Holiday Hell

You have to be careful. The internet is full of reviews of all manner of things. Some while ago I mentioned the fact that action could be taken against, for example, restaurant owners who post their own glowing reports. That’s one thing. Then there are also the reviews, quite genuine, that slag somewhere off. I don’t doubt the sincerity of many of these. The only thing is that what is awful for one person is good for another. It is amazing how much views can diverge.

I raise this because elsewhere I have read some really scathing reviews of Bellevue from people who have been there this season. They pull no punches. I wonder if anyone at Bellevue takes any notice of this sort of thing. They should.

But you can also find people who are satisfied. Each to their own, I guess.


ETA has called off its truce, placing the Spanish security services on maximum alert. While there are worries about targets such as the America’s Cup in Valencia, a return to terrorist activity could yet cause problems for tourism.

Why this breakdown in the truce?

There is a view that it was simply a ploy to rearm and gear up for a return to activity. Maybe. There is also a political dimension. The Zapatero Government has placed much store in its rapprochement. The national elections are now less than a year away. There had been hope of a Northern Ireland-style end to the conflict.

Not now there isn’t.

Quiz time: Well done to all who got the right answers to our Guest Quiz Inquisitor’s posers. Answers were Blackadder and Jimi Hendrix.
The foxy title? Manfred Mann.
And Alastair puts this very difficult sitcom question. "Can you name any TV series by Carla Lane that was any good?". Phor, that’s a toughy.

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Like A Fox On The Run

Now, the deal is, if you take the time to send me stuff, and if I like you, then you can blag your way into being Bar Of The Week. NO MONEY CHANGES HANDS! Yet.

Anyway, Jamie at Foxes in Puerto Alcúdia has become something of a media icon in his home town of Leicester. And just to prove it, here is something from the “Leicester Mercury”, which shows Jamie doing his morning aerobics outside Foxes near the Magic Roundabout.



But let’s do a proper Bar Of The Week run down on FOXES:

Where: Carretera Arta 46, Puerto Alcúdia, close by the Delfin Azul and opposite the Jofre tabacos.

What: All manner of good pub grub food. Top breakfasts. And the curries are popular. All your favourite beers and spirits.

When: Every day from nine in the morning.

Who: James and Karen are the owners. Tracy, Leighton (“Tiny” - he’s massive!) and Al also.

Why: Seriously unpretentious and down-to-earth nice bar-café. Lovely people. Economic and good fare. Loads of Leicester City memorabilia.

Can I find out more? Yep, there is a spaces thingy, now linked here. And if you want a full copy of the article from the Mercury, daresay an email to Jamie will bring a positive response. thefoxesarms@hotmail.co.uk


The success of the Pop/Sitcom Quiz knows no limits. We now have Guest Quizmasters. Or should that be, in good Michael Miles terms, Guest Quiz Inquisitors?
Alastair, who rightly got “Two Tribes” by Frankie Goes To Hollywood, sets his own posers. First up, a Patrick Allen follow-up. In the first series of which comedy series was Patrick Allen the narrator? And. Which dyslexic American rock star choked to death on his own “vimto” in London in 1970?
No doubles of marmite to give out; the holidays album was Fairport Convention.
And also ... Today’s foxy title. Which group recorded it?

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Wot We ‘Ate Abaht Our ‘Olidays

I think Alcúdia should be worried. Elsewhere on the internet, people are moanin’ and a-groanin’ about mosquitoes. “Ooh, I got terrible lumps.” “Scratched ‘em that bad.” “They woz bleedin’.”

Apparently there are those who, somewhat unedifyingly, wolf down jars of marmite in an attempt to ward the blighters off. Don’t know if that works. I reckon I’d puke up before I found out.

But there is a serious side to this. You get people issuing warnings about mosquitoes akin to an imminent nuclear attack. Perhaps the authorities should issue “Protect and Survive” propaganda. Patrick Allen: “Smear yourselves with marmite and then hide under a table.”

Yea ok, the mosquitoes can be bad, they can affect some people worse than others, but Alcúdia is not the only place in Mallorca that suffers. But get enough bad publicity and it makes people think twice about coming.


Now, I live here. But if I were on holiday, in addition to the mosquitoes, there would be other things that hack me off.

So, here is the first in another irregular series.

What I Hate About My Holidays. Any of you with suggestions, they will be gladly received (to the email address below). But here is the first.

PADDLE BALL. “Dock. Dock. Dock. Dock.” You know how it goes. You find a nice quietish speck on the beach, stretch out for some serious burning, and along come a couple of dorks with their paddle ball. Right next to you. The regular sound. “Dock. Dock. Dock. Dock.”

Just piss off and go and play with the jellyfish, won’t you.


A couple of weeks back, 20 May to be precise, I mentioned ES TURÓ restaurant near Santa Margalida. I said it was an impressive place. Now I can also report that it has some seriously impressive prices. Expensive? Not a bit of it. Very well-priced indeed. Try this. A tumbet starter and a chicken main course for a bit over a tenner. Damn good value. Given that Can Picafort is largely bereft of decent restaurants, for the price of a taxi (it’s only 6 kilometres from Can Pic), it is a really good bet. Stunning place. Great atmosphere. Nice food. Go there.


By the way, the mosquitoes seem to have largely cleared off for the time being.


Sitcom/Pop Quiz: Loads of you got it. The spoof band was “Bad News”. And going back firmly to Pop Quiz. With today’s title in mind, who recorded the album “What We Did On Our Holidays”. I reckon this is pretty tough, so double helpings of marmite to anyone who can get it. And a bonus question. Patrick Allen and “Protect and Survive”. In which record did a sample of this feature and by which group?

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A Lovely Pair Of Melons

No, not what you think.

News comes that the local plod in Calvia are cracking down on beach fruit-sellers (melons predominantly).

Beach sellers are a pain. Not only do they rarely if ever have a licence to do this, what they sell is not always as well looked after as it might be. That’s the ones selling fruit. Then there are the guys selling shades, watches, jewellery etc. The ones who also come into bars and restaurants.

Now some people seem to like buying fake trash from these guys. Good luck to you. If you want to hand over good money for rubbish, that’s your affair.

But there is a bit more to all this. Where does all this stuff come from? Who’s providing it? Not the fruit, the goods. Then there is the sometimes aggressive selling. Pursuing people down a street, haranguing them.

Traders along the Greasy Mile produced leaflets warning folk against buying stuff from these chaps. Vested interest maybe, but these traders have their rents to pay, their staff to pay, their stock to buy.

So I’ll echo what these traders say. Just say no, and walk away. And that goes for the ladies who do the hair braiding as well. They can be a damn nuisance, too.

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Orient Excess

How many Chinese restaurants does a place need? I have oft pondered this conundrum whilst moving about Puerto Alcúdia. Unlike Puerto Pollensa, which is admittedly smaller in any event and has a mere five (one of which, Pascalino, is not the full-blown deal), Puerto Alcúdia and Playa de Muro combined boast at least 15 plus a couple that are Pascalino-esque. (Chances are there are more, but I haven’t done a thorough survey, though it certainly was more but two have bitten the dust.) Given the competition that such a number creates, the ones around the Greasy Mile have all started to offer “Buffet Libre”. Presumably one started, and the others followed suit, thus eliminating any form of differentiation that the first mover might have wished for. Thing is there are these huge signs saying “BUFFET LIBRE”. Now, if I didn’t know, I’d reckon this meant that the buffet was free. Of course it doesn’t mean that. But why not, bearing in mind the invasion of Brits, put up signs saying “PIG OUT AND HAVE AS MUCH AS YOU WANT FOR UNDER A TENNER”. Or something like that.

The tourist has an insatiable appetite for chow mein and sweet and sour, or so it would seem. Overwhelmingly, restaurants offer the mere familiar, certainly for British tastes. Along the Greasy Mile and on roads off, the choice is predominantly grill, pizza, grill, Chinese, grill, pizza. There are notable exceptions, and I am not having a go; Luna Grill, for instance, is one of the most regularly commended restaurants.

I shouldn’t find it odd, I suppose. However, for all the internationalisation of cuisine in Britain, the average-Joe Brit tourist and his family still crave a lump of meat and a side-serving of chips. As also does your average-Hans German tourist. But we Brits are also seemingly addicted to our fried rice and our chicken tikka masala.

Unlike Chinese restaurants, Indians are relatively thin on the ground. Three in Puerto Pollensa. Three in Puerto Alcúdia. One in Playa de Muro, and one in Can Picafort. Anyway, this is all a bit of roundabout way of introducing today’s Restaurant of the Day (which may appear strange, given the foregoing), but it is TASTE OF INDIA for which there is now also a little blog site, linked here.



Where: C/. Astoria, Local 1, near to Bells Disco, and so just off the Greasy Mile.

What: Indian food. What do you think?

When: Every day.

Who: Siraj is head honcho.

Why: Totally transformed. It used to be Agra which, though its reputation for food was good, needed a serious makeover. And so it has had one. And word is that the food is top notch.


Sitcom Quiz: Well, “Bottom” wasn’t too difficult, but the other two were more so. Nigel Planer was in the pretty dire “Roll Over Beethoven”, and it was Peter Richardson who was originally down to play Mike.
Combining Sitcom and Pop quizzes, what was the name of the spoof rock band that comprised Richardson, Mayall, Planer and Edmondson?

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Crash Bang

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.

Look. If you want me to stop banging on about the road system on the Carretera Atra in Puerto Alcúdia I will. But I think it’s worth banging on about.

This morning there was another accident. This one was on the islands between the Palma roundabout and the islands by the Campsa garage. It looked as though either the black 4x4 was trying to overtake or the other car had exited the side road and was driven into by the black one. Either way, they had managed to park themselves onto the island. At least neither had simply ploughed straight through it like with the accident up by the Greasy Mile the other day.

You are just left wondering, was it only local people who saw this all going to happen? I’m by no means alone in being totally mystified as to the logic of this road system.


Sitcom Quiz: This blog’s old chum Geoff reckoned it was The Young Ones minus Rik Mayall. In fact it was The Young Ones minus Chris Ryan. Respectively, Nigel Planer, Rik Mayall and Ade Edmondson were Filthy, Rich and Catflap.
And leading on from this ... Ade Edmondson more or less reprised his role in what later sitcom? Nigel Planer took the lead in what sitcom with a rock theme? And who was originally down to play Mike in The Young Ones rather than Chris Ryan?

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Filthy Rich and Catflap

I overlooked something. Last week’s “Sunday Times” (well, I am only a week out) had this thing about Mallorcan property. Not just any old property, but ones such as the Cielo de Bonaire in these northern parts, which is on the market for 34 million quid.

34 million quid!?

Quoting Matthias Kühn, a partner in this development and head of the ubiquitous Kühn & Partner (why is it that estate agent ubiquity in Mallorca appears to be Germanic, what with Kühn and Engel & Völkers?), he can “smell the indication that more (very rich people) are coming.” Coming to Mallorca, that is.

Chances are that if you’ve got 34 million quid to lavish on a Mallorcan pile, you’ve probably also got sufficient stashed away not to be too bothered if the whole place goes belly-up. With all the dire predictions of the effects of climate change on Mallorca, I can’t help feeling that I’d rather put my 34 million quid into a place in Estonia. But maybe for the super-rich, the long-term doesn’t exist. Not sure I’d be confident that in 40 years’ time 34 thousand quid, let alone 34 million, could be recouped from a property investment here.


Knew it wouldn’t last. Restaurant of the week thing, that is. Here’s the first of Bar Of The Week. A real cracker, too.
LA BIRRERIA

Where: C/. Colón 3, Pollensa, just off the Plaça Major by Bar Espanyol but with a terrace in the square.

What: Over 50 types of beer. Plus snacks like pinchos (snacks on bread), pa amb olis (which are also snacks on bread to be honest).

When: Every day.

Who: Pep is your main man.

Why: Delightful stone-walled interiors, very relaxing atmosphere, music, nice terrace in the main square. Oh, and all those beers. From all over the place, and some stonkers from Belgium. 12%, my friends. 12%. Be careful!!



Short weather word: It is still rather unsettled. Rain again this morning. Not what the boys want.


And so, briefly returning to Sitcom Quiz, today’s title. Who starred in it?

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Restaurant Of The Week

Another bad accident. The highly dangerous junction in Puerto Alcúdia where the bypass joins onto the road between the horse roundabout and the roundabout as one comes into Alcúdia. Even for experienced local road users, this junction is bad news. This lunchtime it claimed more victims. Fact is it isn’t necessarily down to bad driving. The system is at fault, in my opinion. It’s confusing for those who don’t know, traffic comes along at high speed. It is an accident waiting to happen. Well not waiting. Actually happening. Again. Personally I would suggest they put in another roundabout instead, but what do I know.


New feature time for the blog. Restaurant Of The Week. Or maybe it will be Restaurant Of The Day. Depends how I’m feeling. Whatever. Could be Bar Of The Week, Shop Of The Week... you get the drift.

Any road up. Here’s the first one. Utterly at random.

Restaurant Of The Week: Number One in a series - SA TAVERNETA D’ES MOLL



Where: Avda. Gabriel Roca 11, Puerto Alcúdia. Keep going along the Paseo Marítimo towards Alcanada, and it is next to Fujiyama Japanese restaurant.

What: Tapas, Galician food, Good wines.

When: Every day but Mondays.

Who: Davíd the chef and Manu, who some might also know for his DJ-ing at, for instance, what was The Room.

Why: Cool and intimate tapas bar, lovingly converted from what was once a pokey bar. Stone-wall features and table-bars above barrels. Neat thing - Manu brings you the menu on a big blackboard. Everything’s freshly done, and is very keenly priced. Great range of tapas. Manu does English, German, Mallorquin and Castellano (that’s Spanish).

Any impartial recommendation?: You betcha. “Best tapas in Mallorca”. See the comment for Sa Taverneta in the Eat Alcúdia section on www.thealcudiaguide.com

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Fly The Flag

Word on blue flags awarded locally. All pretty heartening stuff. According to “The Bulletin’s” useful map, most of the local beaches have fared well. The main centres - Puerto Alcúdia and Puerto Pollensa - have their flags, as do Can Picafort and the Cala San Vicente beaches at Barques and Molins. Oddly enough, Playa de Muro doesn’t appear to get one, which - given its location sandwiched between Alcúdia and Can Picafort - seems strange.


Looks like someone decided that all those islands along the Carretera Artà were indeed unnecessary. Just down from the Greasy Mile roundabout going towards Playa de Muro, there is twisted metal, empty islands. Dunno, but my guess is someone went for an overtake, didn’t register the island, and hammered straight into it (in fact them, as they took out two). Bravo.

Could have seen it coming.


What’s with this noise pollution? What’s with this anxiety as one drives? A hooting of a horn. Regular. What’s wrong?

I’ll tell you what’s wrong. It’s the Cheers Jeep, cruising the roads, peeping its horn. Sorry, but it happened twice this evening. Just driving along, and someone’s hitting the horn. I think - what’s going on. Then I look in the mirror, and there’s this “mascot” waving its green, limp arms, and the driver peeping the horn. Stop it, will you. Just, stop it.

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Valediction

Am I unusual?

Many of you will know about my work with published guides here. What many will not know is how personally I feel involved. Not just with the guides. More than this.

For several weeks, months even in late winter and spring, I have no life other than the guides. I live them. And I live the businesses they represent. That’s the problem. That’s where maybe I am unusual.

These businesses. Some of them are run by friends, or rather by people who have become friends. Others are run by people I like. Others are run by people I barely know, but I admire for what they achieve. Only rarely could I not care a toss.

Over these weeks and months, I can see these businesses and people in my mind. I do the simplest of things. The making of a coffee. The opening of the gates to the driveway. The turning off of lights at night. Somehow, some way, they all bring a business to mind.

I’m too close.

For these weeks and months I live all this. And then come the printers. One year it was the plotter. Another year it was the capacity in the production management system. This year it’s the elections. Always some reason. I don’t blame them. But I wonder what goes through their minds when they turn off the lights at night.

Now the guides are done, they’re out, but it doesn’t stop. In the mind all the time.

That’s why this valediction. I will remain in some capacity. I’m not going away. And there are many other things to do. But I am going. And so when I turn the lights off at night, maybe I will just think again of those businesses and think it’s been a pleasure. And it has been. Cheers.

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P.S. Ne’er fret. The blog continues.

Index for May 2007

Advance Passenger Information - 26 May 2007
Alcúdia’s old power station - 23 May 2007
All-inclusives - 30 May 2007
British tourists - 21 May 2007
Bus timetables - 2 May 2007
Cafe Art 66 - 5 May 2007
Carretera Artà - 21 May 2007, 22 May 2007, 30 May 2007
Elections - 13 May 2007, 22 May 2007, 28 May 2007, 29 May 2007
Es Turó - 20 May 2007
Eurovision Song Contest - 12 May 2007
Expatriates - 29 May 2007
Horses - 24 May 2007
Jellyfish - 15 May 2007, 24 May 2007
My Travel - 21 May 2007
Oxygen Bar - 9 May 2007
Property prices - 1 May 2007
Public holidays - 1 May 2007
Rafael Nadal - 20 May 2007
Restaurants - 20 May 2007
Road accidents - 30 May 2007
Rubbish - 5 May 2007
Smoking - 25 May 2007
Son Serra de Marina - 24 May 2007
Time - 15 May 2007
Tourism - 25 May 2007, 27 May 2007
Weather - 23 May 2007
Weirdness - 20 May 2007

Awful

Seasoned viewers of this blog will know that two of the issues I have paid particular attention to are road accidents/deaths and all-inclusive hotels.

I’m sorry to say that both have have reared their ugly heads once again (and I say “ugly” in respect of all-inclusives only because I have strong first-hand experience of the deleterious effects they have on friends). No flippancy today.


There are more flowers on the roadside. These heartbreaking tributes. These pitiable monuments to loss. These flowers adorn the hedge just up the road from me in Playa de Muro - on the carretera. They are there because of the crash around 7:30 last Saturday morning. I didn’t go and look. I just heard the peeping of the police, the sirens, the revving of engines caught in a jam. I had no need to look. I did once when I heard the crash right outside a couple of years back. When I helped a neighbour with a hose. When I saw firemen cutting the car bodies. I had no need to look again.

I spoke to a local policeman about it a few days later. “Fatal,” he said. That’s pronounced “fatahl” here. Yes this means fatal, but it also means awful. That’s what he meant.


“El Defensor del Pueblo” is how the Ombudsman is called here. El Defensor has decreed that he will not approve any regulation against all-inclusive hotels in the Balearics.

Let me be clear. I have no axe to grind with all-inclusives. I have said it before that they represent not only good value but also consumer choice. Indeed it offends me - as a believer in the free market - that the all-inclusive and the primacy of the consumer should or could be undermined by governmental action that limits this free market and choice. But.

I know an awful lot of people here. An awful lot of people who run bars and restaurants. I know an awful lot of stories about the effects of all-inclusives.

Perhaps I should harden my heart. Accept the dynamics of the market. I do, but I also don’t.

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Am I Bothered?

“Elections? Face? Face? Elections? I AIN’T BOTHERED!”

Oh Lordy, Lordy, “The Bulletin” gazes in a navel direction. Why do so few expats vote?

Answer’s simple: they ain’t bothered.

Setting aside straightforward apathy, there are a number of reasons for the lack of interest: don’t understand the voting system; don’t understand the language and therefore don’t understand the messages; don’t know who the politicians are; don’t know what the political parties are all about. Don’t know. Don’t understand. Don’t care.

People should care, of course they should care. But it goes deeper. Gather together a sample of a hundred expats and ask them who the leader of the Balearics Government is. Ask them to name the mayor of Alcúdia, or of Pollensa. See where it gets you.

The fourth estate and local politicians may believe that they are trying to engage expats in the political process but they are not. “The Bulletin”, a few days back, referred to the “wining and dining” by politicians of, well of I’m not quite sure. Perhaps the editor of “The Bulletin” and some buffers from ESRA and other expat groups.

Fact is that most Brit expats have way more interest in political matters back home. And the fourth estate reflects this. Take our old mate Leapy Lee. Not uncommon for him to sound off about Blair and the awfulness of Britain. “The Bulletin” does try. But it is essentially a British newspaper with some local stuff tagged on, and that isn’t a criticism.

If the press and politicians were really serious about engaging the expatriate community perhaps they might think about producing election specials which detail what the parties stand for, who they are, how the voting system works, why it is important to be involved. Not just the odd article, but a full supplement. Perhaps some of the money that goes into printing all those damn posters could be diverted into producing such specials. But only if the political parties were really serious. But are they bothered?


Pop Quiz: To all of you who said Alice Cooper, a copy of the Partido Popular manifesto (unused).

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I Wanna Be Elected!!

Well, actually I don’t, but for those of you gripped by election fever and gagging for news as to who’s in and who’s out, here’s a summary.

Balearics Government: The Partido Popular has lost its overall majority and will need to create a pact with the UM (Unió Mallorquina) to stay in government.

Alcúdia: Stays UM but with a coalition.

Pollensa, Santa Margalida, Sa Pobla: Stay PP with coalitions.

Muro: goes PP with a pact.

There, I am sure you all feel better for this information.


Pop Quiz: “Royal Scam” was our old chums Steely Dan. And today’s title is from ...? Easy.

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A Royal Scam

THIS IS A PUBLIC INFORMATION ANNOUNCEMENT - WARNING, WARNING!!

Restaurant: Las Sirenas in the Paseo in Puerto Alcúdia. Couple having a meal. Another couple finish meal, join the first couple to enjoy a drink together. Innocent enough?

The couple that joined the first couple finish drink. Then go. Bill for their meal?

First couple is presented with a 50 euro ticket.

First couple doesn’t have to pay after intervention of other diners.

Watch out. Perhaps I’ll give details of what they look like. Listen up, lowlife, there’s always some stroppy bastard on the Internet who’ll get you. Watch out.


Meantime, which country can lay claim to having the worst tourists?

No prizes for guessing it’s the Brits. But, one of this blog’s favourites, Jeremy Clarkson (a favourite because he knows how to rant; really, he doesn’t play at it, he does it) disputes this. The Russians, he reckons. To give you a flavour, he finishes his piece in “The Sunday Times” thus: “A lout from Liverpool may vomit on you and that’s nasty. But a Russian would happily garnish your pizza with a dash of polonium.”

In recognition of this contribution to fraternal tourist diplomacy, I’ve linked “The Times” site.

Pop Quiz: JK’s Spanish hit was “Una Paloma Blanca”. Today’s title is stretching it a bit. But we’re back to a previous Pop Quiz band. Who did “A Royal Scam”?

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Advance, Advance!

Knickers in a twist time?

Spain, ahead of other European countries, will introduce the so-called Advance Passenger Information system from 13 June. This requires all passengers from non-Schengen countries, such as the UK and Ireland, to give full name, date of birth, nationality, passport number before travelling. If this is not done in advance, the info will have to be collected by check-in staff. Consequently, there are dire warnings of delays, of people not coming to Spain, blah, blah... . It is questionable why Spain feels the need to bring this in now as other EU countries will not be doing so for up to 12 months. Ok, the introduction coincides with the start of the peak season. But when should Spain introduce it? It will presumably be operable in future high seasons, so what’s the problem now?

It is the case that new-generation passports contain all the relevant information, so there may be a bit of overkill here, but fact is, folks, we have to live with this sort of inconvenience (not that it is, to be honest). More pertinent, I suppose, is what this information collection does in terms of deterring terrorism, which is the point of it all. Forged passports anyone?


Pop Quiz update: I was waiting for Andrea to come up with Jonathan King. And so the corollary is - apart from anything else he may or may not have done, what was Jonathan King’s greatest crime in musical terms? Clue: it was a “Spanish” hit.

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Cough, Cough

A few days ago I got an email from Ben, he of the Piccadilly site that is linked here. The gist of this was, what’s the deal with smoking nowadays since the introduction of smoking restrictions some 18 months or so back.

Anyone in England, coming to terms with the rigorous anti-smoking laws in public places, might well ask what restrictions. Setting aside the confusion of the Balearics applying a different interpretation to the mainland, the basics of the law are these:

Any bar/restaurant over 100 square metres must have separate smoking and no-smoking areas.
Any bar/restaurant of less than 100 square metres can opt to be smoking or non-smoking.

Overwhelmingly the smaller establishments have opted to remain smoking zones. In larger establishments, the separate areas are a joke as physical barriers are barely in evidence. But moreover, the policing of all this has been pretty woolly. “The Bulletin” today has a good article about this (you see, I can praise it sometimes!). It quotes findings from the Spanish consumers’ association which reveal that a “blind eye” is often turned towards the issue, while a request for information on fines from the country’s autonomous regions drew only four (out of 17) fully completed answers.

The fact is that the anti-smoking laws here are totally inadequate. England’s (and Ireland’s and Scotland’s) may seem draconian, but perhaps they are necessary. That said, there’s something to applaud in the fact that Spain doesn’t go too far in proscribing what people can or cannot do, and where. Though the other side of this coin is that I still feel the tobacco sale law verges on the iniquitous (in the sense of a functioning free market) in creating a form of monopoly whereby bulk purchases of tobacco are only possible through the limited number of licensed tobacconists.


The season had a stuttering start in April. But now hotel occupations have grown, and the prediction of an even better year than 2006 may yet prove to be accurate. Again quoting from “The Bulletin”, the MD of one tourist group is praising the efforts of the Balearic Government and Tourism Ministry for the promotional strategy which is bearing fruit. Well, good for them. And I suppose this praise has nothing whatsoever to do with the fact the elections take place on Sunday.

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A Horse, Of Course

Look away now, if you are easily offended. I am going to talk about shit. Or rather I am going to get to this via a typically circuitous route.

The other day I asked for nominations for the weird. Let´s go big here, well relatively big. Forget the mere restaurant or bar, I hereby nominate Son Serra de Marina as not just the weirdest place in northern Mallorca, but in the whole of Mallorca.

Son Serra is a ghost town even in summer. You can fully imagine tumbleweed rolling along the empty streets, and a toothless old gummer manning a one-pump garage that doubles as a bar (with no drink of course).

Can anyone tell me what the point of Son Serra is? It's as though it was developed as a mini Can Picafort and then someone forgot it was there. Unlike Can Pic, there is nothing save for less than a handful of restaurants and a nautical club that always seems shut.

Well, there is one point to Son Serra. Its beach. I’m not talking the beach where the houses end, which is constantly chocker with sea detritus, I’m talking the one further along where the Germans get their kit off.

And now I start to get to the point. Ok, I admit I have been to this beach too. It’s a very nice beach. But you can be lying there, minding your own business and suddenly be aware of a rumbling. A rumbling of hooves coming ever closer. You look up and there’s this posse of cowboys galloping towards you. It’s the Rancho Grande boys taking dobbin for a spin.

Now there is something extremely liberating and thrilling about riding horseback on a beach. But.

Horses have this tendency to crap when you least expect them to. Indeed horses are remarkable in being able to produce a motion whilst in motion. Humans can only do this trick with the aid of a dodgy curry.

So, my point is, you get these horses coming along and having a dump on the sand. Why is this seemingly ok? Dogs are meant to be banned from beaches as they too are less than decorous and choosy when at their toilet. Maybe it’s because of the volume. At least with a horse you can see only too clearly what it’s produced, and steer an avoiding course. A dog. Bit trickier. So, I suppose that’s the reason why horses can go on beaches and dogs can’t.

Enjoy the beach.


At the same time as a minor oil slick caused beaches around Magalluf to be closed for a short while, word comes of worries among Balearic hoteliers as to the jellyfish problem. Specifically, they are calling for measures to eliminate the pesky little monsters. But to suggest that jellyfish may cause tourists not to come to the islands is probably stretching a point.


Pop Quiz time: Come on down, Mark Draper. “Red Rain” was of course Peter Gabriel. Mark, you get the hour’s point-duty as no-one´s got the Crusaders’ line-up. It was: Joe Sample, Wilton Felder, Wayne Henderson and Stix Hooper.
No prizes for knowing that Peter Gabriel was an original member of Genesis, but which disgraced music entrepreneur was instrumental, as it were, in the development of Genesis’s early career?

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Red Rain

Lord Rogers, it would appear, is one of a number of architects being lined up to develop the hideous old power station next to the commercial port in Alcúdia. The deal is that it would become some form of science, technology and arts park. Sounds ominous. Sounds vaguely familiar, too. Think Millennium Dome. Architect: Lord Rogers.

There’s no doubting the thing has to come down, and let’s hope it does, rather than some sentimentalist, seeing art deco where none exists, getting a preservation order slapped on it. Think Battersea Power Station, and the seemingly never-ending attempt to redevelop that. At least Battersea has a form of charm; the Alcúdia station has none whatsoever. So, do away with it.

But why a science, technology and arts park? The Mallorca Council, and doubtless other politicians, see this as a means of regeneration and winter tourism. If they want winter tourism, I have a much better idea. Build a Center Parcs. I mentioned this ages ago in respect of Playa de Muro. Now they have the perfect opportunity. Something people would come to in winter, unlike a science, technology and arts park. May sound as though I’m a Philistine. I’m not. But give people what they want, not what politicians might think people want and end up, potentially, with a white elephant.


Strange weather time. It’s been raining dirty. Hence today’s title and Pop Quiz. One of this singer’s finest moments. The first (non-chorus) lines are “I am standing up at the water’s edge in my dream. I cannot make a single sound as you scream.” Who? And to be nice, I’ll give you another day to answer The Crusaders’ question.

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Road Movies

I decided against slagging off the Carretera Arta once again. I decided against taking issue with the notion that is now an aid to traffic circulation. You’ve heard it before. So I decided instead to highlight the benefit, the possibility, the opportunity. Job creation for the police. That’s what it is. Aid to traffic circulation? There were police on point-duty at the roundabout at the top of the Greasy Mile this morning. That’s how much of an aid.

On Test Match Special yesterday Geoffrey Boycott was saying that the people who set the international cricket schedule love the sport, but they have never played it at a top level and don´t understand the sport at that level.

The people who have designed this road doubtless love roads. They love tarmac, white lines, roundabouts, traffic islands. They love data collection on traffic movement. They love operational research models of traffic movement. But have they ever driven on this road?

They can love Google Earth maps of the roads, their own personal road movies. But they don´t know the plot and the actors.

Within operational research there was a development some 30 odd years ago called soft systems methodology. Essentially, this was an extension of the consideration of the human element in systems. Behaviour, if you like. The people who love roads don´t seem to love behaviour. I’ll give an example. I nearly crossed a red at the Sa Pobla roundabout this morning. But I was doing what any driver does. Looking to the left to wait for the chance to go. I wasn´t looking skyward to the lights.

One of the additional problems of the road is that the crossings (and therefore the lights) are too close to the roundabouts. Their proximity does not take into account driver behaviour.

But I said I wasn’t going to slag the road off. So I won’t.


Apparently election fever has gripped the island (trust the good old “Bulletin”; never one to stint on the hyperbole). All I can say is that I must have hypothermia because I am neither gripped nor feverish.


“Street Life” was sung by Randy Crawford, and she recorded it with The Crusaders. Today's quiz: can anyone name any original members of The Crusaders? An hour’s point-duty at the top of the Greasy Mile to anyone who can.

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Street Life

Remarkable what you find in the street.

I’m not talking the what was quarter-full plastic bottle of Coke in a bag that was conveniently left under my car and the contents of which (the bottle that is, not the car) were sprayed into my neighbour’s garden by the force of a too rapidly reversing several hundredweight or so of Nissan. No, I’m talking the My Travel schedule of arrivals from Leeds-Bradford, replete with a dirty great tyre mark. What, I thought, were those sheets of stapled A4 littering up the pavement?

Cracking stuff that's what, though mercifully without home addresses, as I could have otherwise faxed a copy to my old acquaintance in Pudsey, Arthur “Lightfingers” Lightfoot, and recommended he got his jemmy and glass-cutting equipment out of the attic and gone on a bit of a night tour of the West Riding.

Still, you can’t have everything. But the sheets make interesting reading.

Which hotel in the whole of Mallorca is the most popular with this - admittedly limited - sample of northern sorts? Answer: the Sol Alcudia Centre. 17 of them. Lagomonte comes second, with Alcudia’s dominance only challenged by 10 heading off to the Bouganvilla Park in Sa Coma. Indeed Alcúdia is by some way the destination of choice for Tykes. Puerto Pollensa gets a measly eight, all of them in the Oro Playa. Not even Magalluf can apparently compare with Alcúdia when it comes to the affection of the White Rose.

Fascinating, I’m sure you’ll all agree. In future, perhaps My Travel (and Thomson, Thomas Cook etc). might just email me the lists so I don’t have to pick them up from the street. You don’t know where they’ve been. The email address is below.


Streets, roads. Roads, streets. Here we go again with the daftness that is the remodelled Carretera Arta. Now, the traffic has undoubtedly been slowed down. That’s the good thing. But one of the benefits that was alleged for the changes to the road, prior to their being done, was that they would aid the circulation of traffic. Wrong.

By high summer in past years there has always been a queue going towards the junction with the Greasy Mile. Now the queue can extend back almost as far as Eroski Syp. There always were lights here, but now they seem to be more frequently on red. Thing is it is only May. It’ll be murder by August, murder when it’s really hot and drivers are getting fractious, murder when drivers use the side-roads and try and jump the queues. Best advice is to just avoid the road completely.


A while since the Pop Quiz. But it’s back. Today’s title. Who sang it? And with which band did she record it?

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The Weird

The hunt is on.

In my life as a publisher of tourist guides, I am constantly bombarded by publicity for restaurants etc that emphasises their atmosphere, their sunny terraces, the quality of their food, their specialisms (Spanish restaurants love to announce that they are, inter alia, “specialists in meat”, which has never sounded much an enticement to me, at least).

But what I do not come across, what is never publicised is whether a place is just weird.

Weirdness comes in many guises. Weird location, weird food, weird people. And weirdness is a positive, in my book at any rate. Forget your romantic ambience, I want restaurants, bars, anything that are nuts, strange, left-field, off-the-wall, bonkers. I want ghoulish ambience, ghoulish people, bearded women, restaurants with no food, bars with no drink, the inhabitants of Bedlam.

Where are these places? They must exist. So tell me. The weirder the better. And, rest assured, the weird will be given its place in the sun (irrespective of terrace) on this blog. The rules for the search are that the weirdness must be an advantage and this weirdness would make you return. So, come on ...


Meantime, the merely magnificent. Recently I discovered an astonishing restaurant near Santa Margalida. Hardly a difficult place to discover as it sits next to the main road. Except that is that no-one ever goes to Santa Margalida, which is hardly surprising as there is little worth going for if you are the average tourist. This is a mistake, however. There is a quite impressive church, totally oversized given the size of the town, and an impressively unremarkable monument thing. Santa Margalida would be a good entry for weird towns, for which I invite more input. And it should be noted that the castle-looking affair as you go towards the town belongs to one Demis Roussos, so I was told. Not weird as such, but worth a trek to spot the large Greek.

Anyway, the restaurant is Es Turó, which is part of the very old S’Alqueria des Comte. Very, very impressive. So here´s a piccy.



Manacor’s favourite son and muscle-bound tennis heart-throb, Rafael Nadal, declares in today’s “Sunday Times” that his favourite music includes Bon Jovi and Bryan Adams.

Bon Jovi and Bryan Adams. God forbid.

Go back almost a year - to 27 May last year in fact - to find out why I cannot stand Bryan Adams.


I found out yesterday that Leapy Lee was actually born Graham Pulleyblank. He goes up in my estimation.

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All The Time In The World

I thought to say that the Spanish don’t understand time. But I have reconsidered. They understand it only too well. They take the abstract and extend it to its extremes. How else can one explain the – literal – moveable feast that is midday and hence lunchtime?

Perhaps it’s a trait of Spanish culture that they can treat the abstract with such regard. Picasso was but mere canvas to a national pastime, as it were.

The mañana ethos is too facile a description of the Spanish ambivalent adoration of time. It implies a tomorrow, when that tomorrow rarely, if ever, comes. Except when it suits.

To the northern European expat conditioned – variously – by WASPish or Prussian punctiliousness and punctuality, the void that is Spanish time can be hard to fathom.

And so is the Spanish attitude to communication. This is especially unfathomable, given that the Spanish nation has had a mobile phone surgically grafted onto to one of its collective ears. Yet, they don’t phone. They never phone.

I say all this from experience. I still don’t get Spanish time or Spanish communication. How long have I been here? I can’t say. To do so would be to seek to make tangible the abstract. Perhaps I should go native.


To other matters … Here we go again. Summer’s barely on us and the papers are screaming about jellyfish. Unlike last year’s plague, which didn’t happen, it might be a tad more likely this year. Apparently the little blighters have been loitering with intent in the waters around the Balearics during the winter rather than pissing off elsewhere, as is normally the case.

Some of you may know that the Spanish for jellyfish is “medusa”. I have an awful confession to make. I was once in a rock band that was called Medusa. Wasn’t my idea, honest. It was a lousy name especially as we were part of what was the at-the-time south-west Surrey music scene that spawned Graham Parker, The Jam and The Members. Medusa. How embarrassing.

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Vota Vota Vota

There’s an election going on. And remarkably it doesn’t involve Tony Blair. Thank God. That Trimdon speech out-did even a Serbian Eurovision winner for sheer feigned emoting.

No, these elections are local to here. And I can’t avoid them. This fucking poster turned up on the telegraph post outside my house a couple of days back. It shows a rogue’s gallery of various worthies (let’s give them the benefit of the doubt) all shot in a field, which is probably what should happen to most politicians.

The poster belongs to the PP (Conservatives to you and me). Last time there was an election, a group of PPers turned up at the gate and attempted to engage me in conversation. The foreign vote was very important, they said. Maybe it is. But I don’t vote for any of them. Not through apathy, but because there is no real attempt to engage “foreigners” in the local political process. Well, none that I am aware of, at any rate.

But if a similar group pitches up this time, what I want to know most is what they plan to do about the weeds growing in the road. Those nice green weeds heading skyward towards a poster of politicians in a field.


And just by the bye. As some acute regular readers of this blog will know, I publish local guides. I was at my printers yesterday. The print shop was full of posters for this and that politician. Printers are log-jammed at this time of year, what with getting menus, cards, maps, guides etc all done. Into this mix come the PP and PSOE and the rest. Brilliant timing.

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Sing Something Simple

Eurovision. An annual event, and an annual feature on this most Euro of blogs. The Spanish take this nonsense seriously, but given that it is indistinguishable from the rest of Spanish television, this is not surprising.

The contest has never been about music. Now it is a glorious and cynical exploitation by the mobile industry of the diaspora and the nationalistic and xenophobic tendencies of the not-so-long liberated eastern Europe and near Asia. They should just junk the song part and move straight to the voting. Brilliant.

But it cannot be taken seriously. If it were, how could one possibly explain the UK entry. Only at one level was it spot-on – a couple of homosexualists and some dodgy totty. Pretty much like any cabin crew. And for anyone who wondered whatever happened to Timmy Mallett, it would appear he’s now Ukrainian.

For what it’s worth, there was but one song that grabbed me. Despite or perhaps because of the George Michael rip-off, Turkey was the stand-out.


Meanwhile … after all the dire weather, it is now starting to large it. Perhaps all those predictions of a hot-hot-hot summer might come true.

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Oxygenated

Too busy. Too busy. Little time. But, in the irregular series of who is new and where, here we go … Oxygen in the Avda. Mexico just near the Greasy Mile has a new Dave, and an Amanda. And to prove it, here’s a photo. Nice place, nice folk.


I thought long and hard about taking a photo, but no. There were flowers on the Carretera opposite the Delfin Azul. It’s the anniversary of the terrible road accident last year. I didn’t take a photo of the flowers. Too intrusive.


And always keen to oblige with those neat little sites. Added to the links is one for Piccadilly. It's from Ben, who I hadn't seen for years until I bumped into him at the Vamps opening gig. Check out the site - good pics.


Pop quiz update – Geoff has been good to enough to let me know that it was one P. Townsend who wrote “Run, Run, Run” after all. And he can claim his Transunion timetable when next here. R. Dean Taylor was the male Motown artist. Female? Kiki Dee.

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A Load Of Rubbish

There are facts of interest, and then there facts of no interest at all. But, never let it be said that something of no interest prevents me from telling you about it.

Rubbish.

There’s a lot to be said for rubbish in Mallorca. Or at least its collection. First-rate. None of this two-weekly, maggot-ridden, tubercular, Third-World rubbish collection in benighted blighty. Every night here.

And, despite separate containers for recycling, don’t worry, just chuck it all in to the general container. Batteries, broken plastic garden furniture, nuclear waste. In it all goes. That’s my type of rubbish collection.

But, and now I come to the fact of no interest, there is other rubbish collection.

During the winter there was a beach rubbish-clearing exercise. Cost a cool 600,000 euros. No matter, this investment brought about a total collection of 168,757 kilos of rubbish. Impressive, huh?

Well, what is impressive is that great armies of the otherwise unwashed unemployed have seemingly had the job to count the rubbish. Rummaging around landfills with sets of scales, doubtless.

But where does it all go? I have the answer. It came to me after bumping into Paul Danks. As an accountant, I bow to his numeracy skills. The four thousand holes in Puerto Pollensa sounded an under-estimate to Paul. Probably right. But whatever the number, they can stuff them full of 168,757 kilos of beach rubbish.


Always in pursuit of some new bar or other that you should patronise, word up for Café Art 66 in Cala San Vicente. Strange place for a chill-out bar, given the blueness of the rinse of the average Cala tourist, but maybe the Cala will become this summer’s cool. Or maybe it won’t. Whatever, good luck to Ramon, it’s a very nice place.


Sitcom quiz – Blakey was of course played by Stephen Lewis. But now we’re back to the pop quiz. Here’s a belter, courtesy of Maconie and Radcliffe. Huge prizes. A copy of the Autocares Mallorca timetable to anyone who knows the name of the first white female artist to record for Motown. And … a copy also of the impenetrable Transunion bus timetable for Pollensa for those who also know the name of the first white male to record for Motown.

And while on Maconie and Radcliffe, they have given this blog its current record of 2007. Laura Veirs, “To The Country” from her CD “Saltbreakers”. Blissful.

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On The Buses

Here’s a strange thing.

I go to the tourist office in the paseo in Puerto Alcudia. Marina, do you have a new bus timetable? Oh, no, Autocares Mallorca aren’t bringing us any. Why not? Don’t know.

So, I go to the main tourist office in Alcudia. I ask Magdalena the same question. Same answer. Same lack of explanation.

So then I go to the Autocares office. Why aren’t you taking copies of the bus timetable to the tourist offices? Er, one girl passes me on to another. Something about tomorrow, or maybe, or something. Who knows?

Now, this might seem a slightly arcane subject to highlight, but it has a serious side. Fact is that the bus timetables always start on 1 May. Fact is that tourists need this information. Fact is that, among the top five questions tourist offices get asked, is what are the times of buses to …

Now personally I think worrying about what time a bus may or may not turn up is a form of stress best left at the airport check-in. When and if they come, they come. If you can get on, fine. If you can’t, just wait, or give up.

But this sort of thing matters to tourists. So, why is there such a disjointed approach to provision of information? Autocares Mallorca may not be a state company, but they are a stakeholder in the overall success, or otherwise, of their local community, of which tourists form a vital part.

Not to worry, the timetables will probably turn up tomorrow, or maybe they won’t.


Ok, so we’ve moved on from the pop quiz. Now, it’s old sitcoms. The title of this piece is from one. So, here goes. Name the actor who played Blakey? Easy.

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The Start Of Summer

First of May. Public holiday.

When isn’t it a public holiday here? I get endlessly confused by public holidays. Just when you think it’s some religious deal, turns out to be nothing of the sort, like Constitution Day. So May 1 is boring old Labour Day. Not a saint in sight. You could be forgiven for thinking that the only saint who is not celebrated here is Simon Templar.

Not that Labour Day will be given its rightful celebration. Oh no. The first year in Britain when this became a holiday I was still at university. My what a craic. We kidnapped a prominent member of the Socialist Workers’ Party, got him drunk and took compromising photos. All in the best of taste of course.

Spain may have enjoyed something of an economic miracle, but it still tries its hardest to suppress productivity. Take a saint, any old saint will do. Have a holiday.

That economic miracle, that economic boom, has been based to a large extent on property, and property prices. Well, things are not looking so good. The Spanish stock market has been hit by investors divesting their property stocks in anticipation of the bubble bursting in the Spanish property market. About time, too. Property is overpriced. Not necessarily wonderful news for all those on Estate Agent Street in Puerto Pollensa. Or maybe it will be, if property becomes more affordable.

But back to saints. The Catalan for saint is sant. I heard a joke yesterday. Who’s the saint for food? Santwich. Doesn’t really work in its written form, but I thought it was quite funny.

One other thing about the first of May is that denotes the start of summer, in that here spring and autumn more or less don’t register in people’s consciousnesses. Summer is May to October, in other words the main tourist season.

Pop quiz – the title of the last piece came from Jefferson Starship, in the days when they still were Jefferson.


Index for April

British products - 17 April 2007
Cafe Bony - 17 April 2007
Can Picafort - 27 April 2007
Corruption - 27 April 2007
Cyclists - 19 April 2007, 25 Apirl 2007, 27 April 2007
Didis Coast Adeventure - 25 April 2007
Driving - 7 April 2007
Eroski Syp - 17 April 2007
Estate agencies - 19 April 2007
Grupo Boulevard - 11 April 2007
Language -17 April 2007, 19 April 2007, 21 April 2007
Peter Maffay - 25 April 2007
Nordic walking - 25 April 2007
Parking - 3 April 2007
Religion - 11 April 2007
Road deaths - 13 April 2007
Roads - 20 April 2007
Roundabouts - 7 April 2007
Sa Pobla Cricket Club - 1 April 2007
Sunbeds - 27 April 2007
Taste of India - 3 April 2007
Tourists - 3 April 2007, 7 April 2007
Traditions - 21 April 2007
Trencadora - 25 April 2007
Vamps - 3 April 2007, 11 April 2007, 15 April 2007
Weather - 13 April 2007

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If Only You Believed In Miracles

I have witnessed a miracle. Stone effigies weeping? Dead men walking? A handful of fish and loaves becoming more than a mere handful? None of these. Something the more miraculous as it was so unexpected.

Trafico stopped a cyclist who went through a red light.

Maybe I should revise all that stuff about not being a believer. It was a divine moment. Not even Trafico could not have done anything. If you are going to cross a red, it’s always best to do it when a Guardia 4x4 isn’t coming out of the road that has the green. But she did. There is a God after all.


It has been a while since corruption reared its immoral head here, but today news comes of major raids in Palma. I was slightly worried that it was my lawyer who happens to be in the same road as an office raided. Phew.

Anyway, that’s by the bye. Locally, the little local issue involving the ex-mayor of Santa Margalida (done for a spot of less than appropriate behaviour) rumbles on in that the concession for providing sunbeds and parasols on Can Picafort beach is unlikely to be granted this season. Seemingly, the only offer came from someone associated with the former mayor. So, if you are off to Can Pic, you will just have to enjoy getting thoroughly sunburnt and getting a small quarry of sand in your cossies.


Pop quiz update – Geoff says The Who’s song was originally a Motown thing. Come on, you lot, get answering. The group from last time was the amazing Spirit, and the guitarist was Randy California.
We’ve been here before, but the line of this piece’s title is from …?

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Sonne in der Nacht

The miserable weather that did indeed last thirty days and thirty nights has given way to a week of blissful Mallorcan spring. At one stage, you might have expected to have found an arc perched atop the local puigs (hills) and animals embarking two-by-two, which apparently is how animals enter arcs. Now, there are moans about the heat. I was at Didi’s bike place in Puerto Alcudia yesterday. Two hale-and-hearty Germans returned with their bikes. “Zuper”, it had been, but “zu heiss”. Well, if you must do over 100 kilometres in 24 degrees what do you expect.

While at this bike place, Didi was telling me that he also promotes Nordic walking. Now this is an odd thing. I first became aware of the Mallorcaisation of Nordic walking when clocking some Germans in a supermarket. Skiing, I thought. Where were they skiing? And why carry their sticks into a supermarket? Slaloming down the north face of the bakery section?

Now in Germany you can find vast hordes traversing the plains in earnest pursuit of aerobic activity supported by two sticks. But here, for the most part, the sticks are used as … sticks. To extract any benefit from the sticks, what you do not do is just use them as a form of crutch. Still, there are those who do it correctly. Some have just gone past the house. “Click, click, clack, clack.”


And something of a German theme today as Trencadora in Pollensa has had its re-opening. Some of you may know that Trencadora is owned by the rock guitarist Peter Maffay. For many that name will mean nothing, but he is big in Germany. And speak to a German, like my neighbour Carina, and you’ll hear he’s a top bloke.

Anyway Trencadora, which is a fabulous place, hasn’t really worked, but now the charming Jutta has her hands on it, and let’s hope it does well. The photos are from the re-opening.


Many thanks by the way to Geoff who offered The Who as an answer to the Run, Run, Run question, in that he said they did a cover of a song by this name. I had in mind Jo Jo Gunne. So, if anyone knows who did the original that The Who covered, do please let us know.

And keeping this going. Jo Jo Gunne were formed by Jay Ferguson, who was a member of which American West Coast band, the guitarist in which was related to Jimi Hendrix? And as a word of explanation, the title of this piece is also the title of a Peter Maffay hit record – so now you know.

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Run, Run, Run

Appropriately enough, given it’s the London Marathon tomorrow, a bit of a running theme, if only because – and it is a tad tenuous, granted – there was a touch of quaint old Mallorcan tradition at play in Alcudia and elsewhere today.

According to Ian at Chess, a man who knows about these things, the racket outside the town hall was all in aid of something known as “corre llengua”, which literally – I think – means run language, or more likely, forward with language or some such. Anyway, whatever it means, it is all to do with promoting the local lingo. So here is a photo that does that, apparently. Told you it was tenuous.


The Scottish band was of course Deacon Blue. And today’s poser – which American group had a hit with the title of today’s piece?

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Four Thousand Holes

Yes, pop-pickers, yet another musical motif. No prizes for the title. Everyone knows the origin. What everyone may not know is that Blackburn, Lancashire has been shifted. Shifted some hundreds of kilometres south. Shifted to Puerto Pollensa in fact. Not that Pto P is much like Blackburn – and yes I have been to Blackburn, and Darwen and Accrington, before you ask – but it does share holes. Bloody great big holes. Bloody great big holes in roads. And roads in a state of nuclear winter.

Every year, just the same. Four thousand holes in Puerto Pollensa, Mallorca. But I suspect some of the holes – and roads – may have to do with Taylor Woodrow’s building on the old Garbi hole. From one enormous hole to four thousand small, but still tyre-cracking holes. Taylor Woodrow – “We deconstruct since months”. Or something like that. Dodgy English.


And the answers to yesterday’s quiz. Steely Dan was William Burroughs. Starship built that city, and The Shamen thought e’s were good. An adjunct question. Which Scottish rock band was named after a Steely Dan song?

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The State Of The Estate

“We built this city on rock and roll.” Thus sang who (one of today’s pop quiz posers).

More like, we built this city on estate agencies. Puerto Pollensa at any rate. And it’s not the only place. There is a street in Puerto Pollensa, Juan XXIII, that could easily be re-named Estate Agency Street. How many estate agents does a place need, for God’s sake?

Well, more than thirty in Pto P, that’s how many. More than thirty chasing a commission that would make even that most hard-faced breed, the British estate agent, blush with embarrassment.

But this is not my theme. No, we’re back to that old friend – dodgy English. So, what’s with the estate agency angle, I hear you all ask? State, that’s the angle. State, as in missing an “e”. In this particular instance, “e’s” are most certainly good. However, take this example. There is a magazine called “Miramar”. Front cover has the words “Real State”. The context is property. It is a common error that I can only but attribute to an over-compensation to avoid putting an “e” in front of an “s” (as would be usual in Spanish) but cocking it up. A mistake, yes, but, once again, I ask why. You can find estate agencies ballsing this up in a similar way. No excuse.


So there I was, just about to exit a side road from the carretera by Restaurant Boy in Playa de Muro. The lights were flashing to let me go.

I know to look left. Just as bloody well. Straight through the red comes a line of German cyclists. They just don’t give a shit, do they. The last couple waved by way of thanks. I had an idea for a wave. Quite different. Two fingers forming a circle, my arm going up and down in a pumping fashion. Not worth it, is it. Forget it.

Answers to the previous Pop Quiz. “Peg” was Steely Dan. “Jake The Peg” was of course Rolf. Today’s bonus quiz question. Where does Steely Dan come from? And the two regular questions, one has already been posed (in the opening line here), and the second is about “e’s” are good. Who was it? Too eezy.

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“I’m Jake (or Jose) The Peg”

It’s ok, it’s ok, the weather’s ok. “DON’T PANIC, DON’T PANIC.”

And the cry “DON’T PANIC” can be heard resonating across Puerto Pollensa’s church square. No, it is not – sadly – Corporal Jones, bayonet a-fixed and a-pointed, scattering startled Germans. “They don’t like it up ‘em, Captain.”

It is of course Jose from Bony. A man, a catch-phrase. For all your 4Ps of marketing, when it comes to bars, if you ain’t got the fifth one – personality – you may’swell jack it in now. And Jose has it in buckets, or rather in large glass jars from which he throws sweets to the kids.

Now it does help that Bony is in the church square, but Bony still manages to attract custom from morose competitors. In a word – Jose.

Is he crazy? Not a bit of it. Clever, my friends. And shown here is one of his marketing images. Yes, it really is a clothes-peg. Make of it what you will.


Britain is England. England is Britain. The Spanish are not alone in not quite getting the difference. The Germans and Americans also stumble. Let’s be honest, there are a number of English, or British, who don’t know what Britain is. But it takes the offer of food to put this all into sharp relief.

Eroski Syp is publicising a tasting of English products this Thursday. Not British, English. Pre-empting this feast, Syp has set out some products already. The Welsh and Scots should be grateful. On the display are – amongst other items worthy of avoiding – … Hula-Hoops. Yes, Hula-Hoops. The crème de la crème of English products, the Hula-Hoop.

The fact that the sign advertising this must-be-missed event is in English suggests that the Spanish will not be eschewing their paella for something soggy in tomato sauce. (Actually, the Spanish do soggy in tomato sauce quite well for themselves, thank you.)

This whole English-British confusion was also to be found recently on a note sellotaped to the Perspex surrounding of the pool at the Africa Mar Hotel in Can Picafort. (Class, eh, sellotaped note.) It asked for a waiter proficient in the “idioma británico”. That’s the “British language” if you don’t know.

British language. Muppets.


And in tribute to Jose and his peg, here is today’s Pop Quiz. Which American rock band (mainly the seventies) did a track called “Peg”? And of course, which Australian was responsible for the unbracketed title of this piece? Clue – it wasn’t Kylie.

Prize. As always, there is no prize.

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Re-Vamped

At the risk of this blog becoming a form of benefit gig for Vamps, here are some pics of the opening thrash.

Good luck to Les and Lesley.

Winter in Spring

And for thirty days and thirty nights did it rain. And the rivers of hell did overflow and bring forth a flood. The keeper of the wells did cast his eye skyward, and declare it good. For it was good, for wells and ducks. But lo, there came upon the northern domain a group of travellers bedecked in football shirts and shorts, and they did cast their eyes skyward and declare it a pile of shit. And so it was. And so it was. For thirty days and thirty nights.

Well, a bit of an exaggeration perhaps, but it really is lousy. Yet apparently the weather people say it has rained less than average in some parts. Hard to believe.


No bright news. Despite the introduction of the licence points system, road deaths have increased again. The Guardia want more resources. But, and I say it again, does it really combat reckless driving and speeding if you stick your resources at roundabouts where the most they might pick up are seat-belt and mobile offences? Yes, you might also get some drink offences, but the real problem is what goes on on the open road, like the carretera that passes in front of my house. Want speeding? It’s here. Want reckless driving? Ditto.

Beware A Tie And A Smile

I am not a believer.

No, this is not by way of a contradictory Monkees thing. I’m going religion here, in a roundabout sort of way.

I am not a believer. But some are. That’s for them. This is not my point. What is, is religious apparel. No, not habits, nothing like that. Ties, I’m talking ties.

In Mallorca, the wearing of ties is generally reserved for those with a serious business intent, unlike most of us. But it is also the accessory of choice for those of religion. Some while ago, close observers of this blog will recall my encounter with a protagonist for the Gideon Bible outside Eroski Syp in Puerto Alcúdia - as you do. Nice chap he was. But he wore a tie. And he smiled.

Yesterday, ambling along the Paseo Colon in Can Picafort, I happened upon an acquaintance. She was with a group outside a cafe. I clocked the bible. Then I clocked the smile and the tie of one of the group. Jehovah’s Witnesses.

I claim no great knowledge of their ways, except being woken from boozy slumbers of a New Year’s Day lunchtime by a ring on the bell and Peter Knowles giving up a career with Wolves to embrace a tie, a smile and a foot in the door.

So, when in Mallorca and a smiling, tie-wearing Brit sidles up to, run for your lives or be prepared to give up a good half-an-hour of your lives.


Well I mentioned the fact that “Vamps” was on the point of opening, and it will do so - this coming Saturday. And here is the logo that Les has kindly sent me. See more info on the What’s On Blog.

And given that there will be, amongst the entertainment on the Vamps opening night, an Elvis impersonator, here is also a photo of some metal art from the Tattoo shop next to Vamps, courtesy of the very nice Guido and Fernanda. Well, I think it looks like Elvis.


Grupo Boulevard’s colonisation of Playa de Muro is more or less complete in the sense that much of their DIY centre has opened to the public. Well, the optimistically monikered “Hyper Market” is open at any rate. More than can be said of other places.

The Rose and Crown remains neglected and unloved, as it was all last summer. The George and Dragon is up for rent, as is Shooters (which has been for some three years). Maybe Boulevard will make a go of things. They may not be loved by all, but at least they are trying to put some class into - as I have said before - a singularly unlovely part of the Playa.

Roads To Hell

It’s started. The early-season harmonies of vehicle horns merrily hooting and a-tooting as those attached to the horns come up against the first trikes-on-the-main-roads of Spring. Oh, and the woman on the roller blades pushing the baby buggy. Yep, she’s back. May not be the same woman, but always this time of the season there’s at least one.

The joys of motoring when the season starts to kick in. One can be happily driving along the glorious avenue that is the Greasy Mile admiring its splendid architecture, and suddenly - from behind a parked bus - out veers a junior lard mountain struggling to control a trike.

I have a further suggestion for clogging up the roads with things that should never be allowed near a stretch of tarmac. Take the wheels off the trikes, and let the fitness fanatics who would normally be on bikes, run with them, like the cars on “The Flintstones”. Better still, if the cyclists were to keep their shoes on, imagine the fabulous cacophony of clipping and clopping. A sure winner, I fancy.


And finally, here is the photo of the Pointed Thing Roundabout. Well, it wasn’t a nice day, but the whatever-it-is still looks resplendent. More I look at, more I go dental equipment. Or maybe it’s some form of punishment. Sit on that - as it were. Very Vlad, very Impaler.

Coming up, our great competition – name your favourite item of roundabout decoration. Remember, only this blog would come up with such incredible competitions.

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Tomato, Tomato, Tomayto, Tomayto

You say tomato, I say tomayto. In fact I say tinned tomato, and Les at The Canny Lad says plum tomato. Now this all stems from 2 August last year when I did something about breakfasts. To reprise: The Canny Lad, or so I said, offered just yer tinned tomato. Turns out it doesn’t only do the plum variety, but the fresh one, too. So I’m pleased to right this scurrilous wrong. These things matter, you know.

And while I’m at it, let’s add Foxes near the Magic Roundabout to the list of breakfast establishments, and – likely too – JKs in Puerto Pollensa. Jane and Kevin have thus far eschewed the full English, but this could be about to change.

Also while I’m at it. Les (and Lesley) are on the point of opening another bar. This one’s to be called “Vamps”, it being an adult-themed bar. Work thus far on it looks good, and it is situated on the Calle Astoria, just off the Greasy Mile by Bells. And on the same strip, what was Agra is now Taste of India. Much as I loved Izzy (at Agra), the place badly needed a makeover, and it is getting one, courtesy of the new boss, one Sirag, which sounds like Shearer, much to the delight of Geordies amongst us.


I’ve been asked to talk about parking, There is parking, and then there is Mallorcan parking. Why park in one space, when two will do nicely. That’s but one style of Mallorcan parking. Then there is the all-road parking, i.e. in the middle of the road. Or the pedestrian-crossing parking. Given that crossings are treated with scant regard by drivers here, that some might park on them should come as no surprise. And finally, there is the parking in hash-marked-boxes-which-are-meant-to-tell-you-not-to-park-or-you’ll-get-towed-away parking. Great sport, this one. I heartily recommend a coffee at Bar Norai in Puerto Alcudia just so you can wait for plod to come along, book a car improperly parked in the car park opposite and call for the removal truck. Excellent stuff. More of this.


Early-season Holiday Brains (an old friend of a theme from last season). Look, it’s only about 15 degrees, it’s raining at times (and a lot), I know folk want to make the most of it, but why are they walking across main roads in bare feet. Nuts, or what.

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Lovely Sa Pobla By-The-Sea

Well, I really did seem to start something. All that talk of global warming and flooding reaching as far as Sa Pobla brought literally thousands of responses all expressing the same concern. Whither the wicket at the Sa Pobla Cricket Club? Whither, or wither indeed.

Most notable was this highly evocative appraisal of the SPCC circa 2050 as the sea comes ever closer. I am indebted to Alastair and Angela for this Cardusian description which juxtaposes the old splendour of the great days of the SPCC threatened by the predicted encroachment of the sea.

"The ground slopes slightly towards the sea and a ball from this end can sometimes get lost against the stand. This, and the sea fret which makes the ball swing and dip, can bring early thrills on a green wicket but too often when the life is gone it becomes so very placid.

"Of all the great names of Sa Pobla cricket perhaps Maurice Tate is remembered with the greatest affection. From 1912 he shouldered the bowling of Sa Pobla and England over the next 25 years and when he finally sent down his last over the club honoured him with a magnificent pair of gates at the main entrance.

"Towering blocks of flats now hem in the ends of the ground but they cannot change its character, for it has mellowed in the history of the game and is an area worthy of the best in cricket. Set no more than a stone's throw from the sea, Sa Pobla has the atmosphere of a seaside resort, and the deckchairs at the northern end add to that feel. The sea can be glimpsed from the pavilion (side on to the wicket) and splendid views of the Tramuntana are partially obscured by the flats.

"These days, Sa Pobla has a slightly decrepit air, but that adds to its appeal."

Truly peerless, I'm sure you will all agree.

The attached photo shows the marvellous SPCC from the early 1930s digitally remastered to show the proximity of the sea, as might be expected by 2050. In this, we can just determine the great Maurice Tate (pictured separately) bowling to the Nawab of Alcudia during the famous Potato Series of matches between the SPCC/MCC and the Gentlemen of Northern Mallorca XI. Yes, boats could be drifting onto the outfield. Save the SPCC now! Curb carbon emissions!

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Pointless And Pointed

Who switched the lights off?

Zero sun, a bullseye of rain and three degrees this morning at 10 o’clock. Three degrees! Pity the poor sods who have pitched up hoping for some Spring heat. How utterly depressing.

Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, the Carretera Arta. Well, no it’s a crap idea - the red track I mentioned last time. Karen from Foxes was giving the situation a good once-over and was muttering darkly about drivers using it rather than cyclists, which begs the question - what is the point of it? Who knows, but the whole sorry mess is leading to sweeps as to the number of accidents (and worse) through the season.

But there is always some new roundabout furniture to make the whole effort seem worthwhile. In the middle of the new one at the Palma-Sa Pobla turn, some sleek steel thing has been erected. An executive pen-holder? A piece of dental equipment?

A fish-hook is the best offer so far.

When it stops raining, in a few days, expect a nice photo and you can all enter our quiz. Name that thing on the roundabout. My guess is that, in years to come, people will refer to it not simply (as with the horse roundabout, though even the horse in question is somewhat open to other interpretations), but far more vaguely as the Pointed Thing Roundabout. And they would of course be right. That’s it. The official name. I’ve just coined it. Rotonda Cosa Puntiaguda. I hereby claim my contribution to local culture.

Rains And Boats And Cranes

And so the crappy weather meant that the cuttlefish and boat affairs in Puerto Alcudia were not the success of last year. There were people around, quite a lot in fact, but the terraces were not thronged - too cold and too much of a threat of rain. Still, I got a tasty tapa of sepia in a tangy sauce at La Recoleta; very nice it was, too.

It wasn’t as though there weren’t folk on the terraces. Hardy groups of Germans, who will sit through a gale and plagues of locusts to ensure they are fed at the correct time, were to be noted, as they were - in some abundance - earlier in the day at Cafe Paris’s brunchtime music Sunday. Paris, Can Picafort that is. Not Paris, Paris or Paris, Texas. It is quite marked just how German Can Pic is. And being towards midday, the cry is “Mahlzeit”, one of the German language’s odder utterings, Mahlzeit being a greeting used at mealtimes. Think about it. In England all these folk wandering about at midday shouting “meal time”.


At this time of the year, Easter coming up, the first real flocks of tourists arriving, you would think that all the work that needs to be done would be through. Not a bit of it. As I said at the same time last year, there is a theory that much of the building work that occurs at this time is done purely to prove to people that something is being done (there being fewer folk around earlier in the winter to impress). Consequently, you can turn any corner and be likely to encounter some fucking crane parked in the middle of the road and a couple of weasly workers in luminous jackets who have a communication breakdown in the synchronisation of their stop-go signs.

Amidst all this work, there may though be some semblance of common sense. By the Magic Roundabout I now notice that a red track has been painted to direct cyclists off of the Carretera and onto the side road that runs parallel. Now this might just be a good idea, although it would make for dangerous times ahead for pedestrians. Watch this space.

Pick a Peck o’ Pickled Picafort

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The title of this site may be AlcudiaPollensa, but it doesn’t stop me from talking about other places. Can Picafort, for example. Not a place that gets much of a look-in here. Not a place that gets much of a look-in anywhere to be honest.

It’s a strange place. Nice enough. Pleasant residential areas. Neatly laid-out road system (assuming that matters). Nice hotels (an enormous number of them). But it sort of lacks something. It’s like Playa de Muro, only bigger. The front-line there does look a bit scrappy in parts, so news that some upgrading is to be done at the Son Bauló end is to be welcomed, though how much of an improvement a relatively small spend will bring about is questionable.

At least no-one has tried to set fire to the hotels. Unlike in Alcúdia. Three of them - the Sofia Apartments, the Ciudad Blanca and the Viva Golf - have all been the target of some pyromania. The suspicion is that it’s the work of a disgruntled ex-worker (or ex-workers), though the fact that the three establishments have no connection makes it all seem a bit odd, unless the same ex-worker has managed to be kicked out of three jobs. For the record, there was no great damage, just some mattresses went up apparently.

This weekend will see the second sepia and nautical fairs in Puerto Alcúdia. Sepia, let me remind you all, means cuttlefish. Bizarre though it sounds, they devote a whole weekend to budgie food. The combined event was a rip-roaring success last year, but then the weather was brilliant, which it isn’t at the moment. Winter arrived yesterday.

And talking of rips, Trev from La Sala was wondering why I hadn’t taken more of a rip out of the new road system along the Carretera Arta. Strange, I thought I had. Anyway, here are some adjectives:

Ill-conceived, lousy, half-brained, stupid, mad, poorly-thought-out, nuts. Or perhaps ... an example of innovative traffic management and circulation designed to aid both road users and pedestrians. Ok, the last one certainly wasn’t an adjective. Any other offers?

From the Business Pages: Hot on the heels of Thomas Cook (Neckermann) taking over My Travel and Aspro Ocio (Marineland etc) taking over Western Park, now we have Thomson (TUI) acquiring First Choice. Yea, yea, so it says merger. No such thing, my friends. There is always a first amongst so-called equals, and barely ever has a merger been anything other than an acquisition. Setting aside the Marineland activity, the big four tour companies are now the big two. Both German. “Sunbedsraum” by any other name.

“Like Shooting Fish In A Barrel” - Part Two

Before I get to the subject of the title, something about service.

A US retail chain, Nordstrom, made a name for itself by offering outstanding service. Not just your ordinary how-can-I-help-you variety, but extraordinary service. It was encouraged. So if a customer was in a spot, needed a lift, say, to the airport, Nordstrom would deliver.

Now Puerto Alcúdia is not the US. Little Britain is not Nordstrom, but check this out. Today a rather frail lady came into the shop. She realised she had lost a bag. Had to be in the Syp store. The bag had medicines in it and money. No sooner mentioned than acted upon. Off went Steve to Syp, and retrieved the bag.

That’s what I call service.


So, those fish in the barrel. Another easy target has to be Leapy Lee in “Euro Weekly”. Full respect to EW for publishing the letter, as a correspondent finished her criticism of the Leapster thus:

“What I really can’t understand is how a publication that seems unbiased in every other way can publish Leapy’s weekly criticism of anything and everything. His points are sometimes valid, but please can you really call that writing! It’s in bad taste and I for one would like to see him gone.”

I’m saying nothing.


I forgot to mention. A caption beneath a photo of an ashen-faced Stuart Pearce. “Pearce yesterday dismissed speculation that is facing the sack.” Amazing what the absence of a pronoun can do.

Also - reporting a US study into the effects of Omega-3, reference was made to “gray” matter. Either a straight take from a US-originated editorial release or a failure to change to British English. “Gray” in British English is only a noun - it is a unit of radiation measure. “Gray” in British English does not exist as an adjective.

Where do these two examples come from? Where do you think?

Like shooting fish in a barrel.

“Like Shooting Fish In A Barrel”

I like this saying. When Martin Clunes once used it on “Have I Got News For You”, I made a note. Must use that some time.

“The Daily Bulletin”. Like shooting fish in a barrel.

Yesterday’s issue. Front page - Weather Forecast page 28. Er no, the Lashter actually, but only one out, page 29. See New Feature, Your Shout, p. 14. Two out, page 16.

But there’s more. Oh, yes. On the Lash page. Reference to many in British sport who have pitched up at one of his mates’ restaurants - “From Sir Alex Ferguson to Tommy Dority.” Tommy Dority? Who he? And then there’s a photo of one of the mates. With a “great (?)” of British sport - Joe Royal. Yes, yes, Joe Royal. Not Joe Royle, but Joe Royal.

Today’s issue. Aspro Ocio’s takeover of Western Water Park. Refers to “Agualand”. No, no, Aqualand.

Bad day(s) at the sub’s desk perhaps.

Like shooting fish in a barrel.

* I googled Tommy Dority. Didn’t bother after page one. Two mentions, one pertaining to charlestonrunningclub.com, the other to a site for air medical professionals. Must be the first one then.

“Feelin’ Hot, Hot, Hot”

At the risk of sounding repetitive ... Yesterday’s “Sunday Times” summarised the arguments set forth by Mark Lynas in his book “Our Future on a Hotter Planet” (Harper Collins). They made for startling reading.

Lynas sets out scenarios based on increases in temperature of one degree, to a maximum of six (which in effect means oblivion, and may - hopefully - be some many years off). In the shorter-term, he sees zero chance of avoiding a one-degree increase, itself bad enough as it will set off - inter alia - coastal flooding, drought and the partial tearing-apart of mountains. That’s one degree. Between one and two-degree heating is expected within 40 years. The 2003 heatwave will be the norm, Mediterranean holidays will cease; it will be too hot. People will seek to move north or to higher ground. When temperatures were last one to two degrees higher, the sea levels were five or six metres higher - five or six metres!!!

Doesn’t sound too good, does it. No more Mallorca holidays, no more Mallorca villas by the sea, no more Mallorca. 40 years. Half a lifetime.

The Germans, longer in environmental awareness than many other peoples, are being encouraged to holiday at home, and there are concerns that this could affect what was predicted to be a second successive ”record year” for tourism. I doubt it really will. Despite their environmental awareness, the Germans are pretty much wedded to turning mahogany under a Mallorcan sun.