Long Time Passing

Think that the way of doing business in Mallorca is just like... like the real world. Quite often it is, but there are times ... Let me tell you about a restaurant, a restaurant that comes under the orbit of a company in Santa Ponsa. The restaurant is in Puerto Pollensa; first time I've dealt with them. So, I hand an invoice in at the restaurant. It was sent to Santa Ponsa, complete with all details - address, bank account number etc. Anyway, a month goes by and I ring the company. Now this is not some insignificant outfit; it has, for instance, half a dozen numbers in the Santa Ponsa listings. I speak eventually to the "office". The payment is not ready yet. Ok, fine. When do you think so? Don't know. Have to speak to the boss. Ok, but tell me, do you send the cheque by post or make a bank transfer? Er, well, could you pass by? You what? Let me get this right. You want me to make a round trip of some 130 kilometres that will take a couple of hours of my time in order to collect a cheque.

Basically, that was the size of it. She did say that they might make a transfer, but I am not that hopeful. Perhaps I should be grateful that a "simple" passing-by might actually extract the booty. And at times that's the impression you get; that one should be grateful that payment might actually be made.

Let me tell you about one of the more significant "attractions" on the island. The invoice had been left a month or so ago, so I rang and agreed that I would "pass by" (only a 20 kilometre round-trip this one) the following afternoon. When I get there, the boss is not about. Palma. There's often an urgent visit to Palma, I have discovered. There ensues a bit of a search to see if any payment might have been left. Not as such. Indeed the invoice cannot be located. Sensibly, and with the benefit of several years experience, I have brought a copy. Can I leave my number? Well I can and do, although it is of course on the invoice. Will I get a call? I very much doubt it. This particular attraction is run by some of the nicest people you can meet. Everyone is hugely friendly. It is a pretty big concern nowadays, but the boss is still the one who makes the payments. And maybe makes them by bank transfer. Or maybe by cheque for which I will need - again - to "pass by".

In many cases, bars, restaurants, shops, whatever, there is nothing unusual in passing by and having the boss pay you. You would expect this to be the case in many instances, but not in all, especially those that involve distance or a business that is slightly more than a one-man band operating out of a sweaty kitchen. Delegation of things like writing out cheques is one thing, the other is the means of their delivery. To an extent one can understand the wish for recipients to "pass by", and this stems from a reluctance to use a postal service which can be somewhat erratic. One has heard anecdotes of post going missing, especially items that might appear to include some form of monetary transaction. In the case of cheques, the strange custom here of writing out a cheque "al portador" (to the bearer) could I guess, if the cheque were to be intercepted, result in someone else pocketing the cash; in which case, make it out properly.

But mistrust of the postal service is widespread and so there is the other mechanism, that of bank transfer. Neither it nor putting the cheque in the post is exactly a taxing or troublesome operation, but it can often appear that it is just too much trouble. Could you pass by therefore. The fact though that it might even be considered that a personal visit is the preferred mode of effecting a transaction highlights the inefficiency of much business life here. All these people running around in endless acts of passing by in order to pick up a payment. You wonder how business ever gets done at times.

Note: One of the more common bits of Spanish one encounters therefore is ¿puedes pasar? Can you come or pass by?


POLLENSA'S WEIRD WORLD OF WATER
And more on matters of a watery nature down Pollensa way. And more denials from the mayor. Today's episode involves the pool in Puerto Pollensa which has been criticised for being too cold and for not being disinfected. The mayor says that heating the water is not necessary in summer and that the machinery is checked twice a day. Well, that's all good to know.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - C+C Music Factory (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D2Dtfi3VkiU). Today's title - from a famous folk song.

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Things That Make You Go Hmm ...

Or. Things that make you wonder why they bother. Number One: Playa de Muro's market.

Well a whole new series beckons. Maybe. But anyway to kick-off, we're back to the market. As you may have previously appreciated, I can kind of give markets a miss especially in summer. However, there are those who can't get enough of them, though in the case of Playa de Muro's market they may make an exception. I happened to take a wander along its length on Monday. One can wander freely and unmolested in Playa de Muro's market. No crowds getting in your way. No obvious signs of anyone about to steal your valuables. No, thank God, South American Indian pipe-players. Even they seem to have stopped bothering. Presumably there are more suckers at some other market who might be willing to hand over hard cash for a CD with Andean interpretations of John Denver classics (sic).

There were, let's just say, not that many people about. There were plenty of traders sitting around looking bored and eager to pounce on the odd stray tourist, but otherwise ... . The clue to all this may lie in the name - Playa de Muro. What you read is what you get. Playa. Beach. That's the whole point of Playa de Muro. The only point to be honest. The market is an artificiality. Whereas people actually go out of their way to attend markets in Alcúdia and Pollensa, does anyone actually make the trip to Playa de Muro from, say, the port of Alcúdia in order to buy some cheap shorts or some luggage? No, I don't imagine that they do.

Being Playa de Muro, the market is linear. Like everything else in Playa de Muro it exists in a straight line for the simple reason that Playa de Muro is a straight line - of main road and beach. There are no streets weaving into an old town interior and littered with stalls; no architectural antiquity to lend an air of authenticity to the tradition of the market as a place of historical commerce. There is just the contemporary commerce of the hotels and the Boulevard Group's glassy facade. It's not as if it is a market for local socialising and provisions, as are those for instance in Alcúdia or Pollensa; it is purely a tourist invention minus the fruit and veg, plants and produce of the markets to which people do go. The old-established markets have character because of the character of their locations. A market that takes place parallel to a main road has little or none, save for that wrought by the wrecker's-yard of the numerous ancient vans and cars of the stallholders lining the main road that could have been parked up by Del Boy and Rodders. And it's also not as if hard-pressed bars and restaurants are necessarily deriving any benefit from the market's presence; well certainly not those that have closed down. Wonder though I frequently do quite why people would wish to hack around a market under a boiling sun, there is the fact that, for many a Joe-tourist, the market is the most intimate he is likely to be or wish to be with what is simplistically described as a "real" Mallorca; so long, that is, as it is a market in a traditional setting, which is not the case with Playa de Muro's.

The market was, until a couple of years ago, held on a Saturday when someone realised that Saturday, being a big transfer day, might not be the the best day. So it was switched to Monday in the hope that it would prove more profitable. Not from what I can make out. The thing is that when the sun's a-blazing and the playa is right opposite offering its watery delights, a market of almost uniformly similar wares is unlikely to attract the masses away from those delights. And it doesn't. Why do they bother? Makes you go hmm ... . Don't know.


SPANAIR
The Madrid crash could hardly have come at a worse time for the Mallorca-based airline Spanair. The airline's owners, SAS, had wanted to offload it but were unable to, resulting in major cutbacks in jobs. Pilots had been threatening strike action because of the apparent disorganisation at the airline. While it might suit some to present the tragedy in Madrid as indicative of a malaise at the company, such a conclusion would be harsh unless investigations unearth anything that might suggest so. It should be noted that Spanair had a very good safety record. Yet it has not exactly enjoyed a great reputation. A common nickname for the airline is "Spanner"; for some, it was an airline to be avoided. And now, following the crash, one wonders how many more might think twice or three times about flying Spanair. Again, such a conclusion would be harsh, but it is almost inevitable. What was a problem largely of economic difficulties will now be one of even greater and emotional negative perception. In 2006 Spanair had the "highest sales figures for a single company" (27 July: With Good Company) in Mallorca; it has been a significant force on the island. But that significance was dwindling even before the crash; the question now is whether it can recover or whether the flames of Barajas will come to engulf one of the island's major companies.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Jimmy Helms who was also in Londonbeat (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ez1dxW8jLgE). Today's title - industrial-named dance music duo from the '90s.

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Gonna Make You An Offer You Can't Refuse

"Make them an offer they can't refuse." Some hope perhaps. It's probably all too easy to decline the offer, the special offer. Under current circumstances, that is. And those circumstances will be why there has been an advert in the "Diario". What's the offer? Hotel rooms; hotel rooms in August. Want to know which ones? Try these: Uyal and Daina in Puerto Pollensa; Platja Daurada and Yate in Can Picafort; Cala San Vicente and Molins in Cala San Vicente. I daresay there are other offers circulating. It's not as if these are lousy hotels; they're not. Quite the contrary. As so often I was asked how I thought the season was going the other day. It was by Maria who runs Cas Capella and other places in Alcúdia. I mentioned the advert. "Daina!?" Yes, the Daina. I guess there are places you would just always expect to be full. Offers in early season or after August, but during August ...

While there were no offers in the ad for Alcúdia hotels, it isn't the case that everything is hunky-dory. It was the tourist office that had pointed out the ad to me, so I asked about occupancy. Two per cent down in July apparently. Ok, may not sound a lot, but it's still a couple of points less. For July. And that comes from the figures the town hall receives. One kind of suspects they may not be the whole picture, but that's only a suspicion. While the larger resorts may just be able to absorb lower numbers (though even that is obviously questionable), a place like Cala San Vicente is going to be struggling if two of its better hotels are having to offer specials. The all-inclusive Simar and Don Pedro may have the bodies but those bodies are unlikely to be the spenders of a Cala San Vicente or Molins hotel.


CANAL UPDATE
Clean. In fact as I was going past the grand canal and then up to the Sea Club entrance, the fountains were in full shower, and all seemed perfectly agreeable. And it was. You see some of what goes into this blog is in response to mutterings, such as "oh the state of the canals"; hence I go look and find what appeared yesterday. Then it's all fine again. I guess there's always going to be something that isn't just right, but hats off presumably to the costas as there were no bottles, no cups and certainly no dead fish.

But just to prove that not all is right and well in the world of waterways, there comes the little local difficulty in Pollensa regarding the obnoxious smells at night from the torrent Sant Jordi. In the "Diario" neighbours close to the torrent in the port area are quoted as saying that at times they can hardly breathe because of the smell. The town hall - in the form of the mayor - denies that there any nasties floating along its length and that water-treatment is functioning correctly. The government environment ministry (them again) also says that it is functioning correctly and adds that it isn't actually their problem anyway, it's the town hall's, who in turn say everything's ok. Well fine, except it isn't, as the neighbours can apparently testify to. Why do I have the impression that the division of responsibility may not be functioning as well as the water treatment is allegedly meant to be?


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Simon and Garfunkel (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sbFEnoITiWE). Today's title - soul singer who was also a part of what really was a rather good R&B/dance group of the '90s?

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Bridge Over Troubled Water

"Miles and miles of unbroken golden sands, shimmering turquoise sea, deep-azure skies of endless summer sun, and canals attractively landscaped with the contents of a rubbish container." Knew it. Should have been a brochure-writer after all.

One thing that does exercise the minds of internet-forum critics of Alcúdia is the state of the canals and the occasional bridge as well. Not without some justification. The canals, in theory, lend the resort a flavour of Venetian-lite aquatic ambience. The fountains that spring on and off assist in water circulation, but they only do so much. They cannot contain the mosquito larvae and the litter, merely help to push it to the edges. The photo above is not untypical. Where was it taken? Opposite the reception to Sea Club. Nice vista for those pulling up in the coaches. The other day I watched the rather unedifying sight of some young boys attempting to hook a large and very dead fish out of the canal between the two parts of Sea Club. Sort of thing kids get a kick out of, and maybe get something else out of if they come into physical contact.

Perhaps we shouldn't get too precious. Canals everywhere were designed for people to chuck things into them. Though this may well be one of their main raison d'êtres, it doesn't mean they shouldn't get cleaned. Well they do - sometimes. But by whom? Now I always thought, as I imagine others would as well, that this was all down to the local town hall. Apparently it isn't. Alcúdia council, like others, has its own environment division, but one wonders quite what they do with themselves all day, as - so I am told - the canals are the responsibility of the mythical "costas". For many the word "costas" will summon up images of the Spanish del Sols and Blancas etc., but it is also a word that strikes fear into many. The "costas", as the name suggests, are the government's beach police, but have engaged in some inland acquisition as well. From what I can make out they are actually part of the government environment ministry, presumably the local Mallorcan one in this instance. This is the same environment ministry that would happily clear the beaches of any semblance of human development in pursuit of the protection of nature but seemingly can't get round to regularly removing empty bottles of Saint Mick or Pepsi cups from the canals. And the bridges over the canals? Same deal it would appear. Alcúdia town hall? Not my job, mate.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Green Day (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XKOwGffqlbM). Today's title - er, is there anyone who doesn't know this?

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Basket Case

You may have noticed that this blog has been an Olympics-free zone, though yesterday's finishing offer might have given a clue that today we would be wandering a bit further than the local Chinese. Of course I could say that I had intended that the blog would remain five rings short of an Olympic logo if only as a personal minor crusade against the whole pompous farce that the games have become especially in the hands of the Chinese who have elevated their political dimension beyond anything Hitler had in mind or also the Stasi with its steroid-fed East German athletes. By the way, if any of you are interested, I can relate the story of one such athlete who told me the whole tale of the discovery of steroids in his food, the consequent heart problems and the period during which his father "disappeared", but it's probably not for this blog.

Well I could say all that, but I won't.

Unlike other major events, notably the international footy championships and of course Eurovision, which have adorned the blog in the past, the Olympics in truth seemed to offer little in the way of a Mallorcan or even Spanish dimension, apart from the odd cyclist being caught in a doping scandal or some such or Rafa Christmas winning the tennis; nothing new there. But then, damn me, along come both "The Bulletin" and those old scoundrels of Spanish basketball to spoil the silence. In the case of the first-mentioned, they have been making play of the fact that the entire British Olympic squad (Team GB if one must), or at least that's how it seems, has in some way been trained in Mallorca, thus meaning ... er, well that they have trained in Mallorca. Actually to be fair I think it was just that girl who can swim a bit and that Bilbo Baggins bloke who rides a bike and who has presumably been one causing potential traffic flashpoints in and around Pollensa. Anyway, this was not really the point of bowing to pressure and finally raising the Olympic flame over the blog. Oh no; it was and is of course the Spanish basketball teams and Sid Lowe of "The Guardian".

In case you have missed all this, Lowe, who lives in Madrid and works not just for "The Guardian" but also Spanish media such as the La Sexta TV channel, unearthed an advert featuring the Spanish basketball teams and penned a short piece that appeared in the newspaper. Just goes to show that even small items in the press can cause one hell of a fuss. Now Lowe, who knows a fair bit about Spanish culture as well as its sport, is nevertheless not one to necessarily stint in taking the piss, especially out of football, or to keeping schtum when it comes to more sensitive issues. This despite his taking the Spanish media shilling.

The advert that has caused the rumpus shows the men's and women's basketball teams doing a slitty-eyed gesture. Personally I don't find this offensive. Puerile yes, but I can see why some might find it offensive, the Chinese for instance. So Sid duly pointed out that although no offence was intended it might have been taken and that the advert should be considered in the context not just of Madrid's desire to stage the 2016 Olympics but also Spain's recent well-publicised racism in sport allegations - Lewis Hamilton, the England football team and the Aragones Thierry Henry remark. At this point the "mierda" started to hit the fan. I won't bother to go into detail as you can read the link for yourselves, but Lowe was right to defend himself by saying that nowhere had he accused anyone of racism. One does suspect, as so often with these things, that no one bothered to actually read the original or if they did to understand its tone.

The story has been interesting to follow on the blogs, no more so than one from "The New York Times" which has offered some further insight into the whole matter. While it reports that the Spanish basketball team was booed in Beijing, it also points out that the team has a long-standing sponsorship arrangement with a Chinese footwear company (Li-Ning) and that the ad was a sort of gesture that was "appropriate and affectionate" - "a wink of the sponsor", as it is described.

Appropriate or not, one suspects that the matter has been blown up out of all proportion. As Lowe admits, it partly reflects the hyper-PCness of the British, something that the Spanish don't quite get, and for which - quite frankly - we should be grateful. But how many Brits can say they've never done a slitty-eyed gesture? I know I have. There again, apparently the Chinese have not taken offence, or they hadn't until up popped Rod Liddle in "The Sunday Times" to say that the advert has not gone down well in Beijing. He did rather steal my thunder as I had been lining up this piece with a conclusion about the fact that Spain and its basketball teams have form - i.e. the 2000 Paralympics gold-medal winners being found to have ten out of twelve players who were fully mentally able. Well that's how I've still decided to conclude it. And that was a disgrace. This little carry-on? I leave it up to you to decide.

Links:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/sport/2008/aug/11/olympicsbasketball.olympics20081
(The original article with the advert.)

http://www.guardian.co.uk/media/2008/aug/15/olympicsandthemedia.pressandpublishing
(Lowe's response to the rumpus.)

http://olympics.blogs.nytimes.com/2008/08/12/spanish-ad-spurs-charges-of-racism/
(New York Times blog.)


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - The Marx Brothers. Here is the first part of the film; others are available as links - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EDJgPCNzt5E. Today's title - American rock group, partly a colour.

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Duck Soup

"Light up the sky with Standard fireworks." Remember that old advert. It was from the days when everyone bought fireworks and set about incinerating their back gardens and sometimes themselves on Guy Fawkes Night. Let's be honest the Standard or Pain's selections weren't much good - a handful of sparklers, Catherine wheels, Roman candles and a few rather apologetic rockets. There was as much fun to be had the next morning going in search of the burnt-out casings among the damp grass and flower beds. But that all became history, and fireworks went organizational and corporate - and high-tech, very expensive and the preserve of professionals. I once attended an extravagant birthday party in the garden of some stinking rich insurance chap in the depths of the Surrey stockbroker belt. What intrigued me more than the fireworks were the logistics of the display; it was though an Army explosives unit had been seconded for the evening.

I was thinking all this on Playa de Muro beach a couple of nights ago. No need to go to Can Picafort itself, just haul a comfortable garden chair down on to the sand, arm yourself with a chilled foamy and watch the fireworks let rip over the sea just down the coast. The fireworks finale to the marathon Can Pic fiesta season was its own mini-festival of flash and burn, lighting up the sky with more than a standard firework. The fiestas mostly all climax with these displays, and one has the impression that each year they want to go ever one better. Nothing wrong with that; nothing wrong with the booms, the bangs, the oohs, the ahs, the reds, whites, greens, golds and silvers cascading against the backdrop of darkness and then dropping into the reflections on the sea. But what do they all cost? Most of the town halls are strapped for cash; Santa Margalida more than most. Yet its display in Can Picafort is as extravagant as any others, and it has just staged two weeks of fiesta and has another one - Beata - to get through early next month. While the fiestas attract "collaborators", to translate literally the local usage, these sponsors are not necessarily funding stuff like the fireworks. The town halls often end up footing much or most of the bills. What do the whole fiesta seasons cost? It would be a damn shame were there to be cutbacks, but especially during these impecunious times one has to wonder at the priorities. In Santa Margalida, they can launch a solid half-an-hour's worth of going up in smoke but find it seemingly impossible to adequately provide the forgotten town of Son Serra with a police presence, and let's not forget that damning criticism of the beach area in Can Picafort which came from the German "Bild" newspaper. One does have to wonder.

Still, there were plenty of folk in attendance, notably for the duck event. Shows what a bit of notoriety can do; they flocked in, and not just the rubber ducks. Despite the watchful gaze of plod, some reprobate still managed to let a live duck or two go, which was the cue for some pressure group to go and file a "denuncia" with the Guardia - as if they haven't got better things to worry about. Sorry, I just don't get it. They're ducks for Daffy's sake. Only some normally hang around on sea water, but maybe they would all quite like a day out at the seaside and have a bit of a quack; they should take to it like ducks to water. Also, had the rains of early Friday continued through till midday, it would have been good weather for them - ducks that is. Though not an expert in matters of the Anatidae family, If some were "borrowed" from Albufera my guess is they would have sufficient wing-flapping capacity and homing instinct to be back at Albufera in time for tea. Sounds like water off a duck's back to me. Just so long as they're not still hanging about by the time they let off the ground-to-air missiles at midnight. Duck soup or crispy duck, anyone?


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Texas. Today's title - very famous film; who were they?

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Careful What You Wish For

Sardinia may seem an unlikely starting-point for a piece on this blog, but bear with me. The island of Sardinia, which is not named by the way after sardines (they were named after it), lies some 260 or so miles to the east of Mallorca. It is quite a bit bigger than Mallorca, but it has some similarities - a Catalan dialect (and an obscure language of its own); it was once under Aragonese dominance; it witnessed a major battle against the Moorish Turks; it is an autonomous region; and it is also a tourism centre and a place for the rich to flaunt themselves, their money and their properties. Maybe you can start to see where I'm coming from.

Some days ago there was en editorial in "The Bulletin" which spoke about the property market in Mallorca. It enthused that the luxury end of the market is holding strong. And this at a time when the market for the ordinary man and woman is floating adrift. Good for the luxury market. The fact that individuals are willing to part with seven figure sums or more was evidence that the island was in grand shape despite other problems. Loadsamoney, fine investment prospects, blah-blah; it was similar to the notion that Freddy Shepherd's one-time interest in Real Mallorca was in some way indicative of wider British confidence to invest in the island. Pass me those straws and let me clutch them; but not for long, they're going in the bin with the rest of the rubbish.

Be careful what you wish for. That wealthy people may wish to line the pockets of estate agents, existing landowners and some professionals is evidence of no more than a desire to purchase a luxury pile. It is not, by some vague implication, the creation of some form of Thatcherite distribution of wealth through entrepreneurialism for the good of all. Some builders, some gardeners, some pool-maintenance firms and a scattering of menials may also benefit but that's it. If I can come back to yesterday's piece, are the wealthy purchasers like to be integrating with Mallorcan society? They take but what do they give back? Are they going to establish high-tech new businesses with high employment opportunities? No they are not. At least Paul Davidson, the likely new owner of Real Mallorca, seems to have the right attitudes. And let us certainly not decry the benevolence and humility of some of the wealthy. I once bumped into the German rock star Peter Maffay as he was getting off his push bike to unlock the gates to the Trencadora in Pollensa; his foundation is lauded for its good works and one only hears good things of the man.

Be careful what you wish for. And who are these wealthy people? Perhaps some warning bells should have been ringing when Matthias Kühn of Kühn & Partner, purveyors of property to the filthy rich, spoke about the opportunities afforded by the new wave of the industrial-scale-minted foreign buyer. Russians, in a word. And Heaven forbid that there is some high-rent, high-security gated villa on the go or perhaps Mark Thatcher will pitch up, giving the luckies the possibility of diversifying into a bit of bounty-hunting in the form of kidnapping on behalf of some God-forsaken African basket case of a nation. Mallorca has a long reputation as a millionaire's playground. There are plenty of wealthy Mallorcans. And now there's this new wave.

Be careful what you wish for. A while back a local politician expressed a concern that the current economic difficulties could lead to increased crime. It was over-blown scare-mongering perhaps, but civil disobedience ...? Which brings me back to Sardinia. What's happening there? "Arrogant ostentation of the super-rich." "These people think they rule the world." Hugely expensive properties, Russian oligarchs and celebrity Italians such as Flavio Briatore who recently was greeted as his motorised dinghies were making shore with cries of "louts, go home" and a barrage of wet sand.

Economic difficulties can create strong reactions. The mega rich are not necessarily the solution to these difficulties; in fact far from it. The Sardinians have had enough of those who show off their wealth. Be careful what you wish for Mallorca.

* The quotes and some Sardinian references are from an article by Alexander Chancellor in "The Guardian" - http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2008/aug/15/italy.globaleconomy.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Paul McCartney and Stevie Wonder (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sssqBjaTzOU). Today's title - album by a Scottish band.

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Living Together In Perfect Harmony

Integration. "The intermixing of persons previously segregated." "(Psychological) the combination of the diverse elements of perception etc. in a personality." The Concise Oxford.

Integration. There is a letter in this week's "Euro Weekly" which takes to task columnist Leapy Lee's assertion that Mallorca "has not been taken over by expatriates". The author of the letter bemoans the fact that Mallorca has lost its "traditional Spanish way of life" and has in effect been colonised by those (and he's referring to the Brits) who don't bother to learn the language.

Integration. It's an old theme, one tossed around without, one senses, a great deal of appreciation as to its meaning or its subtleties. The first of the Oxford definitions is questionable in its accuracy, in a Mallorcan context at any rate. Segregation suggests a form of apartheid or separate development; this has never been the reality save for some unofficial and occasionally official discrimination. The second definition is the more meaningful as it alludes to the degree to which mentally the incomer, the expatriate, embraces his new society as opposed to purely physically in terms, for instance, of location. But to return to segregation, this ties in with what the letter-writer says about colonisation - as he sees it.

If I recall correctly, the piece by Mr. Graham (to give Leapy Lee his name; I find it somewhat absurd using "leapy" when referring to someone close on being a septuagenarian, but be that as it may) referred to his urbanisation - in Santa Ponsa I think. There was an enclave of different nationalities living in peace and harmony, or something like that. My own urbanisation is perhaps similar: British, Germans, Mallorcans. It would be stretching the imagination to say that we're all best mates. Most keep themselves to themselves, especially the Mallorcans; pretty much like many places I would suggest. But colonies? Where are these colonies exactly? It is not as if certain roads or districts in towns can be said to be "British". That Brits may live in reasonable proximity to each other is a fact of the places not being that big, not that they have actively sought to re-create parts of Mallorca that are forever England. If the writer is referring to bars, then he may be on firmer ground but even then anyone with an ounce of knowledge of bars in for example Alcúdia's Mile will know that many of these, whilst proclaiming "Britishness", are well and truly not British. Colonisation by cultural import perhaps, but not by any means all by British-owned businesses. If there is any source of colonisation it has been the tour operators.

Physically, therefore, there is integration in the sense of lack of segregation when it comes to where people live. In Puerto Pollensa, a resort of almost total British tourism dominance, there are also plenty of Brit residents, but no one could say that it looks or feels British, because it doesn't. The town may have lost some of its charm (its "Spanish way of life" perhaps to use the letter-writer's words) but that's the fault of developers responding not only to British or overseas demand but also local. There is "intermixing" of the races. The only sense in which one might agree that colonisation has been undertaken lies with the fact that towns such as Puerto Pollensa have an attraction to the new-coming British expatriate because there is already a strong British community, but this does not translate into the equivalent of ghettoes or anything approaching them.

Then there is intermixing at a social level. Here the author has a stronger case. Freedom of movement and of property rights have caused the growth in immigration and the inexorable rise of the British expatriate group and of other nationalities. Ally these to the existence of British establishments and to the sheer convenience of Britishness abroad, courtesy of daily newspapers now printed locally, Sky, the internet, cheap flights back home, and the motivation to move out of a predominantly British way of life is greatly reduced. There is not the same imperative to mix with the local population as might have been the case decades ago when to have not done so would have meant virtual isolation.

There are plenty of people who will say that they have any number of Spanish friends. Some seem to wish to boast of this in a notching-up manner; it's trophy friendship-making - I've got more Spanish friends than you have sort of thing. It's tacky and ultimately patronising to those Spaniards who might be included among their ranks. Of course there are expats who spend most of their existence with and around Mallorcans or Spaniards; many of them have married a local, a few have gone native. But for the most part, the "Spanish friends" are really acquaintances; the expat still exists within his own community. There is the reverse side of the coin. How many Mallorcans actually want to "intermix" with the expats? They can be very friendly but that does not make them friends; the Mallorcan is not typically antagonistic but nor is he totally accommodating.

The British and the Germans form the largest expatriate groups in Mallorca among the "old" Europe countries. But they are not the largest groups. The Argentinians, for instance, outstrip them both by some distance. The difference of course lies with language. The Argentinian may have a discernible accent and some different usages but his language is that of Spain. He intermixes far more readily as he shares a cultural birthright. Language is the greatest obstacle to integration. Can one really create friendships without communicating properly? Moreover, without good language understanding it is impossible to fully come to terms with the society one lives in. For the Brit who struggles with a bit of the lingo, it is so much easier to simply fall back onto his community. Even for those who speak Spanish reasonably fluently, there is a gap. Spanish is not the language of the Mallorcan. Oh yes, Mallorcans speak Spanish, but it is not their language and nor, in many ways, is Spain their culture. When the letter-writer talks of a "Spanish way of life", he's missing the point.

Recently I said to an old lag of many years British expatriatism that I wished to learn Mallorquín (I may have explained before that while I can understand much of it in written form I can't speak it). Why did I want to do that? They all speak Spanish. My motivation is not so that I can say I have integrated. To be honest I never give the subject much thought except when compiling pieces such as this. But I do want to understand and to be able to converse. Guy de Forestier's "Beloved Majorcans" is quite clear on the nuances of both the Mallorquín language and non-verbal communication. These are signficantly different not obviously just to Spanish but also mainland Catalan. The Mallorquín language is the culture and vice versa; the two are indivisible. Integration - "the combination of the diverse elements of perception" - begins and ends with language. To this end, only a minority of British expatriates, and probably quite a small one, can be said to have integrated. The letter-writer is correct in this regard, but I suspect he's also wrong as he's talking in a different language - as it were.

This claim of an erosion of the "Spanish way of life" in Mallorca is tenuous as well as it is fallacious in failing to allude to a "Mallorcan way of life". What erosion may have occurred is the result only in part because of immigration. Mallorca's societal shift in the later part of the last century was down to its equivalent of an industrial revolution - tourism. The expat is a consequence of a change in Mallorcan society not the cause of it; a change brought about by Europeanisation and legislation. Mallorca comprises many different nationalities now; it is cosmopolitan. But this has not meant an undermining of traditions. The language has been rediscovered following the period of proscription and if anything, as I wrote about in a previous piece, there has been a rediscovery of traditions, partly perhaps as a buffer to the changes in the wider society. The expat, far from eroding that way of life, has probably, inadvertently, helped to strengthen it.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Johnny Hates Jazz (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VRHLkLFJxaw). Today's title - a lyric from a well-intentioned but ultimately yucky allegoric duet by?

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Shattered Dreams

The holiday blues. Someone was talking about this on the forum the other day. Holidays, I thought. I remember them. They did start to fade into irrelevance when it occurred to me that what is virtually my back garden is what holidays largely meant - the beach. But I still do remember them. And the blues. One time sticks firmly in the mind. Returning from France in a state of terminal misery, putting the television on and being transported to the reassuringly unreal world of Mulder and Scully - suspension of reality; more suspension of reality, because holidays are just that, and the blues are the result of realising they were all a dream. The theme music for "The X-Files" will always be associated with holiday end rather than the "want to believe", or maybe it is the latter - belief in something else, a different state of being.

Holiday blues, for some, start before the holiday. The holiday is after all, or so we are told, one of the more stressful events in our lives. I've never bought that argument, but there is the potential stress for some who, as the plane is taxiing, feel the urge to dismantle the emergency exit door as they realise they are about to be spending two weeks in close proximity with those they spend the other 50 weeks of the year avoiding. Then there is the pre-holiday stress of all those calculations - how many weeks to go and then how many days. But stress is not the same as the blues; the holiday blues are a state of dissatisfied mind as, in essence, the holiday is also a state of mind. It is a state of mind of suspended reality and the blues are the return-to-reality dissonance; how can one reconcile that unreality with the grinding normality of everyday life? The response is to shrug the shoulders, say cheerily but unconvincingly that there is always next year and then head off to Tesco and search for the bottle of wine that had been a holiday companion, as though some form of memento can keep alive the holiday. It is like a bereavement; the aching sensation of loss. We can't get it out of our minds, however hard we try, and so we start counting the weeks - 50, 49, 48. The year becomes determined by the pinnacle of the fortnight, and so we wish our lives away in order to get to that pinnacle as swiftly as possible, undeterred by the fact that the holiday is but one twenty-sixth of the year; the other 25 are those of unending normality. Maybe it would be better if we didn't go on holidays.

What it all really means, and most won't admit it as they would end up going crazy is surely there is something rather better than the drudgery of back home. And so the holiday blues continue because holiday is something better. The holiday destination takes on an almost spiritual dimension; it provides a stopping-off point on the search for whatever "it" is, like Kerouac's "On The Road". As with many other things, such as sitting all day in front of a computer, humans weren't made for holidays; they weren't in the initial grand design brochure of a bit of hunting and gathering and a mere survival instinct. Unfortunately someone overlooked the power of reason. Blame who you will - philosophers such as Descartes or Sartre or the peddlers of holiday from Mr. Thomas Cook to Billy Butlin to Cliff Michelmore and Judith Chalmers and to Stelios - but holiday has become a kind of leitmotif of the human capacity to conceptualise existentialist escapism: I think therefore I'll go on holiday. Someone also overlooked the power of dreams and the striving to actualise these dreams. The brochures tell us that they are attainable - dream islands, dream beaches and so on - but they are all too fleetingly within our grasp before the transfer coach to the airport pulls up outside the hotel and the dreams are shattered. Then the tears start. And so the holiday blues kick in and another form of reasoning begins - what if the holiday destination, the one with which such a strong bond has been formed, became the reality? There are those who have come to Alcúdia and to Pollensa on holiday and have returned to live the dream. The only problem is that, for some, the dream is not what the brochure of the imagination said it was.


AMA FESTIVAL AND CHILL-OUT
Just a note to say to check out the listings on the WHAT'S ON BLOG for the AMA Festival for women's awareness happening in Pollensa this weekend and the complementary chill-out sessions on the Cala Carbó beach in Cala San Vicente from tomorrow through till Sunday. Loads of DJs and live music in the evenings for the Pollensa events and the Cala stuff sounds very very worth going to.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Jimi Hendrix (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lOrpuw1J9Og). Today's title - someone hated something - who were they?

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And The Wind Cries ...

The wind. It is the constant and constant change. The wind is capricious and borne on different flight paths. I am but 200 metres from the sea. The wind can be blowing the dropped and dead bougainvillaea bracts straight into the living-room through the door opened to the south so that they scrape across the bare tiles; it can be clacking the weights that hold the terrace tablecloth in place against the table legs; it can be rattling the persiennes and demand that their metal bolts are pulled tighter into the sockets. And then 200 metres away, as the seagull flies, it is calm; there is barely a breeze (a "brisa" of the local language). The sea is flat and it feels stinking hot. You must escape the beach where often you can hope for the relief of the freshness of the wind. And as you prepare to go, the sea starts to roll, the sand whips up and suddenly the wind is coming in from the north or maybe the east, whereas only moments before it had raced in from the south. Back on the terrace the bracts have piled up into a corner and now lie still, and it is stinking hot.

This is the wind. And it brings with it the sulphurous smells of the wetlands, the sounds of the cabaret at the hotels or the throb of the power station. It all depends; the wind never settles, it only shifts. The wind is part of everyone, it is to be found in everyone's lives. Because there is more than one wind. The names of the winds are names of streets, of bars, of restaurants - tramuntana, gregal, llevant, xaloc, migjorn, llebeig (or garbi), ponent and mestral: the Catalan winds of the Mediterranean from the compass point of due north (tramuntana) to due south (migjorn) and then back to north-west (mestral). Puerto Pollensa has streets of the eight winds; Alcúdia as well, where the winds have collided and been blown together by the force of town planning. The mountain range of the Tramuntana forms the mountains of the north wind.

The wind can be seen and heard all around. The trees angled, pointing towards the south, bent by the tramuntana or perhaps the gregal or mestral; the windsurfers but especially the kitesurfers of La Marina beach in Pollensa bay; the lashing of palm fronds and the shush of sand as it is buffeted into scurrying across concrete and tarmac. The wind, as much as the sea, courses through us, but we barely recognise it as exceptional, so constant and constantly changing as it is.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Kid Rock (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uwIGZLjugKA). Today's title - it cries a girl's name; who?

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All Summer Long

I can't wait till October. I even found myself saying it yesterday. What on Earth was I thinking? Well I know what I was thinking. Having been up and out early to do the hotel rounds (if it was Monday it had to be Can Picafort) and having been doing much the same for God knows how many weeks, I thought - jeez, I could do with it being October. You what. Why would you wish the summer away? There are, after all, worse things that I could be doing than visiting hotels and tourist offices and rent-a-car offices and golf clubs and shops and ... and and and ... across the northern zone - oh and the airport. Worse things like running a bar. Now that can be tough. And it is in bars that you most often hear the bring-on-October refrain. The wish falls into two categories - we're so busy, we're knackered or the season's been rubbish, can't wait for it to end. On balance I guess most would opt for the former. If it's the latter, don't go wishing too swift an end to this season - there's next year to come yet. Then there are also those who want the more moderate weather of October (save for the tornadoes if this one is like the last) because it's been and is too hot. I don't quite get this one. Why are people living here? Isn't heat a part of the whole deal?

October does start to loom in the mind around this time in August. It may well still be high summer with temperatures due to be nudging the 100 mark again today, the beaches and the poolsides may well be packed, but the middle of August brings with it a psychological shift. For some it is that the end is in sight, albeit that the season is effectively still less than two-thirds through; for others it is the realisation that it (summer) is going to peter out in the not too distant future. Whatever one says, one lives for the summer. Back at the start of June for instance, the summer seems infinite. Time plays strange tricks with the mind. Now there are but three weeks till September; September that feels like the leftovers after the meal. Winter is not far away. This psychology is of course the same elsewhere, but for somewhere that lives for summer it is accentuated. And this year there is the concern that the looming winter will be harsh - not necessarily in terms of the weather but from the point of view of mere living. The summer may have been difficult for many; winter will be even more so. It is rare, but this season staff have been laid off by businesses sustained by tourism. The cycle of economic difficulty only speeds up during winter. For some, it is a question of how can they survive; what will they have to live on. And they will be willing the return of summer, but willing a return, one fears, with little confidence.


MARKETS
Following on from yesterday, I have to hold my hand up and say that I got it wrong. The "market" in the paseo is not a market at all; it is just things like kids' "workshops". I really must not trust to reports and town-hall handouts. Like the chill-out zone on the beach, far better to check it out personally. Should have known better. Anyway, it doesn't change the basic idea of yesterday's piece but I have re-written the end so as to reflect better what actually is going on. Apologies for that.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - The Kooks (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8yCvYA3t6Mc). Today's title - personally I can't understand why this is such a big hit.

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Down To The Market

I have never quite got it with markets. The local ones are fair enough to dash in and get some cheap underpants or a pair of shoes that fall to pieces within a month or so, but all that greengrocery, leather and lace, tat of both the cheap and expensive variety and the bloody pipe-players homogenise into market sameyness. Not all: the ancient Mallorcans who live next door and also have a pile in Sineu have long suggested a visit to the Sineu market, pressure to do so from various quarters suggesting I may have to succumb. Perhaps it's a male thing, which places bone idleness or a glass of cold foamy higher up the agenda than the female inclination to blow the household budget on bags of loose olives and some curious shapes made from iron. Out of season the markets are reasonably pleasurable affairs as there is no one lurking about trying to liberate your wallet; in summer they are a hell of heat and heaving inhumanity.

Wherever you go there is a market of some sort. Even the hotels are in on the act; Sea Club for example has one of trinkets and this-and-that. Maybe it's all an inherited trait, going back to the days of trooping for several days to the nearest market to sell the settlement's goat. One could argue that the lucky-lucky men are just another facet of this; all they've done is to dispense with the stalls. Wherever you go someone's trying to sell something to someone else that that someone else doesn't actually want.

The scramble for market space has been a let's-shop-lebensraum of stall here, rack of some old clothes there. The "other" markets, i.e. not the town markets, are partly social events and partly like legalised lucky-lucksterism - all that they're missing are the wraps of coke. The flea market of, say, the Jolly Roger Saturday off The Mile is a gathering of local lags and gossip, the contents of the loft and the occasional rather tasteful - I can stare at some on the sofa when I divert my eyes from the Mac.

There are others who are none too rapt with market-mania. The shopowners in Puerto Alcúdia for instance. They are apparently seeking "legal measures" to put an end to the market thing in the marina. I spoke about this some time last year. It may be a pleasant little diversion for the tourist, but the regular traders ain't too keen, though one wonders why it has taken them this long to start really kicking up a stink. One senses the rumblings of "crisis" and diminished sales and the resultant search for a scapegoat.

An argument is that these markets bring in more people and so everyone benefits. I'd need some convincing; the Alcudiamar market may be a small attraction for tourists (should they actually know about it of course), but if they end up spending their dosh with the markets, they don't spend it elsewhere. There was a time when all these things could have complemented each other and all would have indeed reaped the rewards, but that time is not now one suspects.

The shops are especially none too happy as the regular evening children's workshops and so on that are taking place on the paseo are designed to give shops something of a leg-up during a difficult season, the belief being that hordes of people will flock to these events and spend like crazy in the shops. This, apparently I now find out , was/is the purpose of the town hall's poster advertising them. Easy to have misconstrued that poster. It is meant to say - come along to these wonderful events and then go shopping and not come along and do some shopping at some additional market, which was how it had been presented. Can't trust any reports these days, or town hall posters.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Hall and Oates - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GQUMDoZ4VCg. Today's title - indie group - think David Bowie for their name.

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Kiss On My List

The kiss. It is of course a social grace here, and is becoming so in countries where previously the notion of puckering up to a relative stranger would once have been considered the height or low of poor hygiene or the grounds for a visit from the men in heavy boots with a sex offence warrant. Let us put it all down to holidays abroad, Princess Diana, cross-cultural business advice seminars and the Spice Girls. The kiss, the social kiss, is on everyone's lips and all over their cheeks as well.

The Mallorcan and Spanish kiss is a relatively straightforward affair - one, two. Done. There is though the protocol. Always lead with your right, as it were. Whether one kisses air or flesh is largely immaterial. The local kiss does not have to become an interruption, unlike the French kiss, by which I mean ... oh, come on. Depending upon which part of France the kissers come from, the exchange of pecks can amount to not far short of douze points-squared of slobbering. I have witnessed communes of French people coming together on a beach. The time it takes to perform the multiple kissing with every single member of the groups and then the repetition just to make sure no one was missed out first time means that by the end of the procedure it's time to pack up and go - not before going through the whole rigmarole again however.

The northern European, in particular the stiff upper-lipped Brits whose stiff upper lips do not make for good social kissing or indeed any come to that, can find all this carry-on slightly embarrassing, even if it is now becoming more widely accepted. It is perhaps one thing for men to kiss women and for women to kiss women, but for men to kiss men? Lighten up, it isn't the precursor for a good rogering; well not usually anyway. Not that men-on-men kissing is widely practised except between family members and good friends, but it can happen outside of such relationships. I have engaged in some male bonding by means of the social kiss, not at my instigation, and it does take one aback a tad. But, hey, we're all metrosexuals now, whatever they are. And expressions of affection between and across the genders are to be found in the language as well. "Un abrazo" (hug), "un beso" (kiss) and even "un besito" (little kiss) are commonly used as a goodbye.

Perhaps the greatest challenge of protocol is knowing who to kiss and who not to. And I, like many I suspect, don't really have the answer. Should I , for instance, kiss my female bank manager? I mean, I get on fine with her, but one still has the nagging fear that to go for the air kiss might be interpreted in a way it is not meant to be, though with a bank manager it might infer a request for a substantial interest-free loan with no payback. There again, shaking hands with women has always seemed a rather strange thing - to me at any rate.

You can sometimes witness unease. I was once with someone who might vaguely be described as a business contact. He had a reputation, one largely fostered by himself, of being a between-the-sheets athlete on a Casanovan scale. When we met up with a couple (not Spanish), he instantly dived into a hug and a right and left with the lady whom he had not previously met, unlike her husband whose face suggested that his missus had just been propositioned. Reputation in the social kissing arena can count for much especially if the advance comes from one with a history of rapid bedding. The social kiss should not be treated as an invitation to a shag, but some may actually see it like that.

The rules of kissing are hard to define. Perhaps one should have a sort of checklist to swiftly mentally activate when confronted by a potential kiss situation. The possibility of contracting a disease or a severe case of halitosis may well be grounds for spurning the offer, but decorum suggests that such a list should not include do I fancy so-and-so. And remember that leading from the right. Go for a left-right combination and chances are that the confusion will result in your nose-butting your partner, and it's no good saying that this is how the Eskimos do it unless you are carrying an ice-pick and have a pack of howling huskies behind you. I guess you will just have to use your judgement. Just don't go kissing the wrong person.

* Some of this takes as reference a piece from "The Guardian" (5 August), "A Moment On The Lips", .....
http://www.guardian.co.uk/science/2008/aug/05/humanbehaviour.familyandrelationships.

And while with "The Guardian", there was a piece yesterday about a German woman who, for the last ten years, has lived in Palma airport. She had no home and no money, so she just started living there. Can't say I've ever seen her. There again, I don't suppose you would necessarily notice. Extraordinary story. Go here for the whole thing: http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2008/aug/09/spain.germany.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - The Doobie Brothers - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gMHFmr5fuyc. Today's title - white soul.

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Long Train Running

The age of the train* is a question of the age of the terrain. Which bit of land to build on? It is the age of the terrain in respect of the proposed extension of the line from Sa Pobla to Alcúdia. When the decision was taken to site the line alongside the main road from Sa Pobla, the local town halls went into full aggrieved mode. The alternative route, favoured by Alcúdia and Muro town halls, would see a terminal sited by the industrial estate next to Albufera. Muro offered the somewhat spurious argument that such a location would be better for the coastal area. Alcúdia now seems to be supporting this, mayor Ferrer arguing that the number of tourists should be taken into account and not just the proximity of local residents, which is part of the reasoning behind the route that was decided upon. The central department (of "mobility") that has the final say states that the proposed route has a significantly greater proportion of the population within a hundred metres of its terminal area than does the alternative. This sounds like an impressive bit of population statistical justification, but neither this nor the number of tourists should be the determining factor. Wherever a terminal is sited, passengers, be they local residents or tourists, would have to get to it; that's the nature of rail terminals anywhere. The siting of the terminal under the favoured option has, as far as I am aware never been announced, though an assumption is that it would be by the Horse Roundabout. The alternative terminal, at what is the Es Foguero ruin, would also not be in someone's backyard; these things never are. No one would want a terminal in that yard anyway. Either location would make sense from that point of view.

One aspect that does not seem to be mentioned is that the Es Foguero option would be next to the new industrial estate. I don't know what plans are in store for the industrial estate, but it does not have to be something filled with industrial units only. The estates in Palma, such as Son Castelló, have shops as well. Has anyone thought that perhaps the industrial estate could be developed as part industrial and part quasi Festival Park? Stick a rail terminal next to it, and potentially you have a well-served-by-public-transport centre of business, entertainment and shopping, though where the latter is concerned doubtless the shopowners of the town and port would be up in arms. Whether though Alcúdia could sustain such a development is another question, but the improved infrastructure in terms of the road and eventually the railway might give pause for thought that it could. There is, however, the ruin of Es Foguero as a testament to the folly of over-grandiose ideas; the sheer size of the place meant it was not sustainable, which is why it became a ruin.

As the town halls are at loggerheads with the mobility department as to the siting, there is now a third option, which would be to take the line behind the mountain at the back of Bellevue rather than continue to, say, the Horse Roundabout. The Es Foguero site would be the terminal under this option. This all has the makings of an endless and never-solved saga. Our old chums in the enviro lobby, the pressure group GOB, are having their penn'orth as well, not wanting Albufera to be impacted upon. In Sa Pobla one has the distinct impression that the town hall would rather the whole project was dropped, which of course it still might be if Madrid reneges on promises for funding. Alcúdia's mayor Ferrer says that he will not bow to "ultimatums" given by the centre. What he's really cheesed off about is that Alcúdia town hall was not closely consulted when the decision for the route was taken. He may be justified; there again maybe he's just throwing his toy train out of the pram. This still has a long way to go; a long train running or perhaps not.

* The age of the train was the motto used by incoming Balearic President Francesc Antich when he won the elections last year; rail transport was his "big idea".


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Grover Washington - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C0OQyG_h98o. Today's title - which American band?
Incidentally the last time I did a piece about the rail extension (26 June: "Came Down The Track And She Blew"), the remarkable Dimple Diamond was introduced to his now ever-growing army of fans. His "Runaway Train" now stands at 560 plus visits on youtube - a leap of getting on for 100% since it was first mentioned here.

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A Secret Place

Ok, let's not get over-excited; calm down, chill-out. There was even some interest coming out of Puerto Pollensa this morning, and a lady mailed me wanting more information, which was fair enough. What, what, what? Yes, friends, the chill-out zone on Puerto Alcúdia beach. The photo above, the one that isn't La Villa, may rather give you an impression. Sorry, the weather was not great this morning; mercifully there were clouds and wind after all the extreme heat. It may not show the chill-out area at its best, but to be honest I'm not sure what the fuss is all about.

The tourist office in Bellevue was also not sure. I went and had a word with Pilar this morning; Pilar who is a tower of knowledge and help. So, Pilar, asks I, this chill-out zone on the beach? Chill-out, she says, and begins to tell me about the chill-out bars Playero, in the marina and in Bonaire. No, no, says I, the chill-out zone, the one on the beach, the one that the town hall has started. What chill-out zone? There isn't one. Yes there is. Oh no there isn't. Oh yes there is. It was in the "Ultima Hora" or "Diario" months ago and there was something in "The Bulletin" the other day. Pah, or something like that, and muttering about English newspapers. But there is, Pilar, and it's the town hall's. The head of town planning was quoted the other day. What's his name? What? I can't remember, but he was talking about the chill-out zone. Give Magdelena (her boss) a call. She's on holiday. So there was a call to a lady who's something to do with technical services on the beach. I get passed to her. Hello, this chill-out zone on the beach. Why do you want to know? Eh? Because people are asking about it, because it's in the newspapers. One moment ... ... ... The phone gets cut off. I tell you what, Pilar, I'll go find it and take a photo. So I do; photos in fact. How does one find it? There is no sign anywhere. Don't whatever you do go left on the beach at the top of The Mile, go right. Go right, over the canal, and then some. Past the Playero and then a bit, and there it is. You know it is as it says so. Well some signs flapping in the wind say so. The loungers look quite nice, wooden-framed and well-cushioned with the town hall's logo on. There are a couple of speakers hanging somewhat apologetically from poles. There is no bar attached. Don't know where you get your drinks from. Remember what I said about the Son Real necropolis the other day? Is that it? The chill-out zone is a contemporary equivalent. Twelve grand for ... Well, let's just say that maybe the weather didn't show it at its best.

Anyway I go back and see Pilar and show her the photos. So now the tourist office in the area knows. Hats off for internal town hall communications. While I'm there I also ask about the WiFi zone. Why, I wonder, aren't there any signs about that either? There is publicity in the hotels. But not on the beach, as such. No. Fine. So how do you actually know about it? Pause. Em, how do you pay for it, assuming you know about it? The sunbed men. You pay them and they give you cards. Well that's something, I guess. Good to know that the million euros or whatever it was has at least got some chaps who will take your money for something that isn't publicised, unless you are in one of the hotels.

Later on, when in Puerto Pollensa and there is somewhat unexpected interest in the chill-out one, I'm told that it (the chill-out zone) has a WiFi zone. Well yes, I say, but it's the beach area not just the chill-out zone; there's a network for the beach and the hotels next to the beach. So not just the chill-out zone? No, no. Oh.

Fabulous. Publicity is everything, or would be. Someone said to me today that these things get put in place but they remain "top secret". Secret places. Strange.


LA VILLA
To other matters. A while back I mentioned that La Villa, the Chinese restaurant in Puerto Alcúdia, had a new place in Puerto Pollensa. Tonight is the official opening. There are many who will know La Villa in Alcúdia, many who will know Ray who is one of the nicest people you could meet. I would go the inauguration but I have a visceral dislike for these occasions; not because of the restaurant or bar owners, but because of the freeloaders who pitch up. I know that they are something that has to be done, but there are those who make a career of attending them. Not for me except to take some photos. But Ray has sent me some, one of which is above. La Villa in Alcúdia has long enjoyed an excellent reputation, and now it is in Puerto Pollensa.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Madonna - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BJgzJTg-plc. Today's title - jazz man who was mentioned here recently in connection with Bill Withers.

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Vogue, Vogue, Vogue

With some degree of coincidence following on from the piece about chill-out the other day comes a different form of chill-out - the chill-out area on the beach in Puerto Alcúdia. One is tempted to suggest, as the temperatures rise towards the 100 mark, that chill-out in the form of ice baths might be more meaningful than a part of the beach that is, well, not that much different to the rest. But vogue is everything, even if it takes some time to kick in. We've been chilling for years and now we can on the beach - after a fashion. Ho hum.

The chill-out area, heralded here several months ago, as part of a programme for the beach, the centrepoint with no centre being the WiFi zone, is a sort of sun-lounger plus enclave. Add a table with a mould for a glass, a bit of muzak and hey presto chill-out. Everything has become chill-out. It's as if you need a chill-out area to escape from all the chill-out. There is nothing wrong with the idea as such, just that it is hardly anything new, albeit that it may be in Alcúdia. Elsewhere it has long been an aspect of beach life that areas are sectioned off, usually attached to a beach-bar, in which one can enjoy a drink and a sunbathe without being struck on the head by a football. No one ever thought to call them anything, least of all chill-out areas; they were just, well, there. Vogue and branding is everything. Hey, we've got a chill-out area.

What most intrigued me when reading "The Bulletin's" report on this latest manifestation was not that the town hall's spokesperson came from the tourism department, which - one might think - would be the section of the council that would front-up on the development; it was the councillor for town planning and services. I'm not altogether surprised. I had a bit of a chat recently with the tourism department. I wondered if this blog had become required reading for them. WiFi zone, computers on beaches, chill-out areas - are there not more pressing priorities? The tourism offices may be somewhat remote, as I said in another piece recently, but this is partly because of resources; they want more staff and longer opening hours, the idea of tourism patrol teams was one they quite liked. But they won't get any of it because there's no budget; it goes on prestige developments that sound good in marketing terms but are largely floss. They may be remote but they are not without a pretty good idea as to the sort of things that are needed. One might also add other parts of the town hall. Someone was bemoaning the state of the pathways around The Mile and the lack of cleaning. It's all well and good having chilled out on the beach with your laptop getting covered in sand and oil only to walk back and tread in some dog shit. The streets need to be kept pristine if only to prevent all manner of disease being caught by the lunatics who insist on walking around barefoot.


To a different matter, which kind of leads on from the item of two days ago about hotels. Is this just more rumour or is this more substantial? Alcúdia's all-inclusives will cease in 2010. The source of this is a gestor, one of the professional ranks who, one might believe, has some idea as to what is going on. Maybe. But how can they cease? They can if their licences are revoked and the town hall really does feel that they've made a bit of a pig's ear of the all-inclusive situation. I'm not convinced. There are hotels that are all-inclusives where the directors would gladly drop AI tomorrow, but the market pressures to offer it plus the diktats of the tour operators make it very difficult. Would the Macs simply stop being all-inclusive in under 24 months time? Hard to conceive. But if there is substance to all this, it could be the shining light of a new summer at the end of a very dark tunnel that this one is becoming.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Andy Fairweather-Low - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k5FG3Ty3jD4. Today's title - very easy.

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Wide-Eyed And Legless

There are times when one wonders if this small world of Mallorcan existence is not almost totally inhabited by the deluded, the criminal and the insane. I am inclined to exclude mostly all nationalities other than the English from this admittedly broad sense of wonderment, though I fancy some Celtic neighbours might also creep under the wire. Jeremy Clarkson, in discussing the qualifications for becoming an expat in different countries, once suggested that anyone moving to Spain had recently held up a post office; he might have added anyone coming to Spain, well this bit of Mallorca, for the purposes of gainful employ as well. And before you ask, it wasn't me, m'lud, who did the Little Sodbury-on-Stool sub-post office job; it was my old mucker Albert "Lightfingers" Lightfoot who has appeared all too rarely on this blog, so I thought I'd give him another mention.

Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, nutters. There was this chef in one of the "Fawlty Towers" episodes. Kurt was his name. He got blind drunk and passed out because Manuel wouldn't kiss him. I was reminded of this when being told of a bar chef who was found closed-eyed and legless only some metres from home, the same chef who a few days later took a carving-knife to his employer. Not that it was used, merely waved around in a threatening manner. I suppose if you are a chef, availing yourself of kitchen utensils as offensive weapons makes some sense, though an egg-whisk might have been slightly less dangerous. As far as I am aware there were no suggestions of unrequited love that dares not speak its name that caused the carving knife to be engaged in a form of diversification away from the usual piece of meat - a different slice of the action as it were. Now I know all the protagonists involved in this little set-to; it was the employers who told me. The chef in question had seemed, to me at any rate, a fairly decent sort of cove with an air of a pre-Raphaelite aesthete as demonstrated by the style of his headgear. Just goes to show how appearances can deceive.

It is not the first time that chefs and other staff have got themselves involved in some fracas or other; indeed it seems almost mandatory that at some point during the summer there will be an incident which suggests that the chef is a couple of rashers short of the full English, though this should not imply that all chefs have spent too long baking fruit cakes and have morphed into their creations.

Always one for the bigger picture, it strikes me that the seasonal worker fills a category or indeed several categories of the expat. Some while ago, John, ex-Highlander, offered me a few such categories. I must dig out the email as the subject has the potential to form an entire blog in its own right. But this will be for another day.


And while on knives. One of the more curious personalities that one might encounter hereabouts is the chap who periodically pops up in what can only be described as an upturned square dustbin on wheels from which emanates a whistle that might have a passing and very stupid ornithologist scrambling for his binoculars. I am led to believe that the chap inside the dustbin is the bloke who sharpens your knives, for whatever purpose one has in mind. This is a splendidly quaint and archaic service. When I was a kid there was a chap who used to come round the estate with a bike, dragging a stone behind him for the purposes of knife-sharpening. This was quite some years ago, yet here a similar practice is still observed, admittedly with the aid of a motorised converted refuse container. Just makes you wonder why they don't also have the laundry man on a Tuesday, the Corona man on a Thursday and the fish man on a Friday. Mind you, there is always the butane-gas chap who does the Thursdays; never seen him with any bottles of fizzy drink though.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Chicago Transit Authority, when they were any good, which they were when this track was released - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bHZJCJerqhM. They were cut down to simply Chicago and then weren't much good. Today's title - a blues artist who was also, curiously, a one-time teenybopper idol.

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Does Anybody Really Know ... ?

What does one really know about the hotels? In the northern zone from Can Picafort to Pollensa, how many of them are there? 200 perhaps. The community lives alongside all this real estate, but for many they are a mystery. They are also the source of rumour, misinformation, untruths. Why? Because no one really knows about them. Sure, plenty of local people work in the hotels but even then what do they know. The huge hotels, such as Bellevue, are the stuff of Victorian novels - strange things go on, so one is led to believe, and they are shrouded in secrecy. Dare to enter a hotel in January and one could almost expect to find a mad Miss Havisham clad in shawls.

In my immediate area are Iberostars, a Viva, Alcúdia Pins and the luxury five-stars of the Palace de Muro and Parc Natural. Pleasure palaces all, occupying huge amounts of land, home to the transient tourist; impenetrable and aloof. The hotels are physically part of the community and communities but they are also not a part thereof. They themselves are transient, coming alive for a period and then lying still for the off-season, save for refurbishment. In winter the hotels have a brooding and almost sinister presence in a redundant landscape of imagined post-apocalyptic nothingness. They are part of the community but a community of summer strangers, and one of their choosing.

Were it not for the hotels, there would be no community or at least not as we know it, Jim. The communities have been built on hotels, none more so than Can Picafort and the tourism ghetto around The Mile. They are inescapable and omnipresent yet at the same time remote. They are local industry but they do not shape the sub-conscious of the community as would the factory of the factory town, as did the steelworks or the mine; they are in a permanent state of neutral indifference. They caused the communities but indulge them only insofar as the patronage of employment is extended.

When the BBC spoke with that director from Bellevue the other day, it was a rare example of a hotel being unveiled, if only very partially. Bellevue, perhaps more than any other single hotel in the area, holds an iconic position. I have said before that its status has long since gone beyond the confines of the complex; Bellevue is Alcúdia in the minds of many. It is for this reason that it has a responsibility to the wider community, yet it is not alone in holding such responsibility.

The hotels can well argue that they pay their contributions and create employment so why should they feel any need to engage more with their towns. It's a hard-nosed business position. The hotels' communication is with only a part of their constituency, with only some elements of their stakeholders if you like - customers and tour operators primarily. The immediate constituency, the community, save for its elected members at the town halls, is overlooked. What does only really know about them?

It isn't that one looks for some additional benevolence or philanthropy, gratifying though this might be. One looks for a community perspective. It is not as though the hotels are owned by distant multinational colossi; the hotel groups are Spanish, Mallorcan and even local to the towns. One might feel, therefore, that the hotels would see themselves as representatives of their communities, but to what extent do they? Just as the town halls seem ill-equipped to monitor what is said about the towns in various media, especially the internet, so - one suspects - are the hotels. Not in all cases; I know of instances where individuals at certain hotels do pay attention. But generally I would doubt it. The point though should not be lost; criticism of a hotel equates to criticism of the resort, certainly in the minds of many customers. It is this criticism that also informs the local community; informs and mis-informs as there is no mechanism to counter it.

When a group of traders in Can Picafort sought to bring an anti-competitive case against hotels operating on an all-inclusive basis, it was indicative of the degree to which the hotels and the community had split apart. When have the hotels ever sought to explain their policies or to adopt local public relations to at least try and mitigate the consequences of such policies? The communities have a right to know. If a hotel switches to all-inclusive, as happens, then of course it has an impact. But the local businesses are usually the last to know. By the same token, if a hotel reverts back to, say, half-board, this also has an impact. So much of this though is transmitted as rumour because the hotels do not engage with the communities. The hotels should be more transparent. They should be clear as to the scale of their various board offers, as to the real levels of occupancy. They should talk more to their communities. But they won't because they are a part of the community but also not a part.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Status Quo. No, sorry, you want a youtube, go look. Today's title - the rest of this title goes "what time is it"; which big American act (mainly the '70s) that dropped a public transport reference from its name?

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Down, Down, Deeper And Down

It seems that barely a day cannot pass without some report or other stating that sales are well down. There was that one not so long ago that spoke about turnover in souvenir and jewellery stores being down some 60%. Then there are the bars and restaurants ... Across the board, according to the restaurant associations of two business groupings, there has been a 20% fall; in the tourist areas it is greater. The summer's difficulties have led, in some instances, to a shortening of opening hours and even to some places not opening at all. Two resorts that have been notable for this are Alcúdia and Can Picafort, says a spokesperson for the PIMEM association.

Anecdote is not always reliable, but there is plenty of it knocking around to back up the figures, and not just in Alcúdia or Can Pic. One restaurant in the old town of Pollensa spoke of 30%; that's a number I've been given elsewhere. Off The Mile in Alcúdia there is another restaurant which cites - in effect - a 50% decline. Yet there are always exceptions. In Puerto Pollensa one bar-owner was asked about how the "crisis" is affecting his bar. What crisis was the reply. This bar is enjoying increased sales. In Puerto Alcúdia one bar away from The Mile is at least holding its own against previous years. It benefits from the fact that people from The Mile are willing to tramp up to it as it has plenty of people in it. One thing the punter does not want is to sit in a bar on his or her own. When you have a mass of bars as you do along The Mile, the danger is that the punter is spread too thin. In the good times it is not an issue, but these are not good times.

There is a sense in which we are arriving at the tipping point. It is not as though there have not been previous periods of downturn; the early '90s was one such. You will hear the whistling to keep up spirits of a couple of years and it will all be back to where it was. I'm not so sure. The previous downturns did not have the proliferation of all-inclusives to contend with; in the early '90s the euro was still just a fantasy of politicians. One can add in factors such as greater restrictions on bars and ever higher costs.

It is not too soon to start looking ahead to 2009. If the pound remains weak against the euro, one does wonder as to the British holidaymaker. Ditto the problems with the credit crunch. The British tourist is of course just one from many nations. For some, such as the Scandinavians and the Irish, Mallorca can still represent pretty good value for money, but the British (and their spend) are vital. The fact also is that a lowering in spend was an observable trend before the current economic problems.

Something, you feel, is going to have to give.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Tom Berenger, Glenn Close, Jeff Goldblum ... Today's title - who?


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The Big Chill

Summertime, and the living is easy.

A lyric and a mood that will forever be summer and summer music. But the very mention of summer in the lyric or title is too much of a giveaway. Summer music. It is more mood than overt statement of fact. The holiday plays all sorts of summer music; neither mood nor lyric. Can a karaoke "we will rock you" being belted out by a tenth-rate cabaret Freddie Mercury from a hotel stage be described as summer music? It is not summer; it is barely music. All that tribute and all that entertainment, and none of it is summer except in a temporal way - because it happens to be summer.

Mood, atmosphere, evocativeness. Suggestions of beach, sun and the idyllic sensations caused by the association of summer through music. Some twenty years or more ago I was in Zante, at a time before it had been invaded by the lager and pills battalions. At the end of Laganas beach was a bar. It was run by a couple of American-accented Demis Roussos lookalikes. It played music most of the day - out onto the beach from a couple of speakers by the entrance. The music was never anything other than laidback, cool if you like; chilled to use a more up-to-date word. Summer music. Mood and atmosphere. If only they'd known. Perhaps a whole genre might have grown from a beach-side bar in Greece rather than one in the Balearics.

Mallorca does not really have a summer music tradition, but the Balearics do, Ibiza most obviously. And it is the Ibiza tradition that can be found in Mallorca; chilled is the word, or chill-out. Summer music. The influence of Ibiza's Café del Mar runs deeper than just the pirated copies of the compilations to be found in the rucksacks and carrier bags of the lucky-lucky men. It can be heard all over; some clubs became Café del Mar shrines of impersonation. The old Mambo Playa in Playa de Muro was one; it even sub-titled itself the Sunset Bar, despite the sun setting in the opposite direction from over the sea - it was in fact Sunrise Bar but had often closed by the time of the first flickers of the new dawn. The sunset, and the music which accompanied it, was what inspired Café del Mar and especially Jose Padilla. On a recent BBC radio documentary he spoke of how he would coincide the last emotion of a track as the final flash of the sun dropped into the sea.

Chill-out, though a pejorative when it encroaches into the easy listening, largely defines the music of Café del Mar, or perhaps it's the other way round - Café del Mar has defined chill-out. That same documentary sought to create a history of chill-out that, rather tenuously, found an origination in the work of Erik Satie. It was on firmer territory with more contemporary artists such as Brian Eno and The Orb. But Café del Mar stands apart from the experimentation of "Music for Films" or the electro-influenced psychedelia of "Little Fluffy Clouds"; it took the ambient of Eno and integrated it with Latin rhythm and flamenco that typifies the style of much of the Ibiza output - one of mood, atmosphere and of the sun and beach. House and Balearic beat yes, but the trance and chill of Café del Mar is the motif of Ibiza and Balearic music - summer music. From the pioneers such as Padilla have come others - Fundación Eivissa are one of the finest. I've looked for their "Doñana", but can't find it. It is a track of breathtaking drama and emotion; it deserves to be heard widely. In its absence I have selected some others. These are summer music. Ibiza perhaps, but Mallorca as well.

Jose Padilla, "El Sueño de Ibiza" - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9WV6SovEu_Q

Fundación Eivissa, "Es Vedra" - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uc9OxgQtVSo

Chambao, "Verde Mar" (Fundación Eivissa) - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JrMoW8D3_0M



QUIZ
Yesterday's title - The Small Faces. And when I saw this, having not seen the Small Faces for donkey's years, I thought blimey, Paul Weller and Noel Gallagher (Marriott and Laine) - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=446xNbvs0a8. Today's title - film; who starred? (There are a few to choose from.) The title, by the way, lent itself to a chill festival which has been running this weekend.

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All Or Nothing

Is the all-inclusive running out of low-grade beer-fuelled steam? If it is, they will be celebrating with a special fiesta. Take soundings around Alcúdia, and word is that the exclusive all-inclusives (which can sound like a contradiction but refers to those hotels which are AI only) are having a particularly hard time of it. Lagomonte's occupancy travails are well aired, the Delfin Verde may close its doors on barely a score percentage in October and talk has been of the Marte having been empty for a while with the Club Macsters being penned into Jupiter and Saturn.

It is worth asking why the likes of the Lagomonte and the Verde seem to be suffering when others, such as the half board Delfin Azul and the self-catering Alcúdia Beach, are full. It's not simply a question of size; the Delfin Azul and Lagomonte, for instance, are roughly similar in terms of beds, and the Verde is comparatively small. The Marte situation may have occurred, but it at least seems to be operating at reasonable capacity. I took a stroll around the Club Mac site yesterday. Stroll is not the right word; elbowing your way along Oxford Street on the last Saturday before Christmas comes to mind. It was its normal impersonation of a Dante-esque vision.

One wonders if those reviews that hurl around cyberspace have any effect. The Macs have copped more than their fair share of flak, the Verde has not been immune but Lagomonte has generally escaped the worst of the comments. There again, for every review that talks of vomit and crap in the pool there is one that could have been written about the Ritz. Maybe punters have rumbled the fact that all-inclusive often stands for inferior quality - in mostly all services and facilities. But there still are plenty who don't mind iffy lager served in a plastic glass and feeding times at zoos.

Perhaps it is just a case of economics. Despite the cost attractions of the all-inclusive, they still cost. They cater, in general, for less well-off families whose budgets are as affected as any others by the economic climate. Nevertheless, the word going round that the Verde may switch to half board could be an indication that the AI beast is being tamed. If the Azul can do well on such a basis, why not others?


And just returning to the Alcúdia Beach. There I was walking from the back of the hotel on my normal going-around hotels routine, when ... what was that? A voice in the air. Something disembodied like the PA system in "The Prisoner". "Good morning, Andrew, of the Alcudia Guide. Nice yellow t-shirt." I couldn't see him but I knew he was somewhere. How had he seen me that was the question. Grizz, aka Minty.


Further to yesterday's note about things going on in the port, the town hall sent me a poster which I've put on the WHAT'S ON BLOG. It implies that what the press report called craft workshops are in fact kids' workshops and that the events are "Shopping". Which makes one ask, well what about the shops that are already there? Also, rather than just Wednesdays and Saturdays, they are taking place on more occasions. Wish they'd make their minds up.


There has been a comment to the WHAT'S ON BLOG. It was in Spanish, a chap moaning about the Playa de Muro fiesta this weekend serving up little more than a local music band when other fiestas have all sorts of groups and DJs etc. It's a point. Alcúdia and Pollensa can have big events in both the towns and the resorts, why does Muro reserve the special stuff for the town only? So I tend to agree with whoever it was. Anyway, there are times when I take a certain perverse delight in putting Spanish stuff into a machine translator. And I have done so with this comment. This is how Babelfish mangled it. Brilliant stuff:

"Because it fence wall beach celebrations those. Whereas in other municipalities they bring to well-known people for the concerts we dedicated ourselves here to the band because? you will say it to us. Then he will be that Beaches of Wall do not give money enough to the city council not to deserve celebrations in conditions. Then already it is saying, goes celebrations that organize to us."


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Eric Clapton (with some mates at the Albert Hall) - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=64dUqMxxyjQ. Today's title - who?

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Behind The Mask

It may not have escaped your attention that town halls' publicity material for fiestas holds a special place in this blog - yesterday for example. While this material ranges from the pretentious and the ludicrously expensive to the downright inadequate, normally it does not convey controversy or comedy. However ... Step forward the material for this year's Mare de Déu d'Agost fiesta season in Can Picafort.

Last year there was an absolutely splendid old rumpus in Can Pic regarding ducks. Just to remind you. On the actual day of Mare de Déu it used to be the tradition that live ducks were released from the boats that take part in a sea-borne procession. This of course was then deemed animally incorrect and so they came up with a fabulously crazy solution - rubber ducks. No more live ducks and anyone letting them go was under threat of a collar-feeling from plod. So, what happened ...? In 2007 some wags donned masks and did indeed let some live ducks flap around. Cue howls of protest and some bemusement as to quite what the fuss was all about; in a country where it is ok to kill bulls as part of a spectator sport, it is deemed cruel to let ducks do a bit of flying and then swimming around. As far as I am aware the miscreants were never apprehended; at the time the chaps in heavy boots were busy directing traffic.

With all this in mind, what have they come up with for this year's publicity? The main image is of two kids with rubber ducks. All very innocent and cutesy. But. One of the kids has a mask on, a Power Rangers mask, similar to that worn by the duck-liberating masked men from last year. Hence the rumpus or at least cries of outrage from opposition politicians at the local (Santa Margalida) town hall. Personally I think it shows a rare line of humour, albeit that it will probably be lost on most visitors who won't have a clue what it's meant to represent. One looks forward with anticipation to this year's ducky event, though something tells me that plod will be instructed to let the traffic grind to a halt.

To see this wonder of publicity, go here:
http://www.diariodemallorca.es/secciones/noticia.jsp?pRef=2008080100_3_381147__PartForana-cartel-fiestas-levanta-polemica


In the port of Alcúdia during August and September there will be a new attraction. On Wednesdays and Saturdays there are to be activities on the Paseo Marítimo which are meant to be a boost to local businesses and especially those engaged in traditional trades. The activities will include craft workshops and the like and presumably also some flogging of wares. They are intended to invigorate a business sector affected by a rubbish season. I am not entirely sure how. But they will be something else for tourists to have a gander at and take some photos, so it all seems fair enough and could well be quite interesting. And you never know maybe those cash-strapped tourists might be willing to part with ready euros. Maybe.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Blue, "If It Takes All Night" - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r0XkQlNyndM. Today's title - legend; which one?

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