their human best friends that evacuate their bowels without tidying up after themselves are another. And so it was that yesterday Hayley, as in Hayley of Hayley and No-Frills Seamus and their dogs that have taken cute lessons, was lamenting the absence of doggy-doo bagettes in the local supermarkets. If you can't get them, then how are dogs' best friends meant to flush and brush or poop and scoop the streets of not just Puerto Pollensa but the entire north of the island? Is there an island- or world-wide shortage of doggy bags? Maybe the recent rise in oil prices blew a hole in the mutt mopping-up sector of the plastics industry. And holes can be a problem. I point out, well, just use an Eroski bag. They are so generous with giving away bags - that are, of course, pretty useless when it comes to recycling - that you often get a bag per item; keep you going, and the dogs, for months. Apparently though, they are prone to holes or leakage. Despite doggy bags being even thinner, they must have hidden powers of complex polymer chemistry to retain elements of Rover's bodily functions. Frankly, they would need to be made with reinforced concrete to have accommodated, minus breakage, the tonnage that was left outside the house: either that or newsprint.

So, when next expressing your indignation at the apparent indifference of dog owners to the result of the internal and ultimately external processing of a dog's dinner, berate not those owners but the plastics industry and the retail trade. For it is they who are responsible, or not.

And as a footnote to this. Had a thought. Ferreterias - the hardware shops. They sell everything. Bet they've got doggy bags. Llomgar in Alcúdia, for example. There you can also get filters for coffee machines, because - and can anyone explain this - Eroski don't sell filters in winter. Why not? Must be all that paper being diverted into the doggy business, as it were.


ANOTHER FINE MESS - REAL MALLORCA
Yes, the story goes from bad to worse. Like Subbuteo players having the odd arm snapped off or becoming dislodged from their plastic bases, the club and team are falling to pieces, losing to Huelva, a side even worse than Mallorca, and inspiring the waving of hankies in the direction of president Grande. And he has caught a cold; in fact a nigh terminal virus without a cure, unless the latest reports are to be believed, in which case cheery nurse Freddy Shepherd will arrive with some medication. It could probably be as little as a crate of Newcy Brown and some fog from the Tyne to take the club off Grande's hands. In fact, it will be a bit more and a bit stronger - an injection of between 12 and 16 million euros stronger, according to "The Diario". There is meant to be a consultation in a Newcastle surgery tomorrow. And coming back to dogs. And Freddy Shepherd. No, let's not go there, shall we. Yet.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Boney M, and if you really must - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KgevV4tpXVE . Today's title - they did some very good singles; this wasn't one of them.

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House Of Pain

Spanish property developers may have been going belly-up, but obviously it is not only Spanish builders suffering during "the crisis". Remember what I said a while ago about Taylor Woodrow in Puerto Pollensa having failed to yet sell all the apartments at its Pollentia Mar development? Things aren't too great for the company, Taylor Wimpey as it is now. An 85% drop in the profit of its Spanish division.

The property market is in a state of stasis. The Balearics registered the greatest decline in mortgages of all the Spanish regions during June. Even the luxury end, that luxury end which "The Bulletin" would have us believe is some form of über-wedged salvation, is not necessarily enjoying the benefit of those bulging pockets. There is an agency hereabouts that wants, needs, to offload one of its offices; high overhead is a killer even at the luxury end in the current circumstances. The British market, even for those for whom high property prices may not be too challenging, has run aground, courtesy of the poor exchange rate.

There is something of a myth that the British, and other foreigners, were largely to blame (or to praise, depending on your point of view) for rises in property prices. To an extent, this was the case, but it is far from the whole story. There was one major and artificial factor in the historic elevation of property prices, and that was the introduction of the euro. I seem to have mentioned this before, but it bears repetition. It all had to do with pesetas that were never banked and which to have done so in order to obtain euros would have made those pesetas "visible". The way out of this dilemma was to buy property.

The boom in housing did clearly contribute to an overall appreciation in values, though here again one cannot be certain that all was as it seemed. The declared prices of property have increased in a land where traditionally there has been a sizeable chunk of undeclared price. Mathematics, as much as real values, fuelled the property boom. And then there were all the estate agents. That many have been the victim of the property crash may be no bad thing. So many agencies and so much desire to make healthy commissions. One fancies that the agencies were, in part at any rate, a factor in driving up prices. The director of a branch of one agency once told me that he had to curb the "enthusiasm" of his sales team for excessively high prices, but admitted that this was difficult given the equal enthusiasm amongst sellers, especially Mallorcan sellers, to extract as much as possible. The foreign purchaser did indeed contribute to upping property values, but it took and takes four to do the property tango - buyer, seller, agency and bank. Buyers were only too happy to join them on the dance floor, seduced by impressions of good investment opportunities that may not have been as they seemed. And of course the banks were only too happy to go along with it all.

A mark of the present nature of the market is that not only have agencies gone to the wall most have retrenched in terms of marketing spend. Gone, or so it would appear as one doesn't see them around, are most of the property magazines, of which there were four or five prominent ones. In spring last year, one of them approached me with regard to developing more sales in the north. It proved to be a pretty forlorn task, and that was in June of last year when the word already was of "crisis", a word that only really came into everyone's consciousness this year. The internet has become the default medium for promotion, but this is only as good as sites' optimisation can make it.

Yet there persist lunatic prices. Take this example. Friends of mine are renting a house in Puerto Alcúdia. The owner has offered it for sale at 400,000. This offer is a mere 50,000 more than a previous "valuation". How can this possibly be? The Mallorcan propensity to grab for cash is legion (and I have spoken before about the apparent "greed" that is an accusation levelled at Mallorcans), but a 14% increase at a time of extreme difficulty in the market is an obscenity of avarice; it would be even in good times. I know the property. I also know properties close by that are for sale at similar prices. The new price is totally unrealistic by comparison.


HOW MUCH IS THAT DOGGY ON THE PAVEMENT?
And continuing a theme ... It should not be overlooked that much of the canine output to be encountered on the local pavements is there courtesy of dogs without chaperon. There was me thinking that Mallorca's dogs are meant to be on the lead at all times; how stupid to think that a regulation here might be applied assiduously. Down the road lives this dog. It's a very nice dog. Pretty clever, too; either that or it has a key. Two or three times a day it goes for a trot around the neighbourhood, indulges in some prolonged and non-specific barking, finds a convenient spot as its convenience and has a good old dump. Who does let the dogs out? Not only do they have scant regard for lavatorial decorum, man's best friends have little idea when it comes to the highway or pedestrian code either. Main road? That'll do nicely. Side road? Just as good. This morning, I was about to pull away in a street in Can Picafort. Where's that damn dog gone? I saw it coming, and then couldn't see it. Had to get out to make sure I wasn't about to turn it into a dog's dinner for the local ant population.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Little Feat (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VDZn6TJwwZg). The video is an overlong recent-ish live version, but still captures the essence of what was a great piece of music. Today's title - what's the connection with their big hit and Robin Williams?

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Who Let The Dogs Out?

Dogs. Here's one of those subjects that highlights the huge gulf between practice and the theory of law in these parts. Did you know that dogs are always meant to be on a lead when out and about? You wouldn't think so, rather like you wouldn't think mobile phones are not meant to be used when driving, rather like you wouldn't think cars are not meant to be washed in the street, rather like you wouldn't think you are not meant to cross roads except via a crossing-point of some sort. All kinds of things. All kinds of not meant to be, but are.

Along Puerto Alcúdia's carretera this morning, I had to stop three times to let a dog trot across this main road. Three times, three dogs, short space of time and road. And not one of them raised a paw to thank me. Bloody ingrates. Can't be British dogs, that's for sure.

I had thought to mention one particular dog and one particular dog's owner, and one particular bar where this particular dog heads for as the particular owner is often to be found there lunchtime-ish. But I'd better not. Really nice dog, this particular dog. Seems to manage to get out and trek the kilometre or so to where he thinks he might find his particular owner. (Does a dog think? Probably not.) This particular really nice dog wouldn't look so cute following a collision with a fast-moving bumper.

I imagine I can mention the local colour from Eroski, as he must be well-known to the local plod, he and his doggy troupe. One afternoon at the Pointed Thing Roundabout, there was almost a major incident to which the unleashed kennels that follow him around were a contributory factor; in fact, they were the factor. They are really nice dogs, too. One hopes they continue to be.

Near me, there are two large hounds that belong to some German neighbours. They were out for their afternoon stroll, minus leads, then broke into a bound and attempted to lick me to death. I have nothing against dogs at all, though I would rather prefer to choose when and if I am to be the target of big-dog saliva.

Oh another thing, some big dogs and some not so big dogs are also meant to be muzzled. Has anyone here ever seen a dog muzzle?


And following up the big question posed on 29 March, Jamie at Foxes may have the answer, at least where the Chinese are concerned. Fruit machines. That's where they hang out. William, who is sort of from Twisters Bar and is Dutch, confirmed that in Holland this is also the case, and related the story of when the guilder moved to the euro and there were queues of Chinese filling fruit machines in Holland with guilders that may or may not have been declared. So now we know at least part of the answer.


QUIZ
Yesterday - "Jumping Jack Flash", Rolling Stones. One of those very strange coincidences. Yesterday, I posted the blog entry and then got Johnnie Walker on Radio 2. Know what record was playing? Damn strange stuff, I tell you. Today's title - where's this from?

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Shoot The Dog

The streets have been alive with the sound of gunshot. The police have been accompanying the marksman. The crack of a rifle, and the birds clatter from the trees as though echoing the reverberation of the shot as it rips the quietness. A pause, and then another thunderous bang and more wings flapping in panic.

They have been shooting down the caterpillars, the processionary caterpillars that inhabit the pine trees, destroying the trees and then falling to earth to land on an unsuspecting passing piece of exposed skin. You can see the caterpillars’ larval sacs in the pines like large dew-dropped gossamer nests. The green general-purpose rubbish wheelies are their funeral parlour before burial at landfill.

The destruction of the caterpillar homes does, presumably, have a consensus of support. There are surely no rabid lepidopterists protesting at this elimination and taking cutesy propaganda photos of the little monsters. Which brings me to dogs, and the case of the dog refuge in Palma that is threatened with closure, with the animals being taken to a pound where their lives are likely to be cut short. This has caused a right old fuss, especially among the Brits. And the cause of the Centro Canino has been given an airing in the press, with outraged expats firing off letters to “The Bulletin”. Apparently, some Brits are calling for a boycott by tourists as a protest. If this is the case, it is as futile a gesture as it is preposterous.

Coming soon after the Hamilton incident, some manage to make a link in portraying Spaniards as bullfight-loving, dog-mistreating racists (incidentally, there was a Spanish-led anti-bullfighting protest last week). Of course it is not only the British who are engaged in fighting the closure of the refuge, but you might be forgiven for forming an impression that it was. I am as touched by the doe eyes of a dog being sized up for slaughter as anyone. I am as inclined to the anthropomorphizing of human feelings as animal senses as anyone. But one detects a certain missionary zeal in some sectors of the British expat community. Mistreatment and lack of care of animals are issues here, but they are issues for the Spaniards to sort out without the hectoring of a few expats demanding boycotts. That said, I hope the centre can remain open and continue its good work, as is the case with other such refuges on the island. The motive for the local authority seeking closure of the refuge is that a licence, applied for in September, has not been forthcoming. Quite why this should be seems open to question, but the feeling exists that Palma council would prefer to see the refuge shut. Why? To learn more about the refuge here is a link http://www.centrocaninointernacional.org


QUIZ
Yesterday – Richard Harris. Today’s title – singer, famous, Greekish

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Red Red Wine

I have some favourite expressions. You might recall my using “like shooting fish in a barrel”. There is another – “local colour”. Local colour, for me, is local characters, local oddballs. There is local colour at the Eroski supermarket on the carretera opposite the Campsa garage in Puerto Alcúdia. Some of you might know him. In summer, he bends balloons for the kids, directs cars and accepts euros from the shopping-trolleys. But he is all-year local colour. Hard though I have tried, I cannot make sense of anything he says, and I have given up trying to work out his name. He is a thoroughly nice chap.

Years ago in west London, there was a significant amount of local colour. In addition to the manic street preacher who ranted on one’s route to and from the shopping mall, there were the winos. There was one in particular. He and his colleagues used to frequent a launderette – for the warmth one presumes. A friend overheard him mumbling one day. What he said was this: “I’m not a drinker, I’m a deep thinker.” From this utterance came what were known for many years in that part of London as “men of ideas”. And men of ideas, such as this one chap, always came with an accessory – a dog. His dog used to wear tinsel as its own accessory, for much of the year it wore tinsel. You would see a flash of tinsel haring along the Uxbridge Road, attached to a dog at high speed in full barking mode in pursuit of the 83 or 297 bus. Dogs of ideas.

Our Eroski friend has a dog, well a few actually, or at least a few who accompany him on his daily routine – whatever that is – outside and sometimes inside the supermarket. Recently, two puppies have joined the kennels. Like all puppies, they have taken cute lessons, and like all puppies, they get everywhere, outside and sometimes inside the supermarket. Dogs in the supermarket. Dogs in the arms of the girls working there. The puppy put down, the girl who served me did wipe her hands on some kitchen towel. Am I bothered? Not really. But then I’m a sucker for puppies and a sucker for local colour. I should take to spending my days outside a supermarket. Fresh air, plenty of people to talk to – incomprehensibly admittedly – dogs to play with. I wouldn’t graduate to the Masters level of men of ideas. The chap outside Eroski doesn’t appear to have either. I have never seen him actually drinking, though there is a mate who pops in for the occasional bottle of cheap plonk or sherry.

Perhaps I would were it not for the fact that Eroski have their own idea of local colour. Outside and inside the supermarket, they are painting it … red: the cage over the grocery section, red; the posts by the checkouts, red; the whole of the front of the store, red; even the streetlights, red. Whose idea is that? Could only have been dreamt up by a man of ideas. Red for blood. Red for danger. Red for offensive, meant both as an insult and as in American Football’s “offense”. Local colour.


NATIONAL ANTHEM UPDATE
The Spanish Olympic Committee has dropped the proposed lyrics after all. There was not a "consensus", they say. Hum on.


QUIZ
Yesterday – Ian Dury And The Blockheads. Today’s title – ok, UB40 easy, but who wrote it?

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Oh Superman Where Are You Now?

I don’t know, I get pretty confused. All this statistical stuff. We’re back to the subject of how well, or not, restaurants have been doing this season. On 16 August (“Bad”), I referred to a survey by the small and medium-sized business organisation which suggested that restaurants, notably in Alcúdia and Can Picafort, were doing less well than last year and that the apparent late start of the high season was one of the factors (together with all-inclusives). So, what are we supposed to make of another survey emanating from the same organisation which suggests, in the case of Puerto Alcúdia, the opposite?

Restaurants in Puerto Pollensa and Puerto Alcúdia have had increases in numbers of up to 15% and up to 10% in spend. This contradicts the earlier report. Moreover, the latest survey says that June and July were better than August. Fair enough, I said this on 16 August, but this does also contradict the earlier report’s finding that the allegedly late start to the season was a reason for poor performance.

As I say, I don’t know, albeit that poor old Can Picafort is consistent - down by as much as 10% of spend.


And so to a follow-up to the issue I raised on 15 July (“200 Motels”). This concerned the over-availability of sun loungers and umbrellas on the beach at Playa de Muro. Now it seems that Muro council could be fined because there are too many, which would be passed to the concessionaires, already liable to fines from the council itself. Confused? Well, check back to 15 July for a bit more of an explanation.

Muro council is very much in the naughty chair at the moment because of the presence of dogs and horses on the beach and harm to the dunes. Well, well, here’s something else I had previously brought up (24 May: A Horse, Of Course). Something odd happened a couple of months back. I went to check the information board on my bit of beach in Playa de Muro, and it had gone. Disappeared. Now, that board for sure had a no-dogs sign, so why was it removed? Very odd.

As to the dunes, I’m also a bit confused. As far as I am aware, the dunes form part of the nature park and are therefore the responsibility of the relevant ministry. Indeed the sign that was put up when part of the dunes were roped off made this clear; there was the Government’s motif and that of S’Albufera. The criticism of the council specfically refers to the “elimination” of the dunes. I suspect that this does not envisage the head of the council standing at the water’s edge Cnut-like trying to ward off the waves. All I can think is that this suggests that the dunes have been built on or are being used for some reason or another. There is no doubt that this is the case, in the sense that hotels (and houses) have been built on what were dunes, but that is historical. What are they going to do? Plough the bulldozers into a few Iberostars? I don’t think so. Otherwise, the dunes aren’t, from what I can see, used for anything except for the Balnearios, which have also been there for years.

Confused? I am.


QUIZ
Yesterday - Will Smith “Men in Black”. Today’s title: it is a line from a song that echoes the theme of this piece.

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