In the days, and there were once such days, when I enjoyed a holiday - a summer holiday, of the type which Cliff had invented - there would be this occasional bad dream. Maybe Bomb The Bass were to blame. They had, after all, or rather he had - Tim Simenon - provided the electronic lament "Winter in July". Into the dream would come snow: right around the time when the plane was on the tarmac ready to whisk us away to hot and sunny climes.
Fortunately, it was only a bad dream. Snow in summer never materialised. Climate change hadn't been that dramatic in spinning in a different direction and creating the new Ice Age. But the realisation did occasionally involve precipitation. Rain. And a glowering sky. What a strange word "glower" is. The addition of two letters and a change in pronunciation converts "glow" into the complete opposite. The Germanic branch line of English is to blame for a glowering sky, and the German language is littered with the vocabulary of meteorological foreboding and pragmatism: the frightening "Gewitter" or the explanatory "Unwetter", un-weather, a word of linguistic genius.
Likewise, Spanish has granted us "tormenta": the torment of weather akin to the tormenta of a differing kind - that which the Inquisition engaged itself in. The national meteorological agency tells us, and it is not wrong in this regard, that tormenta in August is not uncommon, but it is knowledge dissemination greeted with little satisfaction. When the sky glowers, when the rains doth fall, what the hell is there to do?
It is the lament of many parts of coastal resort Mallorca that if, only temporarily, one part of the sun-and-beach equation is removed (meaning, in practice, that both are), there is nothing to do. An answer is to get hold of the last available hire car in town and head off in a storm in order to go and get soaked somewhere else. Or to make the pilgrimage of the car-rental sector to the capital, and bring Palma to a standstill in the process. The Cathedral car park, the only one most visitors are familiar with, creates its own traffic jam. The inner lane of the Paseo Marítimo becomes almost impassable because of the queue to get in. If you can get in.
Palma does, though, provide a clue to the bad-weather conundrum as it offers the palliative of retail therapy for the beach-denied. Shops have been reporting that business is up by 40% in some instances. For the retailers, it might as well, as Carole King once observed, rain until September. What is everyone buying? They'll be declaring a crisis in the umbrella market on account of the shortage. Supply, demand, and the price of umbrellas suddenly sky rockets. But if shopping is the principal alternative, then the regional government might pay heed. Its anger at the "aggression" of Madrid and national government's constitutional challenge to local law limiting vast retail centres should be diluted. In the absence of fallback theme park and attraction alternatives in most of Mallorca, there should be vast retail palaces, prepared to admit the beach diaspora a couple of times each high summer.
Were they ever to get round to developing theme parks or at least attractions on any type of scale away from the thematic epicentre of the island's south-west, here's a suggestion. The Noah's Ark theme park. It is surely a better idea than that Christian theme park thing, about which we mercifully no longer hear anything. Animals two by two. A zoo perched above the floods. Perfect for the conversion of old arks which are lying around and rotting in small ports of the Mallorcan coast. There won't, of course, ever be such attractions. For the same reason as there won't be vast retail malls. It's the environment, stupid, the one that is buried under the weight of the car-rental sector when the un-weather rains of August are unleashed in their torment.
The shopping solution, and the impressive sales figures, will presumably reveal a sudden and high upward blip on the tourist spend monitor, and in so doing will contradict a further lament - that of the all-inclusive killing the complementary sector. Yet, it should be acknowledged that not all all-inclusive comes with an economy-class rating. It is here, at the lower end of all-inclusive, where the greatest torment is felt. Receptionists reduced to tears by guests demanding they do something about the weather, demanding that they tell them what to do. Deprived of the yellow thing, even low-grade beer, never tasty anyway, tastes that much less tasty when the sun don't shine. Drink, nonetheless, is an option, and not one that requires hiring a car in order to sit in a queue for a car-parking space. The bars love a good spot of un-weather.
Showing posts with label Storms. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Storms. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 19, 2015
Wednesday, September 10, 2014
When It Rains, It Rains
The German language possesses words which reflect a German characteristic of straightforwardness and directness and a further one of the mysterious. This vocabulary is especially evident when it comes to the weather. What a magnificent word "Unwetter" is. Un-weather. It is brilliant in its clarity, simplicity and lack of complication. It says it all. Then there is "Gewitter", a word spoken with a sense of foreboding, of the gods of Germanic mythology stirring violently and unleashing a terrible force across the land. Both words are applied to storms, though "Unwetter" is more a state of turbulent and bad weather rather than the specifically horrific storm that can be "Gewitter". I have experienced the summer "Gewitter" in the steamy south of Germany on more than occasion. You know it is coming. The wind suddenly picks up from nothing and within only a short few moments the skies change. The speed with which the storm hits and the violence it unleashes over the Central European land mass are awesome to behold, except if you happen to be caught up in it.
The Spanish "tormenta", with its implication of the tortures of the Inquisition, is frighteningly apt because of that implication. My, how vocabulary can describe the mental state that storms provoke, either through literal implication or through onomatopoeic suggestion, and German and Spanish do so far more strongly than English. The monosyllabic "storm" lacks a potency. A storm brews, just as tea does. It is a more sedate state of turbulence.
We are in the season for the Mallorcan storm. If there is any predictability with weather, it is that the island is going to be subjected to the torment of the tormenta at its most inquisitional, and it typically occurs around the middle of September. The high humidity and the paraffin-vaporous great heat of this September, the great warmth of the sea surrounding the island: the elements are there. The perfect storm is not brewing, it is being slowly and maliciously stirred before the whips of frenzy finally crack from an apocalyptic sky.
Local terminology requires us to believe that there is a "gota fría", a cutesy meteorological expression which massively understates what this cold drop can be. Strangely enough perhaps, given the German linguistic propensity for playing up the power of storms, it is a term which owes everything to German - the "Kaltlufttropfen". But even the understated in German sounds worrying and vaguely mythical, as though the Brothers Grimm invented weather.
Though the middle of September is often when the "gota" makes its coldness evident, it can be earlier or later. Just recently, we experienced the 25th anniversary of the 1989 weather event, one so extreme that five lives were lost and almost 200 litres per square metre of rain fell within two hours along the eastern part of Mallorca. It was 6 September in 1989. The anniversary has passed. We are waiting for the 2014 version, and we might well be waiting with some trepidation.
Of course, anyone who can claim an association of some years with Mallorca can point to the dramas that nature has for us in late summer and early autumn. Take 2003, for instance, a summer that was excruciatingly hot. The highs actually peaked in June, around 40 degrees, and didn't fail to exceed 30 degrees for weeks and weeks until, right on cue at the change of the month, 31 August brought with it a change. Bang, crash, wallop. "Donner und Blitzen". Or take another example. That of 4 October, 2007. The "cap de fibló" tornado which claimed the life of a worker at Son Espases, ripped roofs off buildings on the Can Valero industrial estate and hurled along a route mapped out by the motorway heading northwards. The damage was great as the swirling blackness of meteo-four horsemen of the apocalypse propelled itself with what seemed like the speed of sound.
Though there are extreme weather events, they tend not to repeat themselves with such ferocity too often. This, though, was not the case after the 1989 event. The following year, a month or so later in early October, there were the disastrous rains which affected the north of the island particularly badly. So bad were the floods that the army had to be mobilised. The city of lakes that is Alcúdia became the city of the lake. It was impossible to see where lake or canal finished and where road or pavement was supposed to be. This did, though, lead to a greater appreciation for the need to attempt to limit flood damage.
When it rains, it does indeed rain. The season is with us. We should be scouring the maps of the AEMET meteorological office for the signs. The tormenta will be with us. It's a case of when and how fierce. My, how we love to talk about the un-weather.
The Spanish "tormenta", with its implication of the tortures of the Inquisition, is frighteningly apt because of that implication. My, how vocabulary can describe the mental state that storms provoke, either through literal implication or through onomatopoeic suggestion, and German and Spanish do so far more strongly than English. The monosyllabic "storm" lacks a potency. A storm brews, just as tea does. It is a more sedate state of turbulence.
We are in the season for the Mallorcan storm. If there is any predictability with weather, it is that the island is going to be subjected to the torment of the tormenta at its most inquisitional, and it typically occurs around the middle of September. The high humidity and the paraffin-vaporous great heat of this September, the great warmth of the sea surrounding the island: the elements are there. The perfect storm is not brewing, it is being slowly and maliciously stirred before the whips of frenzy finally crack from an apocalyptic sky.
Local terminology requires us to believe that there is a "gota fría", a cutesy meteorological expression which massively understates what this cold drop can be. Strangely enough perhaps, given the German linguistic propensity for playing up the power of storms, it is a term which owes everything to German - the "Kaltlufttropfen". But even the understated in German sounds worrying and vaguely mythical, as though the Brothers Grimm invented weather.
Though the middle of September is often when the "gota" makes its coldness evident, it can be earlier or later. Just recently, we experienced the 25th anniversary of the 1989 weather event, one so extreme that five lives were lost and almost 200 litres per square metre of rain fell within two hours along the eastern part of Mallorca. It was 6 September in 1989. The anniversary has passed. We are waiting for the 2014 version, and we might well be waiting with some trepidation.
Of course, anyone who can claim an association of some years with Mallorca can point to the dramas that nature has for us in late summer and early autumn. Take 2003, for instance, a summer that was excruciatingly hot. The highs actually peaked in June, around 40 degrees, and didn't fail to exceed 30 degrees for weeks and weeks until, right on cue at the change of the month, 31 August brought with it a change. Bang, crash, wallop. "Donner und Blitzen". Or take another example. That of 4 October, 2007. The "cap de fibló" tornado which claimed the life of a worker at Son Espases, ripped roofs off buildings on the Can Valero industrial estate and hurled along a route mapped out by the motorway heading northwards. The damage was great as the swirling blackness of meteo-four horsemen of the apocalypse propelled itself with what seemed like the speed of sound.
Though there are extreme weather events, they tend not to repeat themselves with such ferocity too often. This, though, was not the case after the 1989 event. The following year, a month or so later in early October, there were the disastrous rains which affected the north of the island particularly badly. So bad were the floods that the army had to be mobilised. The city of lakes that is Alcúdia became the city of the lake. It was impossible to see where lake or canal finished and where road or pavement was supposed to be. This did, though, lead to a greater appreciation for the need to attempt to limit flood damage.
When it rains, it does indeed rain. The season is with us. We should be scouring the maps of the AEMET meteorological office for the signs. The tormenta will be with us. It's a case of when and how fierce. My, how we love to talk about the un-weather.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Jennifer, Alison, Philippa, Sue
What's in a name? It's a question that I have been known to use before in introducing an article. I will probably use it again some time. Names have a power to fascinate. They reflect society and culture and they reflect personality and behaviour, or rather may well determine that behaviour, if, that is, you believe a study from a UK parents' group as reported on by Melanie McDonagh in "The Sunday Times", and I do believe it.
Teachers, it would seem, make an appraisal of children on the basis of their Christian names - before they have even met them. And more often than not, they are right. Broadly speaking, names determine whether the kids are naughty or well-behaved, weak or strong students. You can probably guess as to some of the names that are coming, many of them C-words. Chardonnay, Crystal, Chelsea - pity the poor girl monikered with the C-name or a boy who is a Kyle, Wayne or Brandon.
It is all so different. At my admittedly middle-class grammar school, there was nary an "alternative" name to be uttered by a disbelieving and despairing teacher, unless that name was foreign. In my class of five years, before we were spread across sixth-form categories, there was another Andrew, and there were Peters, a David, an Elizabeth, a Sally, an Anne. There was also an Andrzej, Andrew by any other name, but he was of Polish extraction and went on to become a cancer research expert at Imperial College. In my year, there were at least two "bad" boys - a Gary and a Terry (Gaz and Tel) - and a Sharon who even then lived up, or down, to the reputation of the name.
There is a fertile area of tourist research in all this. Which names go where? As the results would be bleeding obvious, there must be some body somewhere that is willing to fork out some thousands for a study. And I'm your man to do it. I can already give a clue. In Puerto Pollensa, all boys are called Alex, James or Tom, all girls are Emma, Lucy or Samantha. Along Alcúdia's Mile, by contrast, are the Kyles, Tylers and Waynes, the Britneys, Chardonnays and Kylies as well as those of either gender - a Casey, a Kelly or a Jordan.
The Spanish, of course, have nothing to do with all this naming by soap or pop-star malarkey. They are simply not allowed to. But this does result in a mind-numbing conformity. For reasons I can't explain, while Spanish (and Catalan) female names retain their attractiveness in spite of this conformity - Antonia, Catalina, Isabel - male names are almost uniformly uninspiring and dull - Juan, Pedro, Miguel. There are, though, Spanish names that you never or hardly ever hear: Savannah or Tierra for a girl; Caton or Nevada for a boy. Which may be just as well, as were an expectant mother and her partner to be ambling along The Mile and were to hear a local child being called thus, in a few months time a Nevada or Savannah would be registered with the office of births in Rochdale or Watford. And then five years later, when the teacher at the first school checked the register of the new intake, a little red mark would appear. The naughty chairs would be at the ready for naughty boy and naughty girl. And the teacher would probably be right.
The water fair
On Saturday I was confused. It is the 12th today, I was asking. Yes. Then why is there no storm? It is pre-ordained. Every 12th September. Or if not the 12th, then the 15th. Or to be a little less precise, any day between the 12th and the 16th, any day when you can guarantee that summer will crash, bang and wallop to a shuddering end of biblical proportions. I was out by one day. Or two if you prefer the 15th. Given the almost 100% certainty of there being an end-of-the-world weather event on either the 12th or 13th of September, why on earth do they arrange to hold the Feria del Mar in Puerto Pollensa on those two days? If they want so much water, they might as well just hold the fair of the sea in the sea.
QUIZ
Yesterday's title - The Moody Blues, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qLgdcGEqgcw. Today's title - from the bottom of my pencil case.
(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)
Teachers, it would seem, make an appraisal of children on the basis of their Christian names - before they have even met them. And more often than not, they are right. Broadly speaking, names determine whether the kids are naughty or well-behaved, weak or strong students. You can probably guess as to some of the names that are coming, many of them C-words. Chardonnay, Crystal, Chelsea - pity the poor girl monikered with the C-name or a boy who is a Kyle, Wayne or Brandon.
It is all so different. At my admittedly middle-class grammar school, there was nary an "alternative" name to be uttered by a disbelieving and despairing teacher, unless that name was foreign. In my class of five years, before we were spread across sixth-form categories, there was another Andrew, and there were Peters, a David, an Elizabeth, a Sally, an Anne. There was also an Andrzej, Andrew by any other name, but he was of Polish extraction and went on to become a cancer research expert at Imperial College. In my year, there were at least two "bad" boys - a Gary and a Terry (Gaz and Tel) - and a Sharon who even then lived up, or down, to the reputation of the name.
There is a fertile area of tourist research in all this. Which names go where? As the results would be bleeding obvious, there must be some body somewhere that is willing to fork out some thousands for a study. And I'm your man to do it. I can already give a clue. In Puerto Pollensa, all boys are called Alex, James or Tom, all girls are Emma, Lucy or Samantha. Along Alcúdia's Mile, by contrast, are the Kyles, Tylers and Waynes, the Britneys, Chardonnays and Kylies as well as those of either gender - a Casey, a Kelly or a Jordan.
The Spanish, of course, have nothing to do with all this naming by soap or pop-star malarkey. They are simply not allowed to. But this does result in a mind-numbing conformity. For reasons I can't explain, while Spanish (and Catalan) female names retain their attractiveness in spite of this conformity - Antonia, Catalina, Isabel - male names are almost uniformly uninspiring and dull - Juan, Pedro, Miguel. There are, though, Spanish names that you never or hardly ever hear: Savannah or Tierra for a girl; Caton or Nevada for a boy. Which may be just as well, as were an expectant mother and her partner to be ambling along The Mile and were to hear a local child being called thus, in a few months time a Nevada or Savannah would be registered with the office of births in Rochdale or Watford. And then five years later, when the teacher at the first school checked the register of the new intake, a little red mark would appear. The naughty chairs would be at the ready for naughty boy and naughty girl. And the teacher would probably be right.
The water fair
On Saturday I was confused. It is the 12th today, I was asking. Yes. Then why is there no storm? It is pre-ordained. Every 12th September. Or if not the 12th, then the 15th. Or to be a little less precise, any day between the 12th and the 16th, any day when you can guarantee that summer will crash, bang and wallop to a shuddering end of biblical proportions. I was out by one day. Or two if you prefer the 15th. Given the almost 100% certainty of there being an end-of-the-world weather event on either the 12th or 13th of September, why on earth do they arrange to hold the Feria del Mar in Puerto Pollensa on those two days? If they want so much water, they might as well just hold the fair of the sea in the sea.
QUIZ
Yesterday's title - The Moody Blues, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qLgdcGEqgcw. Today's title - from the bottom of my pencil case.
(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)
Friday, November 07, 2008
Norwegian Wood
The unemployment figures around the various municipalities in Mallorca make for pretty grim reading. The highest increase for October, compared with the same month last year, has been in Estellencs which has registered an increase of 160%. All things are relative of course, and Estellencs is hardly that big a place, but areas that are strong tourism centres have seen rather better figures, if, that is, one can call increases of 47% (Pollensa) and 54% (Alcúdia) as being much better. Nearby Sa Pobla has seen unemployment rise by over 75%, yet the small municipality of Búger has witnessed only a 3 per cent increase (33 as opposed to 32 last year being out of work).
Looking again at the queues in Puerto Alcúdia yesterday, one wonders what these figures will look like for November. It is not a great situation.
Still, there is always something to look forward to that will make everyone's lives that much brighter. And what could be better in achieving this than a bit of Nordic walking. Well, quite a lot probably, but in Alcúdia fans of this curious past-time will now be able to enjoy three different routes, much of them in woodland and forest - in Barcares, La Victoria and the other around Coll Baix. For those who may not yet be up to speed, or down to slowness, with Nordic walking, it is walking with poles in the style of Nordic skiing but without skis and without snow. The real benefit from Nordic walking lies with its being tackled as an aerobic sport, i.e. putting your back into it and making an effort, otherwise it is just, well, walking with a couple of sticks. And walking with a couple of wooden sticks is how one sees it often being practised. Germans of advanced years are regularly to be heard on the streets near me, click-clacking along at a slow speed of Nordic knots. This really is not how to do it. You may as well just walk and forget the sticks. That a way, you wouldn't look quite so ridiculous. And this is one of the problems with Nordic walking; it looks daft. Anything that takes walking and turns it into a sport makes the otherwise straightforward act of one foot in front of another an object of derision - like the walks of Olympic athletics infamy, buttocks raised by the left and then by the right and feet often not staying in contact with the ground. Why not just run?
Anyway, I guess the hope is that these Nordic routes will attract great hordes of stick-bearing tourists. Alcúdia's mayor, Miquel Ferrer (as reported by "The Diario") has entered into a collaboration with the island's tourist authorities for promoting the town as a centre of Nordic walking. There is something to be said for having mates in slightly higher places. Ferrer is second-in-command in the Unió Mallorquina party to Miquel Nadal. And who is head of tourism? Yes, Miquel Nadal. To be fair, this is the culmination of a drive to make Alcúdia a place of Nordic walking wonder - it was, for example, included in the past summer's programme of sporting events in the town - so the fact that Nadal has got the gig as tourism minister is really only a coincidence. There is also the hiking route that links Coll Baix and La Victoria, of which the Nordic routes may be a part or the same; the hiking route referred to back on 7 July (Walking Back To Happiness).
But assuming that this initiative does result in some additional form of tourism, how wide might the benefits be? There is something of the cycling tourism about all this; the cycling tourism that many criticise for not helping local bars and restaurants. This is a fallacy. Cycling tourism can work very well to the advantage of bars and restaurants if they forge strong relationships with the cyclists and their organisers, as is the case with Restaurant Boy in Playa de Muro. The Nordic walkers though will be hacking around parts of Alcúdia where there is barely a watering-hole or hostelry to be found. Red Rum in Barcares or the Mirador in La Victoria may be beneficiaries but that would be about your lot.
Mallorca is not that big an island, and it can seem surprising that it can give rise to very localised weather events. During Tuesday night and into Wednesday there was an intense storm that affected Palma in particular. This is not the first time in the past month or so that Palma seems to have got it in the neck while other parts of the island have not. In the north there was nothing of this storm. And when Palma had an earlier heavy dose, nearby places like Magaluf were calm. There are, of course, all-island weather bouts, and one's impression has tended to be that the north gets the worst of the weather. But this has certainly not been the case just recently. The one part of the island that does seem to escape the worst is the east. The storm of Tuesday night did hit it, but whereas Palma was inundated with some 50 litres of rain, Porto Colom had only seven. It may be a wrong impression, but if you want to avoid the weather at its worst, then head east.
QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Ian Dury And The Blockheads. No live-performance youtube, but there is one with Phil Jupitus taking the Dury role (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ylvcU3iuUY). Today's title - no clues needed.
(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)
Looking again at the queues in Puerto Alcúdia yesterday, one wonders what these figures will look like for November. It is not a great situation.
Still, there is always something to look forward to that will make everyone's lives that much brighter. And what could be better in achieving this than a bit of Nordic walking. Well, quite a lot probably, but in Alcúdia fans of this curious past-time will now be able to enjoy three different routes, much of them in woodland and forest - in Barcares, La Victoria and the other around Coll Baix. For those who may not yet be up to speed, or down to slowness, with Nordic walking, it is walking with poles in the style of Nordic skiing but without skis and without snow. The real benefit from Nordic walking lies with its being tackled as an aerobic sport, i.e. putting your back into it and making an effort, otherwise it is just, well, walking with a couple of sticks. And walking with a couple of wooden sticks is how one sees it often being practised. Germans of advanced years are regularly to be heard on the streets near me, click-clacking along at a slow speed of Nordic knots. This really is not how to do it. You may as well just walk and forget the sticks. That a way, you wouldn't look quite so ridiculous. And this is one of the problems with Nordic walking; it looks daft. Anything that takes walking and turns it into a sport makes the otherwise straightforward act of one foot in front of another an object of derision - like the walks of Olympic athletics infamy, buttocks raised by the left and then by the right and feet often not staying in contact with the ground. Why not just run?
Anyway, I guess the hope is that these Nordic routes will attract great hordes of stick-bearing tourists. Alcúdia's mayor, Miquel Ferrer (as reported by "The Diario") has entered into a collaboration with the island's tourist authorities for promoting the town as a centre of Nordic walking. There is something to be said for having mates in slightly higher places. Ferrer is second-in-command in the Unió Mallorquina party to Miquel Nadal. And who is head of tourism? Yes, Miquel Nadal. To be fair, this is the culmination of a drive to make Alcúdia a place of Nordic walking wonder - it was, for example, included in the past summer's programme of sporting events in the town - so the fact that Nadal has got the gig as tourism minister is really only a coincidence. There is also the hiking route that links Coll Baix and La Victoria, of which the Nordic routes may be a part or the same; the hiking route referred to back on 7 July (Walking Back To Happiness).
But assuming that this initiative does result in some additional form of tourism, how wide might the benefits be? There is something of the cycling tourism about all this; the cycling tourism that many criticise for not helping local bars and restaurants. This is a fallacy. Cycling tourism can work very well to the advantage of bars and restaurants if they forge strong relationships with the cyclists and their organisers, as is the case with Restaurant Boy in Playa de Muro. The Nordic walkers though will be hacking around parts of Alcúdia where there is barely a watering-hole or hostelry to be found. Red Rum in Barcares or the Mirador in La Victoria may be beneficiaries but that would be about your lot.
Mallorca is not that big an island, and it can seem surprising that it can give rise to very localised weather events. During Tuesday night and into Wednesday there was an intense storm that affected Palma in particular. This is not the first time in the past month or so that Palma seems to have got it in the neck while other parts of the island have not. In the north there was nothing of this storm. And when Palma had an earlier heavy dose, nearby places like Magaluf were calm. There are, of course, all-island weather bouts, and one's impression has tended to be that the north gets the worst of the weather. But this has certainly not been the case just recently. The one part of the island that does seem to escape the worst is the east. The storm of Tuesday night did hit it, but whereas Palma was inundated with some 50 litres of rain, Porto Colom had only seven. It may be a wrong impression, but if you want to avoid the weather at its worst, then head east.
QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Ian Dury And The Blockheads. No live-performance youtube, but there is one with Phil Jupitus taking the Dury role (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ylvcU3iuUY). Today's title - no clues needed.
(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)
Sunday, October 26, 2008
If The Summer Changed To Winter
The season is closing with the worst of weather; it's a shame for the last-dreg tourists who might have hoped to have caught a bit of decent sun. They are more likely to catch a cold. The shifts in weather in autumn are the originators of sniffles and sore throats; I should know, I had to get some antibiotics from the chemist yesterday. And resistance is lessened when sleep is disturbed, as it was two nights ago by a storm that came and then went on through most of the night and which deposited industrial quantities of rain. The forecast says it will get cold during the week. Snow (on the mountain tops) is not unusual this early; I mentioned such around the start of November last year.
The change in the weather brings with it a whole change in diet. Gone are the salads of summer, replaced by the "winter-warmers". It is possible to eat well and cheaply in winter if one opts for the staples of a Spanish diet that are often overlooked by the Brits. The chickpea, for instance, is an ancient part of Spanish cuisine. Go back to historical accounts around the time of the start of empire in the late fifteenth century, and you will discover that the nobility was eating chickpeas. While these and white beans and lentils can all be prepared, the easier route is the jar. They are dirt cheap; 60 centimos or so for a good-sized one. Chickpeas or beans or both with some pieces of local sausage or pork in a stew with stock or gravy, serve with some veg and you can even dispense with potatoes or rice, it's that filling. And it all costs very little. There may be a bit of a bowel attack later, but what the heck.
One thing you can get here easily is Bisto in its various flavours. This is a godsend. The alternatives - the Spanish or German gravies/stocks are either tasteless or are akin to eating your way through a salt mine. A cracking mix for taste is to add "tomate frito", a sort of halfway between a tomato sauce and a purée, and which is usually piled high in supermarkets. Without overdoing it, it is an excellent addition to most sauces or gravies. Cooking up a pea or pulse stew with the likes of broccoli or green beans (which can be quite dear at times) is about as healthy as it gets, except maybe the local sausage; broccoli and green beans, for instance, both rated 100 out of 100 in a recent listing of the most nutritious of food stuffs. Something else recent was a look at the Spanish menú del día by the equivalent of the Consumers' Association. It said that the menú was too heavily loaded in favour of carbs, if not necessarily of the legume variety. Hard for me to say, I've not had many, but when I have, they have usually always been good. One such at Bon Profit in Puerto Pollensa, to which I was taken by José at Bony, was difficult to get past the first course - the sopa mallorquina - which was that filling. Another goodie, as recommended by Seamus at No Frills, is Alhambra in Puerto Alcúdia. One of the most popular of all menús is that at Celler El Moli in Pollensa - a barn of a converted mill that is always full. These menús are never expensive, even if they are experiencing a bit of a slump just at the moment. I did, however, once have a menú which featured, as the main course, the local favourite of pork and cabbage. It was truly disgusting, unless, that is, you like pork with merely a hint of meat and cabbage that has been cooked into a yellow mush. "It's good for preventing cancer," said the lady owner who I know well and am very fond of and, for which reason, I am not going to mention the restaurant in question. Maybe so, but I can probably find other ways of avoiding it.
And as winter beckons, so there is something of a winter of discontent in the political ranks of the island. Following on from the sacking of the Unió Mallorquina's tourism minister from the Balearic Government, there are now not one, but two ministers involved with court cases involving alleged frauds. Of the three main parties, the only one that seems unaffected is the PSOE socialists (who lead the Balearic Government); the scandals relate to the nationalists and the Partido Popular. There is talk of an early election, as a consequence of these cases, but the president, Francesc Antich, is saying no - at the moment. An opinion poll suggests that, were there to be a snap election, the socialists would increase their representation. There is also talk of local rule being taken away and handed over to Madrid. I don't know how this could possibly be done; it would be a major constitutional crisis were it to be. Regional autonomy is enshrined in Spain's democracy; one disrupts it at one's peril, and it is most unlikely that it would happen. Yet, for all that, local democracy becomes imperilled by the accusations of corruption; they cut away at the basis of trust. But in truth, trust is not something that one can easily apply here. Scratch beneath the surface, and one fears that there is always something not quite right. Partly, one suspects, this is a hangover from the Franco days. Then, for instance, rules were there for the breaking, not least when it came to tax liabilities of the wealthy and powerful. There is also the incestuousness of an island community - the "networks" that existed and probably still do. Corrupt practices take time to be eradicated, especially when they were part of the fabric of public life. One might say, well it's been over 30 years. True, but attitudes can take a longer time to change than institutions or the law. There will be more cases, but they won't be a reason for centralising total political control on a remote part of mainland Spain.
QUIZ
Yesterday's title - The Specials, "Ghost Town" (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RZ2oXzrnti4). Today's title - a line from a monster "prog" band; affirmative.
(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)
The change in the weather brings with it a whole change in diet. Gone are the salads of summer, replaced by the "winter-warmers". It is possible to eat well and cheaply in winter if one opts for the staples of a Spanish diet that are often overlooked by the Brits. The chickpea, for instance, is an ancient part of Spanish cuisine. Go back to historical accounts around the time of the start of empire in the late fifteenth century, and you will discover that the nobility was eating chickpeas. While these and white beans and lentils can all be prepared, the easier route is the jar. They are dirt cheap; 60 centimos or so for a good-sized one. Chickpeas or beans or both with some pieces of local sausage or pork in a stew with stock or gravy, serve with some veg and you can even dispense with potatoes or rice, it's that filling. And it all costs very little. There may be a bit of a bowel attack later, but what the heck.
One thing you can get here easily is Bisto in its various flavours. This is a godsend. The alternatives - the Spanish or German gravies/stocks are either tasteless or are akin to eating your way through a salt mine. A cracking mix for taste is to add "tomate frito", a sort of halfway between a tomato sauce and a purée, and which is usually piled high in supermarkets. Without overdoing it, it is an excellent addition to most sauces or gravies. Cooking up a pea or pulse stew with the likes of broccoli or green beans (which can be quite dear at times) is about as healthy as it gets, except maybe the local sausage; broccoli and green beans, for instance, both rated 100 out of 100 in a recent listing of the most nutritious of food stuffs. Something else recent was a look at the Spanish menú del día by the equivalent of the Consumers' Association. It said that the menú was too heavily loaded in favour of carbs, if not necessarily of the legume variety. Hard for me to say, I've not had many, but when I have, they have usually always been good. One such at Bon Profit in Puerto Pollensa, to which I was taken by José at Bony, was difficult to get past the first course - the sopa mallorquina - which was that filling. Another goodie, as recommended by Seamus at No Frills, is Alhambra in Puerto Alcúdia. One of the most popular of all menús is that at Celler El Moli in Pollensa - a barn of a converted mill that is always full. These menús are never expensive, even if they are experiencing a bit of a slump just at the moment. I did, however, once have a menú which featured, as the main course, the local favourite of pork and cabbage. It was truly disgusting, unless, that is, you like pork with merely a hint of meat and cabbage that has been cooked into a yellow mush. "It's good for preventing cancer," said the lady owner who I know well and am very fond of and, for which reason, I am not going to mention the restaurant in question. Maybe so, but I can probably find other ways of avoiding it.
And as winter beckons, so there is something of a winter of discontent in the political ranks of the island. Following on from the sacking of the Unió Mallorquina's tourism minister from the Balearic Government, there are now not one, but two ministers involved with court cases involving alleged frauds. Of the three main parties, the only one that seems unaffected is the PSOE socialists (who lead the Balearic Government); the scandals relate to the nationalists and the Partido Popular. There is talk of an early election, as a consequence of these cases, but the president, Francesc Antich, is saying no - at the moment. An opinion poll suggests that, were there to be a snap election, the socialists would increase their representation. There is also talk of local rule being taken away and handed over to Madrid. I don't know how this could possibly be done; it would be a major constitutional crisis were it to be. Regional autonomy is enshrined in Spain's democracy; one disrupts it at one's peril, and it is most unlikely that it would happen. Yet, for all that, local democracy becomes imperilled by the accusations of corruption; they cut away at the basis of trust. But in truth, trust is not something that one can easily apply here. Scratch beneath the surface, and one fears that there is always something not quite right. Partly, one suspects, this is a hangover from the Franco days. Then, for instance, rules were there for the breaking, not least when it came to tax liabilities of the wealthy and powerful. There is also the incestuousness of an island community - the "networks" that existed and probably still do. Corrupt practices take time to be eradicated, especially when they were part of the fabric of public life. One might say, well it's been over 30 years. True, but attitudes can take a longer time to change than institutions or the law. There will be more cases, but they won't be a reason for centralising total political control on a remote part of mainland Spain.
QUIZ
Yesterday's title - The Specials, "Ghost Town" (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RZ2oXzrnti4). Today's title - a line from a monster "prog" band; affirmative.
(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Raining In My Heart
So there was I saying that the weather had been benign, and what does it go and do? You guessed it. A madre-and-padre of a downpour, though the accompanying storm was a pussy-cat compared to last October when there was the lion of the tornado or hurricane, or whatever it was, and then something close to it a couple of weeks later. Actually, it was more like a bloody great elephant, trampling everything in its path and sitting on top of you and blowing vast oceans out of its trunk. Anyway, as usual the road out front flooded yesterday, letting 4x4 racers hare through the water and belch a tsunami over the garden gate. You do wonder quite why they can't get round to sorting it out; the drains can't cope. Oh, and sorting out the 4x4 racers.
Of course some bright spark with nothing more intelligent to say will observe that it's good for the garden. Which is true, but it can do without too much assistance to damn well grow at this time of the year. Bushes, bloody bushes; they need no help from mother nature, or don't appear to. Hacked down, amidst wiping the sweat away from the eyes in August, they've put on a spurt, and now there's another round of cutting. I could always use a chain-saw, but where's the fun in that? All over in a couple of minutes. No, some long scissors and a hand saw are preferable; and that way I can keep on moaning. These bushes. It's not even as if I know what they're called - other than bushes. I'm entrapped by a year-round entanglement of bush, and no comments, please, about other forms of bush, notably of the anatomical variety.
But when it does decide to deposit a Mediterranean's worth of water from the skies, I guess I can be grateful for the high kerbstones, the raised terrace and the very accommodating if, during summer, parched lawn. You get these flyers for artificial grass and you can of course always just concrete it all over and save yourself a mowing job, but lawn, real lawn, is a decent-enough soaker-up of apocalyptic deluges. I never feel threatened by flooding encroaching into the house, except when the rains bring forth biblical quantities and are borne on a horizontal wind at the speeds of a Formula One driver and then decide to enter the house via the gaps under the doors on the top terrace and thus down the stairs. That I can do without, especially after the boiler blew its gasket last weekend.
All this stuff that grows though. Take palm trees. Mercifully, I have none. They may add this all-well-and-good Mediterranean, tropical appearance, but they are a pain in the backside to maintain. The tornado may be the elephant of the meteorological world, but the palm tree is its close horticultural cousin. Not only does it take up vast amounts of space, get close to one that's not been cut back during a high wind, and you'll receive a firm slap. The fronds are whipped up at great velocity; they are nature's dominatrix of a Max Mosley fantasy.
My neighbour has palms, one of which hangs itself over into my garden. It doesn't bother me, in the same way that I trust my neighbour is none too bothered by my ivy growing into his garden. But now and then a chap comes along to cut it back, and we engage in what has become a sort of annual conversation comparing his job to a hairdresser's. "Giving the palm a short back and sides, Joan." That sort of thing. Ho-ho. What I do have though is these plants that are from the pineapple family. I was once told their name, and promptly forgot it. But these things are taking over. There are five of them now, and the leaves are like knives. Get too close and you'll be scythed to pieces; they are garden machete. Do any work in their proximity, and it's best to approach them wearing full armour. There again, one of them, the most mature one, flowers for a brief while; an astonishing white-pink-purple waxy type of curlicue flower that shoots skyward. When the flowers die off, which they have, what is left is this withered twig. I guess you are meant to cut it down, but there's no way I'm going near it. I don't own a full suit of armour.
Anyway, the storm has passed, and the dawn is fine, and so I shall probably be forced to tackle more damn bushes. The tourists that remain will, with yesterday's storm, have been given an answer to that endless refrain of a question - "what's the weather like in October?". No month attracts more questions of this variety than October. I can understand it, as I can understand people asking the same question of any month, especially if they have never been here. October can be anything you want it to be. It can be the serenity of the days before the storm or the riled animal of the storm or just indifferent drizzle and showers, and when it is as yesterday, the tourist morale and hearts sink. What's it like in October? Whatever you like.
CAMINO DE TERNELLES
Following the attempt by the rambling militants to take over the camino in Pollensa in defence of loving to go a-wandering, the mayor of Pollensa has now said that he will sign a decree that allows the camino to be opened to the public. This, of course, has nothing to do with the pressure from political opponents, at least that's how it's being presented. The public way may soon, therefore, be open, and I'm sure we can all sleep easier knowing this.
QUIZ
Yesterday's title - The Style Council (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mJeP3mipHQY). Today's title - speccy.
(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)
Of course some bright spark with nothing more intelligent to say will observe that it's good for the garden. Which is true, but it can do without too much assistance to damn well grow at this time of the year. Bushes, bloody bushes; they need no help from mother nature, or don't appear to. Hacked down, amidst wiping the sweat away from the eyes in August, they've put on a spurt, and now there's another round of cutting. I could always use a chain-saw, but where's the fun in that? All over in a couple of minutes. No, some long scissors and a hand saw are preferable; and that way I can keep on moaning. These bushes. It's not even as if I know what they're called - other than bushes. I'm entrapped by a year-round entanglement of bush, and no comments, please, about other forms of bush, notably of the anatomical variety.
But when it does decide to deposit a Mediterranean's worth of water from the skies, I guess I can be grateful for the high kerbstones, the raised terrace and the very accommodating if, during summer, parched lawn. You get these flyers for artificial grass and you can of course always just concrete it all over and save yourself a mowing job, but lawn, real lawn, is a decent-enough soaker-up of apocalyptic deluges. I never feel threatened by flooding encroaching into the house, except when the rains bring forth biblical quantities and are borne on a horizontal wind at the speeds of a Formula One driver and then decide to enter the house via the gaps under the doors on the top terrace and thus down the stairs. That I can do without, especially after the boiler blew its gasket last weekend.
All this stuff that grows though. Take palm trees. Mercifully, I have none. They may add this all-well-and-good Mediterranean, tropical appearance, but they are a pain in the backside to maintain. The tornado may be the elephant of the meteorological world, but the palm tree is its close horticultural cousin. Not only does it take up vast amounts of space, get close to one that's not been cut back during a high wind, and you'll receive a firm slap. The fronds are whipped up at great velocity; they are nature's dominatrix of a Max Mosley fantasy.
My neighbour has palms, one of which hangs itself over into my garden. It doesn't bother me, in the same way that I trust my neighbour is none too bothered by my ivy growing into his garden. But now and then a chap comes along to cut it back, and we engage in what has become a sort of annual conversation comparing his job to a hairdresser's. "Giving the palm a short back and sides, Joan." That sort of thing. Ho-ho. What I do have though is these plants that are from the pineapple family. I was once told their name, and promptly forgot it. But these things are taking over. There are five of them now, and the leaves are like knives. Get too close and you'll be scythed to pieces; they are garden machete. Do any work in their proximity, and it's best to approach them wearing full armour. There again, one of them, the most mature one, flowers for a brief while; an astonishing white-pink-purple waxy type of curlicue flower that shoots skyward. When the flowers die off, which they have, what is left is this withered twig. I guess you are meant to cut it down, but there's no way I'm going near it. I don't own a full suit of armour.
Anyway, the storm has passed, and the dawn is fine, and so I shall probably be forced to tackle more damn bushes. The tourists that remain will, with yesterday's storm, have been given an answer to that endless refrain of a question - "what's the weather like in October?". No month attracts more questions of this variety than October. I can understand it, as I can understand people asking the same question of any month, especially if they have never been here. October can be anything you want it to be. It can be the serenity of the days before the storm or the riled animal of the storm or just indifferent drizzle and showers, and when it is as yesterday, the tourist morale and hearts sink. What's it like in October? Whatever you like.
CAMINO DE TERNELLES
Following the attempt by the rambling militants to take over the camino in Pollensa in defence of loving to go a-wandering, the mayor of Pollensa has now said that he will sign a decree that allows the camino to be opened to the public. This, of course, has nothing to do with the pressure from political opponents, at least that's how it's being presented. The public way may soon, therefore, be open, and I'm sure we can all sleep easier knowing this.
QUIZ
Yesterday's title - The Style Council (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mJeP3mipHQY). Today's title - speccy.
(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)
Friday, September 12, 2008
We All Fall Down
The collapse of the XL Leisure Group pretty much says all that we need to know. If the UK's third largest tour operator is forced into administration, then it is confirmation of the dire state of the general economy - credit crunch, rising fuel prices, inability to re-finance. There are doubtless some holidaymakers stranded in Mallorca as a consequence, and others who may have no holiday or refund, if they booked direct. This news comes on the back of the troubles at two Mallorca-based airlines. Spanair's travails have been well-publicised. Futura is facing its own collapse and also some questions as to the motives of the Highbury Investment Group. A further company, another UK tour operator, Seguro, has been a victim of Futura entering administration, as the airline was the carrier for the bulk of Seguro's customers. Unfortunately, there is probably more of all this to come, and it was rather predictable. If anything, it may well push those looking to book next year into the hands of companies who would appear to be totally stable - TUI and Thomas Cook most obviously.
MORE ABOUT CATALAN
The promotion of Catalan. It's not the first time we've been here, and it won't be the last. This week, the Balearic Government rejoined the consortium of the Ramón Llull Institute. As reported in "Ultima Hora", the previous administration of Jaume Matas (Partido Popular) had left the consortium because of a "lack of political will"; it's reckoned that the real reason was the promotion of the Catalan language. The current president, Francesc Antich, called the return to the fold an "historic day" for the Catalan language and culture. The institute does indeed exist to promote the Catalan language.
Llull is someone I have spoken about before. He is not only one of the most famous of Mallorcans in history, he is also one of the most interesting characters of all European history of the Middle Ages. He is rightly celebrated, and he is rightly associated with the promotion of Catalan - up to a point. That Llull was a highly significant mover in the development of the language is beyond dispute. He wrote in Catalan, and indeed his novel "Blanquerna", written in Catalan, is often referred to as the first European novel. This all said, Llull, I fear, might be looking down on this latest political manoeuvre in promoting Catalan with some disquiet.
A polymath, considered to have been an early influence on later computation and logic theories, Llull was also a multi-linguist who pressed for the creation of teaching in languages other than Catalan at major European universities. He was a far from one-dimensional person; his outlook went well beyond the confines of his island or his "country" (Aragon, of which Mallorca was a part).
Figures from history are invoked for all manner of reasons and co-opted by all manner of movements. Llull is very much one of these. His Catalan credentials are unimpeachable, but, intellectually and for reasons of religious convergence, he was not wedded to Catalan alone. It is for this reason that I express some misgiving. Iconic he was and is, but as a figurehead for an exclusiveness of his native tongue, I am not so sure that he would approve.
But don't let us, as I have been accused of, seek some anti-Catalan agenda. Let me say this: I find Catalan an intriguing language. It is more satisfying than Castilian as it possesses a sort of coarse refinement. It is rough-edge language, rooted in the relative obscurity of Occitan. It has little of the flair, grandeur and drama of Castilian. It is far less rounded; literally, in the instances where it dispenses with an "o" that would be found in Castilian. It has the feel of the underground, a sense of subversion. No wonder Franco sought to proscribe it.
It is said that the Catalan-speaking areas, especially that of Catalonia around Barcelona, have a more liberal tradition in various ways, be it art or thinking: more liberal, that is, than other parts of Spain. Defence of the language is understandable; it is understandable at emotional, cultural and intellectual levels. Yet this liberal tradition seems to run counter to a mono-linguistic dialectic, one in which the name of Ramón Llull is taken. Against his better judgement quite probably.
SEPTEMBER STORMS
It's started. With uncanny regularity, the middle of September heralds a change in weather. It is the time of the "gota fría" (cold drop). There is thunder about and brooding clouds and a distinct fall in temperature. 12 September - on at least two occasions before I can remember this being the date when the weather went pear-shaped. And what is today? The island has been put on a state of yellow alert, with the threat of major "inundations." Well, I guess we needed the rain.
QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Ace of Base (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=96jFtzVa80A). Today's title - "we all fall down like ...?" Superb song.
(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)
MORE ABOUT CATALAN
The promotion of Catalan. It's not the first time we've been here, and it won't be the last. This week, the Balearic Government rejoined the consortium of the Ramón Llull Institute. As reported in "Ultima Hora", the previous administration of Jaume Matas (Partido Popular) had left the consortium because of a "lack of political will"; it's reckoned that the real reason was the promotion of the Catalan language. The current president, Francesc Antich, called the return to the fold an "historic day" for the Catalan language and culture. The institute does indeed exist to promote the Catalan language.
Llull is someone I have spoken about before. He is not only one of the most famous of Mallorcans in history, he is also one of the most interesting characters of all European history of the Middle Ages. He is rightly celebrated, and he is rightly associated with the promotion of Catalan - up to a point. That Llull was a highly significant mover in the development of the language is beyond dispute. He wrote in Catalan, and indeed his novel "Blanquerna", written in Catalan, is often referred to as the first European novel. This all said, Llull, I fear, might be looking down on this latest political manoeuvre in promoting Catalan with some disquiet.
A polymath, considered to have been an early influence on later computation and logic theories, Llull was also a multi-linguist who pressed for the creation of teaching in languages other than Catalan at major European universities. He was a far from one-dimensional person; his outlook went well beyond the confines of his island or his "country" (Aragon, of which Mallorca was a part).
Figures from history are invoked for all manner of reasons and co-opted by all manner of movements. Llull is very much one of these. His Catalan credentials are unimpeachable, but, intellectually and for reasons of religious convergence, he was not wedded to Catalan alone. It is for this reason that I express some misgiving. Iconic he was and is, but as a figurehead for an exclusiveness of his native tongue, I am not so sure that he would approve.
But don't let us, as I have been accused of, seek some anti-Catalan agenda. Let me say this: I find Catalan an intriguing language. It is more satisfying than Castilian as it possesses a sort of coarse refinement. It is rough-edge language, rooted in the relative obscurity of Occitan. It has little of the flair, grandeur and drama of Castilian. It is far less rounded; literally, in the instances where it dispenses with an "o" that would be found in Castilian. It has the feel of the underground, a sense of subversion. No wonder Franco sought to proscribe it.
It is said that the Catalan-speaking areas, especially that of Catalonia around Barcelona, have a more liberal tradition in various ways, be it art or thinking: more liberal, that is, than other parts of Spain. Defence of the language is understandable; it is understandable at emotional, cultural and intellectual levels. Yet this liberal tradition seems to run counter to a mono-linguistic dialectic, one in which the name of Ramón Llull is taken. Against his better judgement quite probably.
SEPTEMBER STORMS
It's started. With uncanny regularity, the middle of September heralds a change in weather. It is the time of the "gota fría" (cold drop). There is thunder about and brooding clouds and a distinct fall in temperature. 12 September - on at least two occasions before I can remember this being the date when the weather went pear-shaped. And what is today? The island has been put on a state of yellow alert, with the threat of major "inundations." Well, I guess we needed the rain.
QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Ace of Base (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=96jFtzVa80A). Today's title - "we all fall down like ...?" Superb song.
(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)
Sunday, September 16, 2007
A Police Car And A Screaming Siren
You knew something had happened. The traffic does not go that quiet mid-afternoon on a Saturday. Then the sirens, the competing modulations of police and ambulance wail.
A couple and their baby had been knocked down on the road towards Can Picafort. Apparently they had looked to cross the road, and ... . Not dead, but serious.
These roads. The one between Can Picafort and Alcúdia Pins has no pavement, it passes forest to the beach side and Albufera to the land side. Get a combination of pedestrians, bikes and cars at high speed, and there is likely to be trouble. Not that this was the cause yesterday, but as with many roads here, accidents are waiting to happen.
This particular stretch of road is also used by pedestrians at night, returning from Can Picafort to Alcúdia Pins. There are other stretches here that are similarly dangerous for those on foot, such as that from Puerto Pollensa towards Club Sol, or that between the Cala San Vicente turning and Puerto Pollensa. And there is an absence of street lighting.
Though yesterday’s accident occurred during daytime, at night the conditions for accidents are increased significantly. There is one aspect that I can’t quite get my head around. If drivers (and passengers), when cars break down, are obliged to wear luminous jackets, why aren’t others? It doesn’t add up. Many’s the time I have been startled at night by a pedestrian suddenly caught in the headlights or by a bike with no lights or Sam Browne. Were there pavements along these roads, it wouldn’t be an issue, but as there are not, then it is.
Just to say that the rain from the storm a couple of nights ago may have largely avoided Playa de Muro but it didn’t avoid Puerto Pollensa, which - if anywhere is going to get in the neck - is the place.
QUIZ
Yesterday - “Silver Star” was the first Four Seasons’s hit that did not feature Frankie Valli on lead. The missing words were - “back at school”, meaning Rod Stewart and “Maggie May”. Today’s title - is the first line from what song?
And an up-to-date music recommendation, not had one for a while. The Besnard Lakes from Montreal. No myspace as far as I know. Their album “Are The Dark Horse” is on Jagjaguwar Records. Very good.
(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)
A couple and their baby had been knocked down on the road towards Can Picafort. Apparently they had looked to cross the road, and ... . Not dead, but serious.
These roads. The one between Can Picafort and Alcúdia Pins has no pavement, it passes forest to the beach side and Albufera to the land side. Get a combination of pedestrians, bikes and cars at high speed, and there is likely to be trouble. Not that this was the cause yesterday, but as with many roads here, accidents are waiting to happen.
This particular stretch of road is also used by pedestrians at night, returning from Can Picafort to Alcúdia Pins. There are other stretches here that are similarly dangerous for those on foot, such as that from Puerto Pollensa towards Club Sol, or that between the Cala San Vicente turning and Puerto Pollensa. And there is an absence of street lighting.
Though yesterday’s accident occurred during daytime, at night the conditions for accidents are increased significantly. There is one aspect that I can’t quite get my head around. If drivers (and passengers), when cars break down, are obliged to wear luminous jackets, why aren’t others? It doesn’t add up. Many’s the time I have been startled at night by a pedestrian suddenly caught in the headlights or by a bike with no lights or Sam Browne. Were there pavements along these roads, it wouldn’t be an issue, but as there are not, then it is.
Just to say that the rain from the storm a couple of nights ago may have largely avoided Playa de Muro but it didn’t avoid Puerto Pollensa, which - if anywhere is going to get in the neck - is the place.
QUIZ
Yesterday - “Silver Star” was the first Four Seasons’s hit that did not feature Frankie Valli on lead. The missing words were - “back at school”, meaning Rod Stewart and “Maggie May”. Today’s title - is the first line from what song?
And an up-to-date music recommendation, not had one for a while. The Besnard Lakes from Montreal. No myspace as far as I know. Their album “Are The Dark Horse” is on Jagjaguwar Records. Very good.
(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)
Saturday, September 15, 2007
“It’s Late September And I Really Should Be ...”
Vuelta al cole. Back to school. Same phrase, same adverts, but here there is a marked difference when it comes to the start of the new school year. Firstly, it is much later than in Britain, but more interestingly it invites pages and pages of copy and photos in the local press - happy, smiling faces, some less than happy smiling faces, queues of traffic. Don’t think for one moment that the school run is confined to Britain. One of the issues the papers concern themselves with is how well, or not, the traffic police are doing in managing the panzer divisions of SUVs descending on the local primary or secondary.
Reporting on the return to school has also emphasised the fact that the start has gone ahead with classes opening “with normality”, as though opening without normality would be what one might expect. But why all this interest? The start of the school year, like fiestas and Christmas, are the same every year. Same time, same sets of photos. But that’s probably the answer. The sheer normality of the “event”, the sheer déjà vu of pictures of kids at school gates or of fiesta demons or dancers is the underlying continuity of community that the Mallorcans revere and celebrate so well: continuity of community and family. Vuelta al cole can teach others a lot of lessons.
And on fiestas, an update on the bizarre happenings in Can Picafort during the Mare de Deu d’Agost fiesta when live birds were released by people in masks (18 August: This Here’s The Rubber Duck) amidst the rubber surrogates that turned the sea into a vast child’s bath-time. Or rather, there is no update except to say that the police have been unable to identify the perpetrators. “Who was that masked man?”
Cruelty to animals is an issue taken increasingly more seriously here, though I am unclear exactly as to the alleged cruelty to the live birds in Can Picafort. What of all those doves that get boxed up and then released at major sporting events? Or perhaps that has been banned as well. There is a more substantial argument about cruelty in the case of bullfighting; indeed it is irrefutable, I should have thought. I know the arguments about culture, and one is wary as a foreigner of being critical, but I’ll just say that the decision by the national Spanish television service to remove bullfighting from its “sports” reporting is perhaps a step in a more humane direction.
And weather. The mid-September storm duly arrived, a couple of days later than normal. Yesterday evening was almost suffocatingly sweaty and not just because of the sweat of anxiety surrounding England’s mauling at the hands of South Africa. During the night, the skies were ablaze with lightning, but the storm, mercifully, dumped most of its load out at sea. It was a monster.
QUIZ
Last time - Frankie Valli. Now Frankie Valli was the lead singer with The Four Seasons, and a Guest Quiz Inquisitor, namely Geoff, wants to know what was unusual about The Four Seasons’ hit, “Silver Star”. Good question this. And today’s title? Complete the line from this famous song. What was it? And who sang it?
(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)
Reporting on the return to school has also emphasised the fact that the start has gone ahead with classes opening “with normality”, as though opening without normality would be what one might expect. But why all this interest? The start of the school year, like fiestas and Christmas, are the same every year. Same time, same sets of photos. But that’s probably the answer. The sheer normality of the “event”, the sheer déjà vu of pictures of kids at school gates or of fiesta demons or dancers is the underlying continuity of community that the Mallorcans revere and celebrate so well: continuity of community and family. Vuelta al cole can teach others a lot of lessons.
And on fiestas, an update on the bizarre happenings in Can Picafort during the Mare de Deu d’Agost fiesta when live birds were released by people in masks (18 August: This Here’s The Rubber Duck) amidst the rubber surrogates that turned the sea into a vast child’s bath-time. Or rather, there is no update except to say that the police have been unable to identify the perpetrators. “Who was that masked man?”
Cruelty to animals is an issue taken increasingly more seriously here, though I am unclear exactly as to the alleged cruelty to the live birds in Can Picafort. What of all those doves that get boxed up and then released at major sporting events? Or perhaps that has been banned as well. There is a more substantial argument about cruelty in the case of bullfighting; indeed it is irrefutable, I should have thought. I know the arguments about culture, and one is wary as a foreigner of being critical, but I’ll just say that the decision by the national Spanish television service to remove bullfighting from its “sports” reporting is perhaps a step in a more humane direction.
And weather. The mid-September storm duly arrived, a couple of days later than normal. Yesterday evening was almost suffocatingly sweaty and not just because of the sweat of anxiety surrounding England’s mauling at the hands of South Africa. During the night, the skies were ablaze with lightning, but the storm, mercifully, dumped most of its load out at sea. It was a monster.
QUIZ
Last time - Frankie Valli. Now Frankie Valli was the lead singer with The Four Seasons, and a Guest Quiz Inquisitor, namely Geoff, wants to know what was unusual about The Four Seasons’ hit, “Silver Star”. Good question this. And today’s title? Complete the line from this famous song. What was it? And who sang it?
(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Calling “Come On Thunder”
More joyous statistics. Mallorca’s hotels enjoyed an average occupation rate of 94% in July, and the best results were to be found in the north. Right here. Can Picafort - 99.8%. You’d think that would make everyone very happy, but it probably won’t, given the all-inclusives that are, for instance, the Viva Holiday Village and the Clumba Mar. Alcúdia enjoyed the same level as last July, whatever that was.
TOURISTS
Tourists can be strange. There seems to be amongst some - Germans especially - a perception that everything is fair tourist game, and that includes gardens and houses. The standing and staring is one thing (and staring is something of a German national past-time), but actually entering a garden or a house is quite another. I have a neighbour who has put up a wall around her house. Not a high wall, but a wall nevertheless. There were two sets of trespassers that she was most determined to deter - dogs and tourists.
I know of someone in the old town of Alcúdia who lives close to the church. The door to the house is now always locked or at least closed as it wasn’t uncommon to find someone in the house having a look around. To a point, one can understand this. The town houses of the old town often have their doors open and, because they are generally attractive, one can appreciate why a tourist might wish to venture in, or to stand at the entrance and have a good old “nosey”. One can appreciate it, but it is still a bit of a cheek.
This same person in Alcúdia has also had to contend with the problem that is the lack of public toilets. One day, this elderly lady came to the door and asked if she could use the toilet. Taking pity on her and her advanced years, she was admitted only then to be sent packing when the old girl called out to her mates across the way who all started to descend upon the house with the same aim in mind.
STORMS
There is a disturbing reassurance that comes from a storm, especially a storm at night; a satisfaction from watching a storm from the safety of a terrace - the neon flashes, the erratic daggers, the sudden appearance bringing it closer. The Mallorca summer storm. It is an entertainment all of its own. It brings loud noises, flashing lights, a rush of fear and excitement. And it’s all for free.
QUIZ
Well, I really seem to have started something with the last quiz. I didn’t know there were so many grammarians. Anyway, the line from “The Bulletin” contained not one but three errors, although two are kind of understandable. It should have read: “70 per cent of the population wants to see fewer tourists”. Percent (one word) is American usage, the verb conjugation is determined by “the population” (singular entity), and if you can count something it is fewer, not less. Not bad though for an English-language newspaper.
“Far From The Madding Crowd”. Thomas Hardy wrote the book, but the line comes from Thomas Gray’s “Elegy In A Country Churchyard”. Where else can you find a blog that one day has football songs, the next day Gray’s Elegy?
Today - the title comes from this lyric: “There’s a boy leaning against a wall of rain, aerial held high, calling ‘come on thunder, come on thunder’ “. The group and song?
(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)
TOURISTS
Tourists can be strange. There seems to be amongst some - Germans especially - a perception that everything is fair tourist game, and that includes gardens and houses. The standing and staring is one thing (and staring is something of a German national past-time), but actually entering a garden or a house is quite another. I have a neighbour who has put up a wall around her house. Not a high wall, but a wall nevertheless. There were two sets of trespassers that she was most determined to deter - dogs and tourists.
I know of someone in the old town of Alcúdia who lives close to the church. The door to the house is now always locked or at least closed as it wasn’t uncommon to find someone in the house having a look around. To a point, one can understand this. The town houses of the old town often have their doors open and, because they are generally attractive, one can appreciate why a tourist might wish to venture in, or to stand at the entrance and have a good old “nosey”. One can appreciate it, but it is still a bit of a cheek.
This same person in Alcúdia has also had to contend with the problem that is the lack of public toilets. One day, this elderly lady came to the door and asked if she could use the toilet. Taking pity on her and her advanced years, she was admitted only then to be sent packing when the old girl called out to her mates across the way who all started to descend upon the house with the same aim in mind.
STORMS
There is a disturbing reassurance that comes from a storm, especially a storm at night; a satisfaction from watching a storm from the safety of a terrace - the neon flashes, the erratic daggers, the sudden appearance bringing it closer. The Mallorca summer storm. It is an entertainment all of its own. It brings loud noises, flashing lights, a rush of fear and excitement. And it’s all for free.
QUIZ
Well, I really seem to have started something with the last quiz. I didn’t know there were so many grammarians. Anyway, the line from “The Bulletin” contained not one but three errors, although two are kind of understandable. It should have read: “70 per cent of the population wants to see fewer tourists”. Percent (one word) is American usage, the verb conjugation is determined by “the population” (singular entity), and if you can count something it is fewer, not less. Not bad though for an English-language newspaper.
“Far From The Madding Crowd”. Thomas Hardy wrote the book, but the line comes from Thomas Gray’s “Elegy In A Country Churchyard”. Where else can you find a blog that one day has football songs, the next day Gray’s Elegy?
Today - the title comes from this lyric: “There’s a boy leaning against a wall of rain, aerial held high, calling ‘come on thunder, come on thunder’ “. The group and song?
(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)
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