They Shoot Horses Don't They

If you were to just stand under the baking sun for an hour or so, you would get pretty damn hot. You would also get stressed, then distressed. You are a warm-blooded animal. Heat without movement or relief is not good for you. Horses are warm-blooded animals, too. You are probably familiar with the white marks around the neck as some "sweat up" before a race. Why, therefore, would you let a horse stand under a hot sun without relief for an hour or so? The answer is that you probably wouldn't.

There was a short piece in "The Bulletin" yesterday which said that tourists had been unhappy at the sight of horses standing around in the sun. These are the horses that take those tourists on their horse-and-carriage rides; in this case, in Playa de Muro. There was a suggestion also that a horse appeared to be injured. The tourists contacted an animal rights group.

I was told yesterday that some tourists had been to the circus, Circo Williams, in Puerto Alcúdia. They had complained about the bears at the circus; that the animals had seemed distressed and not necessarily in the best of condition. They had wondered how "the Spanish" could allow such a thing.

In the village of Fornalutx on Saturday, there was the annual "bull run". This involves a bull being pulled along with ropes around its neck, then being allowed to run through the streets before finally being killed and eaten. There had been protests prior to the event.

You might just detect a certain theme to these three examples.

The apparent indifference to animal welfare continues, despite laws to grant rights to animals. I am wary of the local animal cruelty debate. Wary because of the expatriate propensity to be sanctimonious and to start telling the locals how they should run their affairs. You may recall a previous piece on bullfighting. I am not in favour of banning it, nor though do I like it. Whether it continues or is terminated should be a matter for the Spanish people to decide. It is not an issue whereby busy-bodying Brits should act with some sort of missionary zeal against the actions of perceived heathens.

That all said, how on Earth can something like the bull run be allowed? Just the basics of the description above are grotesque enough. While one can defend the bullfight from the point of view of its spectacle and theatre, there can be no similar defence for this. It is cruelty dressed up as tradition minus the costumes and olés. At least that is how it seems if one adopts an anthropomorphic sentimentalism, which may run counter to a less squeamish local culture.

There is a scientific debate going on regarding the extent to which animals have feelings. The debate falls into two schools, of which one - the ethological - maintains that there is evidence as to the existence of animal feelings. Notwithstanding the semantic and therefore philosophical difficulty of applying a word associated with human reactions to an animal, I am not unpersuaded by the ethological argument. Yet there remains the ambiguity of ever proving it. To this end, it is understandable that the debate, in layman terms, is polarised at one extreme by those who attribute to animals all forms of human emotion and at the other those who consider animals to be totally non-sentient in being unable to perceive, i.e. make a mental judgement: dumb animals, if you like. The Spanish, one guesses, are less prone to apply the former extreme than many British.

But there is an illogic as to what is deemed acceptable or unacceptable here. I cannot understand what the fuss is about where the now-banned duck throwing of the Can Picafort summer fiesta is concerned. I understand it even less when a bull is pursued, slain and then scoffed as part of another fiesta. It makes no sense. Perhaps ducks have more professional lobby groups than do bulls.

The circus comes to town once a year. I can remember when the circus used to come to our town when I was young. I can remember the clowns, the acrobats, the elephants, the lions. They stopped the performing animals long ago. But here they carry on. At least they don't kill bulls at circuses, and they don't shoot horses, do they?


REAL MALLORCA - THE DEAL DONE?
After the procrastination and a considerable amount of column inches devoted to will they, won't they, it would appear that Paul Davidson's acquisition of Real Mallorca is drawing to a completion. Yesterday an agreement was signed for him to pay 38 million euros for a 93% holding. This is not the final part of the equation or the final date, which is 15 October, but it would seem that the British businessman will indeed now be the club's new owner. Good luck.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Three Dog Night (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YWMt5Hk0E-g), but Randy Newman wrote it, and The Animals performed it first. Today's title - yes, it was a film, but which Welsh group had a hit with it?

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Mama Told Me Not To ...

Family closeness is all well and good, but the Spanish, in the form of young-adult offspring, have traditionally often failed to leave the womb, especially the young-adult Spanish male, for which read also of course Mallorcan male. I once read someone bemoaning the nature of this species. To paraphrase, it was in terms of sun shining from where only those with certain proclivities or medical staff would dare venture. The Mallorcan son can do so little wrong that he is indulged and is quite content to reciprocate by continuing to feast from his mother's table. There is one Mallorcan chap who I meet periodically, except that is when he fails to show up, normally because mama has insisted she cooks lunch. And this Mallorcan chap runs a restaurant. Go figure.

But some do of course escape. The only problem is that the economic crisis is driving them back to the welcoming arms of mama who doubtless had told them not to go in the first place. Everything is back again as it should be in the Mallorcan family, courtesy of the American sub-prime crisis. According to a piece in "The Times", 60% of those between the ages of 18 and 34 live at home, more than a quarter of that figure being over 30. And now the numbers are rising.

In my immediate neighbourhood, there is one 30-something who is still at home and who has enjoyed many a mama's hearty meal by the looks of him. Another, in the house opposite, is still there, and his brother lives round the corner. One rather grand house has a whole load of them; it's all a bit like "Dallas" minus the oil.

For one who, had it not been for university meaning that a room was kept available for the rare trip home, would have been shown the parental door at the end of schooling, I find it all a bit strange. But there is a serious side to all this in that economic circumstances are making it hard to move out even if they want to. Young people tend to be employed on temporary contracts and so are the first to get the chop, while an average salary across Spain for those under 35 is 18,000 euros. Leaving mama has never been more difficult.


BAD DEBT
"DEUDOR". Know what it means? Change a couple of letters and you would have the English. Debtor. All the Spanish that might have headed to the beach near me on Sunday would of course have known the word. That may have been the intention; the more that could see, the better. The only problem was the morning rain and cloud which meant that, despite the afternoon sun, the beach was more or less deserted on what is otherwise the busiest day of the week. Consequently, there were only a few other cars where normally one gets some double-parking. It made one car stand out though. A Volvo estate. I seem to have seen it there quite regularly. Someone else would have known it would be there, too. And would probably have taken into account that the repair workshops would be closed till Monday. "Deudor" had been scratched into the bonnet. The tyres had been slashed. It was not perhaps as vandalistic as a car I once saw near Sea Club in Puerto Alcúdia. Its windows had been smashed and it had been spray-painted with the word "GRASS". And yes, it was the English word; I've not translated.

Much as many here will resort to a "denuncia" to the police for matters trivial enough that they should be possible to resolve with a bit of adult discussion or will fabricate the "facts" of a denuncia, there are many others who will take matters into their own hands - for those things for which a bit of adult discussion might be beyond the wit of either party or for which there seems no other resort than to vandalism or violence. Exasperation can sometimes drive people to extraordinary measures. Not that I am condoning grand auto vandalism. Far from it. But I can understand the exasperation.

I have no way of knowing the circumstances behind the "deudor" attack, but if someone owes you money, there is not a lot you can do about it, unless you have pretty deep pockets and are willing to go through a protracted court procedure. There is no such thing here as a small claims court. And if you happen to be the one who owes the money, here's a word of advice. Find yourself a garage. Oh, and it might be an idea if you pay the garage's landlord as well.


DON'T GIVE A FIG
A year ago I did a piece about figs. This is the fig season. My mate with a finca near Santa Margalida delivered a tray last night. Pure ambrosia. I hadn't appreciated, until he told me, that they are highly calorific. To Hell with it. Hand me another.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - "Immigrant Song", Led Zeppelin (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=svR3iXKTJvc). Today's title - ok, Tom Jones, but who came first and who had the first hit?

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Our Only Goal Will Be The Western Shore

British politics may be about to cross the Rubicon of taboo by debating, sensibly, the issue of immigration. The Labour MP Frank Field has an idea for caps for non-EU immigrants. For years, ever since Enoch Powell and his "rivers of blood", immigration has been the subject that barely dares speak its name in politics, save for the extremist views of the far right. This reticence to position immigration at the centre of the political dialectic has helped to spawn the xenophobia of the BNP, which has been only too willing to address the issue through its one-eyed perspective. But now, this may be about to change; one trusts that reason and nuance will prevail, rather than hysteria and myopia.

In Spain, there has been more openness on the subject, even if to raise it can result in accusations of racism. Just this happened to the failed Partido Popular presidential candidate Mariano Rajoy who, moreover, was accused of hypocrisy in suggesting limits when it had been his party that had encouraged immigration. And now? The socialist government of Spain is to impose a freeze on non-EU immigration where it affects jobs that could otherwise be done by Spaniards (or indeed, one presumes, those from the EU). Economics can change political rhetoric and posture, for the economic situation and unemployment are behind this move.

The Spanish immigration drive was founded on the need to augment the labour force. Construction was booming and workers were required. Over the course of a decade, the immigration population of the country grew by 800%. Now the boom has led to bust and the immigrant workers are superfluous. The Spanish government is offering incentives for these workers to leave - up to around 18,000 euros worth of incentive, so long as they don't come back within three years. The vast immigrant workforce has served Spain well, and it has not been that expensive - 1,200 euros per month for construction labourers - while it has been a net contributor to the social security system. Until now.

Eastern European, African and Caribbean workers may have been a temporary and opportunistic group of "guest workers" that the Spanish government was only too happy to embrace, but there is a wider dimension to the immigration debate, which is that of population. Recent predictions from Brussels indicate that, by the middle of the century, not only will Britain's population have increased substantially so too will Spain's. There was a map that showed densities of future population. In the case of Mallorca, the island was one single, unbroken blob; high density, in other words.

A government's management is similar to a company's in that it is a case of managing resources. When the company hits bad times, it lays workers off. Spain Inc. is doing the same, while also making the qualification for employment tougher. Discrimination it may be, but Spain is doing no more than many other countries. Try getting into Australia, for example. Population growth is another aspect of resource management. There are clear benefits from immigration, but there are also downsides, not least in terms of housing and urban crowding.

Immigration is regularly pinpointed as a top concern among the local population in Mallorca. The argument that immigrants take jobs away is largely spurious, but there are other facets, such as the alteration to the way of life. There is, though, no going back on the cosmopolitanism of Mallorca, certainly not while EU mobility laws apply. Besides which, the change to that way of life began the moment that mass tourism took off, together with the immigration and land ownership that occurred even before the liberalisation of movement. But the management of immigration from the point of view of living accommodation and its support elements, e.g. schools, hospitals etc., at some point becomes critical. As a foreigner in a not so large part of a foreign land, I am not unaware of that fact. However, the question is what would constitute a critical point. 2 million, a doubling of the current population of Mallorca? Less? More? Does anyone really know?


TIME SHARE - TIME OUT
September is here and the scratch-cardists of time share, sorry holiday clubs, have called time for the season and pissed off back to Gran Canaria. That's the good news. It seems a little odd to close down in Alcúdia and Pollensa whilst the richer pickings of September are circulating, but maybe there are even more to be suckered in in Maspalomas. The less good news is that they'll be back. One bar-owner tells me his gaff may be their new morning meeting-place from next season. Nice additional work if you can get it maybe. I hadn't realised how many of them there are. Enough to fill a smallish terrace, that's for sure.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - "Don't Give Up", Peter Gabriel/Kate Bush (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kl1rRxG251s). Today's title - where does this come from? Immigration!!

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I've Changed My Name

Who remembers that old TV film "The Knowledge"? It highlighted the lengths that London cabbies have to go to in order to learn the street names and routes of the capital. I knew some cabbies when I lived in London. They did indeed have to endure a test of that "knowledge". It was the case that if you took a mini-cab, rather than a London taxi, you might well have ended up telling the driver how to get to A or B. Very rarely would a cabbie not know.

London is very much bigger than Palma, but spare a thought for the Palma taxi driver. There is due to be a change to no less than 141 street names in the city. This is the consequence of linguistics, place-name usage and the law of "historic memory", for which, read Franco. Under this law, all symbols of the Franco era are to be dismantled. And that includes street names.

Now just think about this. Suppose you lived in a city in the UK of similar size to Palma, say Bristol, and one morning woke up to find that, following some political or politically correct decision, you now lived in Gordon Brown Way or Archbishop Tutu Close. Don't expect the postman to necessarily deliver to you that morning. Changing a street name here or there is not that problematic, but to do it wholesale ... Maps, post-office records, land-registry records, one's own registration with the town halls, business addresses, advertising and of course the poor old cabby.

A few days ago, I mentioned that Muro town hall is being pressed to change names of roads associated with Franco. I daresay this applies to other municipalities locally. I really wouldn't know. Presumably, local Mallorcan people do know; possibly. And if they do know, perhaps some take exception, or perhaps they don't. The linguistics aspect of street names applies, I would guess, to those in Castilian; Catalan is the PC in a land where PC generally counts for very little.

Palma may be different, simply because of its sheer spread and size, but in small towns, such as Alcúdia or Pollensa, the street name, if not irrelevant, holds very much less significance purely in terms of locating a place. Very few people use street names; very few could tell you the names of streets in their immediate area. Like time is a vague concept here, so too is location from the point of view of street naming. Perhaps it all has to do with the fact that names have changed in the past. Whatever the reason, street names are not often referred to.

The British don't operate in such a vague fashion, until, that is, they have lived here for some time. You will get a new incomer here who fastidiously uses a road name, only to be greeted with a blank expression or a correction. "Pere Mas i Reus." "Oh, you mean the Mile." Alternative names become the norm, even to the point of inaccuracy. In Puerto Pollensa, the pinewalk is often used to describe the whole of the current pedestrian promenade, i.e. from the roundabout along what is the Paseo Anglada Camarasa. This isn't the case; the pinewalk is the Paseo Voramar. But, importantly, no one would ever use either name, so pinewalk it is, however you define it.

Changes to or new street names are nothing new. Competing and changing political parties have seen to this, with their preferences for Castilian or Catalan. But there are names that suffer from almost complete lack of recognition, despite their being attached to relatively important bits of road. The Carretera Artà, which runs from the port of Alcúdia to Can Picafort and beyond (to Artà rather obviously), is, for the whole of its length as far as the forest in Playa de Muro, a series of sub-avenues. Not that many would know this. The avenidas Reina Sofia, Juan Carlos, Albufera and Playas de Muro are the side roads of the carretera, but again, no one refers to them as such, or very few do. Moreover, they don't always appear on maps. And with pressure for de-Francoisation, cartography faces a confused immediate future and no doubt many a confused tourist working from yet-to-be-updated maps. Even one or two isolated street-name changes take time to filter into the public domain of street plans. For a time, a few years back, I could lay claim to having designed the only accurate street map of Can Picafort, and I only found out by walking around one afternoon. On some maps you can still find a Carrer Dunes; you won't if you go looking for it. Then there are street names that confuse as a consequence of recent duplication. In Puerto Pollensa the Carretera Formentor is the road that runs parallel to the front line (of the pinewalk). It was the old road to Formentor, but not any longer since they built the bypass, which is - possibly - the Carretera Formentor.

It all makes you wonder why we bother with street names and indeed why they ever came about in the first place. It's probably all the fault of the Romans, but, apart from names that lead somewhere, as in Carretera Artà, why not just use numbers. Street One, Two, Three. The only problem is that someone would find a Francoist association or they would argue the toss over whether they should be Castilian or Catalan numbers. Just leave them alone.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - "Strawberry Fields Forever" (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ywg-PdeGVL0). Today's title - "... but no one wants you when you lose."

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Nothing Is Real

With a degree of fanfare for the worthies of government, business and a few local people, the new "centro de interpretación" for the Son Real finca outside Can Picafort was formally opened a couple of nights ago. I trust all had an enjoyable time and partook of some fine hospitality; chances are it will be the first and only time they go. Like restaurant inaugurations, openings of public facilities attract the freeloader and the great and good, never for them to set foot in the place again.

Back in July (24 July, People Get Real), I queried the value of this new centre. Making Son Real sustainable, having a centre of some description; these are worthy and appropriate aims. But the number of visitors anticipated and the amount spent just don't add up. Well sorry, they do add up or are rather divisible, and the sums don't make a huge amount of sense as a calculation of visitor to actual cost.

The "new" Son Real will charge 5 euros top whack, with kids getting in at half price. As I commented back in July, I would guess that a great proportion of the visitors will be school children on trips, as is the case with Albufera. But even assuming that all the 20,000 anticipated visitors per annum were to actually put in an appearance (which would require something in the region of a three-fold increase on current numbers) and also assuming that they were to pay the full price, it will take 30 years to recoup the cost of the new development; it has cost 3 million euros.

How can this possibly be justified? Son Real, it is said, has "international significance", but for whom? Tourists? How many even know of its existence, or indeed how to get to it? Perhaps they're improving the information, but Son Real has hardly been something well signed or even publicised. And one presumes the charge is for the centre and museum as opposed to the actual finca. If so, you can cut that 20,000 by a proportion.

The real message being sent out by Son Real is one of egoistic sustainable tourism and development; the finca itself is managed by the centre for sustainable development. There is nothing inherently wrong in this, but what is wrong is the belief that the type of project undertaken at Son Real holds any great benefit for tourism. It doesn't. Or if it does, only at an inconsequential level. Son Real sits alongside the projected new Pollentia centre and arts and science museum in Alcúdia as an example of a qualitative exercise in minority interest. Fine buildings, fine centres add to the overall quality of life for everyone, tourist included, but there is a delusion that they will provide for an alternative form of tourism that will be anything other than a drop of culture in the Mediterranean.


POLLENSA AND ITS ACCOUNTS
One might have imagined that budgets for the current year would long ago have been approved, like last year for example. Not so in Pollensa where problems are never far from the town hall's agenda. According to the "Diario", the budgets will be "finalised" this coming Tuesday. Oh well, better late than never. And taking account, as it were, of the tardiness of their completion, the town hall is employing a company to put together next year's accounts somewhat earlier and also to oversee financial control of the council's accounts. As always, there is an opposition politico who begs to differ with the approach, but rather more fundamentally, the fact of employing an outside firm suggests that the town hall simply lack the competence to do what should be one of their main tasks.

I don't know how financial control of the town halls is performed here, but given the debts that many have and to say nothing of the periodic scandal that erupts, there is much to be said for a system of external control. In Pollensa's case, they may just have stumbled across the right solution for the wrong reason, though this still raises a question as to the existence or rigidity of some form of external audit. If an audit is not mandatory, it damn well ought to be.


REAL MALLORCA ... MORE CARRY ON
"Ultima Hora" has a line today. It describes the events surrounding the proposed takeover of Real Mallorca having a touch of the Marx Brothers; it also describes the events as a soap opera. Perhaps they should really be a Carry On. Carry On Prevaricating, or some such.

Yesterday was meant to have seen an agreement. Now it will be next week. Maybe. Meantime the coach of the team is asking desperately for some clarification of what's going on. The shadow of Freddy Shepherd still looms over the takeover, as does the more shadowy figure of an unnamed Russian magnate. Paul Davidson, for his part, remains confident, and "The Bulletin", front pages with "Real Deal" today. A more sober assessment is to be found in the pages of the Spanish press which sets out the current situation. The fact is that Davidson, who initially tabled an offer far higher than that of Shepherd, has moved to a lower price. When I drew a comparison with Mike Ashley the other day, one thing seems clear: he is performing a thorough process of due diligence, and quite rightly so. Ashley didn't, and that was just part of the reason for the mess he's in. Presumably the examination of the books has led to the lower offer. Meanwhile, Vicente Grande, the current owner, played by Kenneth Williams in the Carry On version, is getting it from all sides - "Infamy, infamy, they've all got it in for me".

If Davidson doesn't in the end take the club over, it won't be for lack of trying. But perhaps his initial offer was no more than an opening gambit to kill off the Shepherd bid. Now both parties are mired in the legal process, things have become that much more complicated. Maybe Mr. Grande underestimated Mr. Davidson. If so, he should have taken time to study Davidson's landmark triumph over the UK Financial Services Authority. This is a canny businessman who may yet succeed in his acquisition. And perhaps we will find out if he has this week, or perhaps we won't.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - The Walker Brothers (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YJ8XLglx8HQ). Today's title - "... and nothing to get hung about."

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The Sun Ain't Gonna Shine Anymore

Following on from the mention on 3 September of that one hundred thousand tourists pitching up this summer, here is an explanation that puts rather stringy meat on none-too-large a bone. I had rather suspected this was the case, and it is. The 100,000, if indeed that turns out to be the number, are those being sent to Mallorca as part of a "social" tourism exercise. In itself, it is nothing new; just the numbers are greater. Basically, what it entails is that OAPs from European countries get a free or subsidised stay during winter. The Danes, for instance, have been doing this for years. It can work out as or more cost-effective to pack the oldsters off to hopefully warmer climes than to fork out for energy during a Scandinavian winter. There's probably also a touch of good old therapy and calculation of savings to the country's national health service in all of this as well. Add to that the fact that the sun in effect disappears for much of the Scandinavian winter; the sun doesn't shine anymore, especially for the old folk.

So this exercise is part of the island's tourism salvation in winter. Don't get too excited. 100 grand's worth of senior citizenry may sound a lot, but, as a measure of the island's tourism, stand this against the annual total; it's around the 11 or 12 million mark. The so-called pilot scheme that will bring this latest wave of visitors will amount to slightly less than one per cent of that total. Apparently this latest initiative has been put into place quite quickly. You bet it has. Small the number may be in percentage terms, but it will still enable them to issue some glowing statistics to show that winter tourism is on the increase, and they will be entirely misleading.

Swelled though the winter tourism numbers may well be by this intake, it will make very little difference. Hotels may find it viable to open in order to welcome the pensioners through their revolving doors, but they won't be employing vast armies to serve them. There may be some extra jobs to be had, but not many, certainly not at the sort of level that will help to alleviate the unemployment crisis.

As I say, this is not actually new. In Alcúdia there have, for a number of years, been Scandinavian visitors in winter, brought here courtesy of their governments. As far as the wider economy is concerned, they have little or no impact. You will not find that restaurants, bars and shops all decide to suddenly stay open in anticipation of winter riches. This form of tourism is not your Saga, mortgage-paid-off, well-pensioned septuagenarian with a full wallet ready to be pickpocketed. The term "social" tourism says all that needs to be known.


Another sign that winter is approaching is that the local environment ministry is to undertake, during October, a programme of fumigation of forest areas in a bid to combat the "plague" of processionary caterpillars. The moths that are responsible for the caterpillars, the same moths that those bags you see hanging off trees are supposed to capture, are probably not the target for the biological bacterial insecticide to be used; rather, one presumes, it will be directed at the eggs the moths lay. Whatever. The spraying is to be done by light aircraft, so when you wonder why there are low-flying planes this autumn this will be the reason. The caterpillars are not only harmful to trees, they can be extremely unpleasant if they come into contact with human skin, so anything that gets rid of the damn things is to be welcomed. However, pine trees are not confined to forest areas alone. There's a bloody great big one in the neighbour's garden, and several in the streets just in the immediate area. Keep wearing those hoodies in February and March in case a procession falls off and marches along your neck - it is the caterpillar's hairs that emit the toxin which, generally no worse than a wasp or bee sting, can be more serious for some.

And while on insect life that can make human existence miserable, what is with it flies in the late summer and then winter? During most of the summer you hardly see or hear one or have one buzz you with the sort of persistence they do from September onwards. Come, say, November, and while the weather is agreeable enough to do some sunning on the sun terrace, a stint under the rays is often curtailed thanks to the appearance of squadrons of flies. Why?


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Suzanne Vega (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0FQoiqa_A9A). And Marlene was of course Marlene Dietrich. Today's title - it was great; who were they?

And the bar was ... Foxes Arms, Puerto Alcúdia. The Leicester stuff was the giveaway.

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Marlene On The Wall

Walls. For a language with such a vast vocabulary, English is linguistically enclosed by its wall. We need adjectives in order to distinguish between our different walls. Spanish, though vocabularily challenged by comparison to English, has built all manner of walls. "Pared" is interior, "muro" is exterior, "muralla" is city. Catalan shares muralla and merely substitutes a "t" inside and dumps an "o" outside. I can claim to actually live in the beach of the external wall (playa de muro). English, it might be said, broke out of the wall enclosure by painting a mural, which is the same word in both Castilian and Catalan, but it otherwise remains stubbornly singular. Not here, unless one remains stubbornly attached to English alone. Wherever there is a wall, there is a different word. That garden wall? "Tapia".

Any study of the Mallorcan wall has to take account of its nounal variation. A wall is a wall is a wall in English, but not so here. The local walls are not just differing nouns they are also structures of competing cultures, geology and manufacture. To categorise the external wall with the broad brush of homogeneity would be to ignore the variety of sand stones that form the brickwork and to forget that such stones are often both external and internal, in neither case having necessarily been subjected to rendering or plastering. There is a certain similarity between some external brickwork with that of, for example, Bath stone, even if the finish is more rugged. Yet, move down the east coast to Santanyi, and there one finds a more golden sandstone which lends to the town a suffusion of the sun at its mellow setting.

The more contemporary external wall, on the other hand, is a stucco or cement render of multi-colouring, sympathetic to the natural environment of sand, earth and flora. Here are the yellows of sun, the light ochres of sand, the sienna turning terracotta of some of the earth, and even shades of bougainvillaea russets and pinks. A further tradition, founded on the reflective properties of white, has been modernised through the uniform chic of neutrality and grey, threatening a retreat of the vibrancy of palette of the nature-inspired wall.

The hotels and apartments, the exclusively tourist ones, tend to the default white, though there are also light yellows and the occasional collision of colour, such as the soothing but striking combination of sky and sun in the pastel blue and yellow of the Alcúdia Garden. Mostly, the hotel exterior walls are colourless indifference; they elicit no response until one is startled by the stylistic affrontery of something such as the dirty red brick and white mix of the Siestas, buildings colour-hewn from the one-time Hungarian national football team strip.

Interior walls are stone or bare. Flock wallpaper, indeed any wallpaper, has failed to garner favour in a climate of winter dampness that infests interiors denied the protection of damp-proofing or adequate insulation. These walls instead are the repositories of generational clash. Religious icons, the sepia of the genealogical line and the austerity of dark canvases are usurped by plasma-ing and also the IKEA-isation of art that hangs from the contemporary interior wall. And art is a regular, not least in some restaurants which have swapped their seafaring paraphernalia for galleries of abstract, impressionism and faux-Fauvist post-impressionism of the Pollensa school. But the interior wall is also the declaration of affiliation, no more so than the British bars which are shrines to the old country's localism. Here, the wall is of synthetics and replica; it is wall designed by label, of sponsor, town, city and club. And different types of icon in terms of merchandise, promotion and product climb other walls - Paris Hilton, say, in a perfumery; Beckham in all manner of stores; Bob Dylan across one wall of Pollensa's Café Illa. Other old icons still have their place on posters or bags - an Elvis or Marilyn perhaps. Marlene on the wall.

The wall in its varieties blinds us with its mere functionality, yet it is rich in history, culture and symbolism. We take walls for granted and fail to look, but there are other walls than just those of buildings and of ancient defences. One doesn't even have to escape to the country to appreciate them. These are the dry-stone walls, the centuries-old crafting of which abounds even in urban areas, and which even have a fiesta in celebration.

Walls, wherever you go, walls; in whichever language you choose. Bang your head against a brick one if you must, just don't ignore them.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Pink Floyd, "Money" (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xl6NfQyNLto). Today's title - American folk-ish singer; who was the Marlene of the song?

Extra quiz: in which bar was the photo taken?

(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)

Think I'll Buy Me A Football Team

August. High season. A time for work and for jobs. You would think that, but it has not been so. The Balearics have witnessed an increase in unemployment in the hotel sector of 28% during August. It is not the only sector affected.

Twenty-eight per cent. Whatever other statistics may get thrown around about occupancy and spend, this figure is revealing and alarming. There is nothing to take up the slack. The construction industry in the doldrums cannot do it, so where do people turn to? The dole queues are the only answer, and yet many do not qualify for benefit, only for special help. Winter approaches, and the scene is one of unremitting bleakness until the 2009 season. God knows what that will bring. A while back, someone allegedly in the know reckoned that the tourism sector, for which read mainly the hotels, would help to alleviate the employment crisis in construction during the coming winter. It was rubbish then, and it still is.

The only brightness comes in the form of what is anticipated to be a good September. Partly, this may be the consequence of dreadful August weather in the UK and a load of last-minuting. But it will be hotel occupancy on the back of heavy discounts. Cut the prices and there is less money sloshing around for employment. There is some hope for the winter in the form of an initiative between the Tourism Ministry and the European Commission, which will see - supposedly - a hundred thousand tourists coming to the Balearics in the low season from January. Quite what this initiative is I am unclear. Perhaps this was that person in the know had in mind. Whatever it is, I wouldn't hold my breath.

Meantime, in the property sector there has been a fall in house prices in the Balearics of some 7% over the summer. Notwithstanding the difficulties of getting accurate actual house-price values, as I mentioned a few days ago, this decline, while indicative of the general "crisis", is not unwelcome in a market that had overheated through excessively high prices. A question is how much further the price fall will go. A reasonable guess would be that there is still a fair bit more to come. So even with prices in general coming down, now is still not necessarily a good time to be buying, even, that is, if a mortgage could be secured.


AND SO TO FOOTBALL ...
Newcastle United, in the guise of Freddy Shepherd, had a temporary Mallorcan dimension when the club's former chairman was in line to take over Real Mallorca. The club is in the news yet again for different reasons. And what, you may ask, does the Keegan fiasco have to do with Real? In two words - Mike Ashley.

Ashley, on becoming Newcastle's boss, adopted the persona of the fan, going into the stands, wearing the shirt, drinking the beer. He is reviled. Paul Davidson, who is on the point of completing the due-diligence process prior to his acquisition of Real, has said, more or less, that he will be on the terraces and will be a fan.

Ashley is a successful businessman, so is Davidson. The latter has said that he would have nothing to do with the football side of affairs. Ashley has ended up having a great deal to do with the football side of affairs. Businessmen do not invest in anything, let alone football clubs, without exercising control. In Ashley's case, the whole Newcastle experience is turning into a nightmare.

Davidson says that the Mallorca deal will assist in the promotion of the business that has made him wealthy - piping. I don't think I'm alone in wondering quite how. The "Diario" interviewed him the other day and put that very question. It's still not really clear.

I wish Mr Davidson only success, but there is much about the acquisition that raises worries. Professing to be a fan is one thing; being a fan is another. Being a fan is in the blood. Ask a Newcastle supporter. The notion also that somehow Brit expats will suddenly be magicked into being Mallorca supporters and help to fill the ground is spurious. Those expats have their clubs, the ones they watch on Sky or in bars. It's in the blood. And what of the local Real fans? Foreign ownership of a football club in an island where the attitude is every bit as parochial as the Geordie's? Real had a bad first result in La Liga; the club has lost some key players. Last season's seventh may have been the occasional flash in the pan that Real is capable of. I wish Mr Davidson well, but I hope he's observing what's been happening with Mike Ashley.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Average White Band (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sBWQZ6tvT-E). Today's title - a line from a song from one of the most successful albums of all time.

(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)

Pick Up The Pieces

He was an elderly gentleman. He couldn't move very quickly. He was shouting after a portly man in a green top and red shorts. His wife came out of the supermarket. She looked at me. Her husband had a heart condition. He had been pickpocketed.

I drove down the side road by Eroski and pulled the car up in front of green top. A very large English tourist was making his way down the road as well. Eventually the elderly gentleman arrived as well. Green top turned his pockets out. Nothing. The elderly gentleman was convinced. I was threatening a call to the police, but it would have been a waste of time. There was nothing. Maybe it was a mistake. I apologised to green top. He apologised. I'm not quite sure why; probably as he didn't actually have the missing wallet. Perhaps he had slipped it to an accomplice. Or it was just a mistake.

It had happened in the Eroski store, the same one out front of which had occurred the pickpocketing by a carnation seller that I spoke about back in March. The very large English tourist commented that you don't expect this sort of thing to happen here. Unfortunately, you do, or should. And so the elderly gentleman with the heart condition went back to the Platja D'Or to report his cards missing, his money gone, his hotel key also gone; at least they could issue him with a re-programmed one.

Then this morning. Playa de Muro's municipal buiilding. There are several people sitting and waiting to see the Guardia. A rep is with one old couple and she is talking with one of the staff at reception, explaining what has been taken; the receptionist says she will help to file the statement with the Guardia.

Petty crime. And it can ruin a holiday. Get your pocket picked, and you are left to try and pick up the pieces of not only what has been stolen but also the shock of its occurrence and the negativity of the experience. It can stain one's attitude to a place. It can happen anywhere, but one just worries that there is more of it about, and that it might increase. The UK Home Office has predicted a rise in property crime as recession bites. There's no reason to think it will be any different here.


OPEN-WATER SWIMMING
This Saturday (6 September) will see the latest annual "Travessa-Xtreme", the open-water swimming race from Formentor beach to the San Pedro cove in Mal Pas, a 7 kilometre dash and splash of foam, arms and legs across the bay of Pollensa, except of course it is no dash - it takes nearly two hours for Olympic swimmers to do the 10 kilometre race. It is a popular event, one about which enquiries are made to the websites from the UK. At its competitive level, the Travessa reflects the interest in the Olympics open-water swimming, which proved to be a surprisingly engrossing spectator event, not least because of the heroics of Natalie du Toit and Maarten van der Weijden. At a recreational level, open-water swimming is becoming an increasingly popular active form of holiday, but not, as far as I am aware, in Mallorca. Maybe someone can put me right on that. It could be that open waters around the island can just be too turbulent, no more so than in Pollensa bay. For the competitive swimmer, an aggressive freestyle in the swirl may be a challenge; less so perhaps for the recreational swimmer bobbing along gently with a girly breaststroke.

More information about the swim is to be found on the WHAT'S ON BLOG. Note that there is also a swim on 20 September.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Banderas, "This Is Your Life" (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-rcLLa5mPvU). Today's title - instrumental plus this line: easy.

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This Is Not A Story, This Is Not A Book

Flags. You get quite a few flags on houses here. By the beach near me is a group of holiday chalets on top of which is a flag. An ancient German tourist once asked me what the flag was. Mallorcan, said I, but it could be the Balearic one; I can never remember the difference. Along the coast there is another flag, a flag that has caused a bit of a kerfuffle, sufficient for the boys in green to be asked to intervene.

By the roundabout as one enters Can Picafort coming from Playa de Muro is a road down to what is known as Ses Casetes des Capellans which is actually in Muro. It is a strange enclave of small holiday homes, some like glorified beach-huts. They surround an area that is used as parking; some disappear along tracks into the forest. There is a feel of Jaywick Sands about Ses Casetes. It is the flag on one of these holiday homes that has caused the problem. And the problem is? Well the flag is the Spanish flag but it features also a pro-Franco symbol. Such symbols are now effectively banned. Neighbours have complained, Muro town hall have said it basically isn't their problem and so the Guardia are now involved.

All this Francoism lingers on. Muro council is also being cajoled into renaming streets that have their origins in the Generalissimo era, which may be fair enough but would add to the confusion that has also come from streets having dual names (Catalan and Castilian) or having been changed from one to the other, and then back again, depending upon the prevailing political mood and complexion of the local council. Street names may not necessarily offend or their connotations be apparent, but a flag is a pretty overt statement of affiliation.

There was something else the other day that acted as a reminder of the days of fascism. It was a weird letter in "Euro Weekly" from some body calling itself the Historian Group Mallorca. The letter was in response to a review of Victoria Hislop's novel "The Return". Let me quote: "She (Hislop) is only concerned with the cowardly socialists." This may give you a flavour. It goes on to say that atrocities were perpetrated by the Republicans and to imply that Spain would, without Franco, have been like Russia. Now no one would deny that both sides were culpable of some dreadful acts during the Civil War, but, as I understand it, Hislop does chronicle this fact, though as she's writing a novel, she's entitled to take whatever angle she wishes; she is not writing a history textbook. Moreover, to say that Spain would have been like Russia has some truth only insofar as the Republican ranks were populated with Communists and received Soviet support (and the Nationalists were bolstered by the Nazis and the Italians). The Republicans were, however, a rather more eclectic mix than only outright Marxist-Leninists. But for any historian to extrapolate that a defeat of Franco would have resulted in a Communist state akin to the old USSR or that it would have lasted for any great time is purely hypothesis. This speculation though is revealing for one thing - the assumption that Spain would have swapped one form of totalitarianism for another; a sympathetic view of the Franco period should not allow the dreamt-up guise of a different tyranny to pardon the Nationalists their sins. One can theorise all one likes. Had the Republicans won, the battle lines of the Second World War would have been different. Hitler, who in any event didn't always see eye to eye with Franco and had indeed once threatened Spain with invasion, would surely have invaded. Or a Spanish front might have invaded occupied France. From there, who knows what would have transpired? We can all speculate, but it isn't history.

I don't know who this group is, but as it is a letter in good English to an English publication, I have to assume that it comprises English speakers, possibly and rather alarmingly expats. Whoever they are, the adoption of a title "Historian Group Mallorca" suggests an intent to speak for Mallorca. I don't think so.


THE WIFI WHITE ELEPHANT
You could have predicted this. The much-hyped WiFi zone on Puerto Alcúdia's beach has to date attracted ... Well how many do you think have bought the cards that allow you to get the connection? Today's "Diario" tells us. 72. How many people do you suppose have been on the beach since the connection was established in June? Until such time as great hordes of laptop users are cyberspacing on the sand, I will continue to believe that this has been nothing more than a vanity project on behalf of the town hall.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Brian Wilson, "Midnight's Another Day". This song is so poignant. Wilson's voice has gone, but you can almost imagine The Beach Boys circa mid-60s singing this. Go to the website and it plays - http://www.brianwilson.com. Today's title - this is a line from a brilliant early 90s song by a female group whose name is Spanish: think flags and Antonio.

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I Had To Chase The Sun

"Living abroad is a constant strain, because you don't know how the little things work."

This comes from a feature in "The Guardian". It is written by Alistair Fraser about his and his family's experience of moving to France. It has not been a happy time; it could just as easily have been written about Mallorca.

How the little things work. Where does one start? What are little things exactly? Registering at the town hall; registering at the foreign affairs office; getting an NIE number without which nothing much can be done; finding a gestor to help you; registering for a doctor; getting the kids into school; sorting the telephone line out (at least Telefonica have an English helpline); getting an internet account; re-registering the car if it has foreign plates; changing the driving licence; knowing that the car has to have certain things in it ... I could go on. And this all besides the buying or renting of property. How the little things work. or maybe don't. And without the language it can be hard-going.

But of course plenty of people manage to do all this. The little things can be an inconvenience and they may seem daunting, but they're not really, though the forms can make them so. And you have to accumulate so much damn documentation to do anything. Once it's done though ... . Part of the problem, especially for those from Anglo-Saxon regimes, can be that things seem inefficient. Well they are, and some things are deliberately so, or at least that is an opinion held by some. Take the registration for residency. It's a trial by queue, heat (or rain and cold) and time as locally they don't want to make it easy. It's a stupid attitude, if this indeed is the case. People have made the decision to move here. Making the registration process a hassle does not deter immigration, so why not just accept the fact and simplify it.

The little things are the nuisances of everyday living. In themselves, they are not important. What is, is the adaptation to change in lifestyle, culture and language. One has to want to adapt. Fraser refers to the initial move being like an "extended holiday". For some expats, that extended holiday extends indefinitely. Take it from me, living in Mallorca is not one great long holiday, and nor should it be. But from the poolside, the dream of moving here is very different from the reality of actually doing so.

In the past I have spoken about the transience of the local expat population. While there is obvious transience in respect of seasonal workers, it exists also where permanent incomers are concerned. That word - transience - was used the other day by an expat I know well. He said that there seems to be a time limit on much immigration - five, six, seven years perhaps. He and his family want to sell the house and the business and go to England; he's been here seven years. It's not a seven-year itch necessarily. Fraser makes the point that it can take five years to really settle in - or to find that you cannot. The holiday can extend that long maybe.

Five years should not really be necessary though to start understanding some realities. For those who have retired, it is one thing; for those who work it's a different matter. Remember that "bloody country" remark of three days ago; that came from someone who runs a successful bar. The little things can come and hit you any time. You chase the sun and then discover that it isn't all sun or indeed warmth. Here's Fraser again:

"When the weather turned in November, the house turned against us, too. Those features that had kept us cool in the hot summer - the thick walls and flagstones - made it feel like we were living in a fridge."

Once more, this could apply to Mallorca. Even with outside temperatures towards the 20 degree mark, interiors can be cold. Can be? Are. Unless there is very good heating. Those charming stone-walled houses with their stone floors. Freezing. And the same goes for much of the housing stock. And it can be cold in other respects - not much to do, not a lot of work. Relationships can be strained, budgets squeezed, and some seek solace on a bar stool or from powders. And above all else is the language. There comes a point where reliance on those who can speak the native or on professionals gets too much. It takes five, six, seven years to perhaps really speak the language. Or it takes this long to discover that you have never bothered to really try or cannot. Chasing the sun, living the dream, and suddenly the miserable British climate may not seem so bad after all.

*For the article in "The Guardian", go to http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2008/aug/30/family

Incidentally, the same newspaper ran a competition for readers' travel writing. The winner wrote about the Tramuntana mountains. Here it is - http://www.guardian.co.uk/travel/2008/aug/30/travelwritingcompetition.adventure


PUERTO POLLENSA - WATER OF A DIFFERENT SORT
Water closets this time. Toilets in other words. They've put up some public loos on the seafront. Where before was a desert of privies there is now an oasis of water closetry, in both ports of Alcúdia and Pollensa. Everyone's coming out of the closet; and everyone's going into it. Well, oasis is maybe stretching it. And you really must have had a dodgy curry the night before to dream of using the lavs on Alcúdia's promenade. Which leads to the fuss about the Pollensa bogs. According to the "Diario", the local neighbourhood association has the concession for the toilets. Perhaps they have had a look in the Alcúdia loos, as they're charging 50 centimos a go. Unreasonable? Not at all I would have said, especially if that 50 centimos go towards keeping them clean, which is what the association is arguing. However, along comes the virtuous, anti-profit brigade of the local political opposition - the Partido Popular (not a party naturally disinclined to the pursuit of moolah) - to allege that a "fraud" is being perpetrated through this charge.

Now the fact is that the charge has not been approved by the town hall; the bloke with overall responsibility for the environment admits that there is an "illegality", but has explained why the charge exists - for keeping the toilets in decent order. This all seems fair enough, but this isn't good enough for the PP who want to know if the 50 centimos - only 50 centimos don't forget - is "symbolic" or "lucrative". In which case then, why don't they enquire of the bars that make a charge to non-guests for using the toilets? The bars have long offered a public service in this respect. 50 cents for God's sake. Knickers in a twist; knickers in a twist sitting on a piece of public porcelain.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Bon Jovi, "Wanted Dead Or Alive" (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k99h5aikc4g). Today's title - a line from a current song by one of the few geniuses of popular music. A clue may be found in the recent piece about the Elvises.

(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)


Index for August 2008

Airlines - 21 August 2008
All-inclusives - 2 August 2008, 7 August 2008
Bars - 4 August 2008, 6 August 2008
Basketball - 18 August 2008
Beaches - 7 August 2008, 8 August 2008
Burglary - 30 August 2008
Café del Mar - 3 August 2008
Can Picafort - 1 August 2008, 17 August 2008
Canals - 19 August 2008, 20 August 2008
Chefs - 6 August 2008
Cheques - 22 August 2008
Chill-out - 3 August 2008, 7 August 2008, 8 August 2008
China shops - 27 August 2008
Community relations - 5 August 2008
Dakota Tex-Mex - 25 August 2008
Dogs - 28 August 2008, 29 August 2008
Ducks - 17 August 2008
Electricity bills - 28 August 2008
Expatriates - 6 August 2008, 15 August 2008, 31 August 2008
Fiestas - 1 August 2008, 17 August 2008
Fireworks - 17 August 2008
Grupo Boulevard - 25 August 2008
Holidays - 14 August 2008
Hotels - 2 August 2008, 5 August 2008, 20 August 2008
Integration - 15 August 2008
Kissing - 10 August 2008
Kitesurfing - 26 August 2008, 28 August 2008
La Villa Chinese restaurant - 8 August 2008
Language - 15 August 2008
Luxury properties - 16 August 2008
Mare de Déu d'Agost 2008 - 1 August 2008, 17 August 2008
Markets - 11 August 2008, 12 August 2008, 21 August 2008
Music - 3 August 2008
Olympics - 18 August 2008
Ones, Can Picafort - 27 August 2008
Playa de Muro - 21 August 2008
Poblat GESA - 23 August 2008
Property market - 16 August 2008, 29 August 2008
Railways - 9 August 2008
Rancho Grande - 30 August 2008
Recycling - 23 August 2008
Restaurants - 4 August 2008, 8 August 2008, 25 August 2008
Roads - 25 August 2008, 26 August 2008
Rubbish - 23 August 2008, 27 August 2008
September - 27 August 2008
Spanair - 21 August 2008
Street cleaning - 28 August 2008
Summer - 12 August 2008
Toilets, public - 31 August 2008
Tourist spend - 4 August 2008
Trains - 9 August 2008
Tribute acts - 24 August 2008
Wind - 13 August 2008

I'm A Cowboy, On A Steel Horse I Ride

It's not Southfork but it is a ranch. I was there the other day. Rancho Grande. Big ranch in a small country, well island. There is though a touch of the wild west even if we are heading to the east of Mallorca. Wild, as this is just land, dust, mountains to the back, dunes away towards the beach at Son Serra. Otherwise there's the house, in which one might anticipate Ben and the boys pondering the Ponderosa - Hoss and Little Joe, the two least likely of television brothers until Coronation Street tried to claim that Steve and Andy McDonald were twins. But of course there are no Cartwrights, only Pepe and the rest. And past the house is the terrace and the vast barbecue before one gets to the little zoo, the wagons, the swans, the peacocks and parrots and all those horses. The land, the ranch stretches away, and one awaits the arrival of an imaginary posse or Wyatt, Wild Bill or Jessie. I'm a cowboy; I'm wanted dead or alive.

Take the entrance track and there's a cowgirl on horseback to greet the visitors and to usher them towards the photo shoot. One of the first times I went to the ranch, a group turned up and one of its members started belittling the head and shoulders photos with a cowboy hat. Forget your cynicism. And maybe you'll forget a lot more as the sangria flows, the barbecue is stoked and the music starts. There used to be the single worst act I have ever seen in Mallorca at the ranch, and that is saying something. But he was that bad he was brilliant. And keep forgetting that cynicism and stomp with the line-dancing. There is music, much of it cowboy-themed; Natasha Bedingfield seemed somewhat incongruous the other day. In this vast open space there is not too much worry about neighbours and limiters, the music drifts out towards the darkness where somewhere is the sea and the moonlight riders.

This is the most friendly of places. I'm standing by the queue for the photos and a quad bike comes bumping across the raw-sienna earth. "Hombre." It's the Spanish learnt from Westerns. Hombre, amigo. On the straight stretch of road heading out of Can Picafort towards Son Serra is a sign off to the left which bears the words "El Paso". It's not John Wayne but Pepe on the quad; I'm a cowboy, on a steel horse I ride. Another time I was standing at the same spot and this boy asked me if he could stroke a horse. Sometimes you detect a sadness, and it was touching as the horse blew gently. Animal therapy.

Some things come and go, but there has been a Martorell family horse business since the early '60s; it used to be in Puerto Pollensa. Forty-five years and they issued a photo souvenir to celebrate. Grainy photos of Pepe and his father, a shot in the streets of Muro in from 1966 and from 1973 by the Molins bay at Cala San Vicente, and then to today and the animals, the dancing and the cowboys.


HOUSE OF PAIN (THE BREAK-IN REMIX)
I bumped into John-Michael this morning. A lot of folk know Michael; one-time Bar Bamboo, then he ran Dreams for a period and was at Epcot after that. How is it all going? Ok, but shit. Why's that? Break-in. First-floor flat around the Magic area of Alcúdia. A couple of grand swiped off a credit card plus DVD player, PC ... .

You kind of expect tourist places to be more of a target in summer, but by no means exclusively. One neighbour had a break-in two Augusts ago; another, kitted out with state-of-the-art security (well now anyway), woke up to find an uninvited guest in the early hours. My place was done in February; more like you might anticipate as there's no one much about. I have a cricket bat, my old Gunn and Moore. It has a fine sweet spot. For one with a reputation as a Chris Tavaré dogged opener, the time I got in one good stride to an opening quick and with not much effort watched the ball sail far and far over his head into some Cambridgeshire woodlands was testimony to its good middle. It's heavy as well, a 3-pounder. It stands in a convenient position in the house.

There was that politician recently who said that the "crisis" might result in more crime. Could be, I guess. One thing is that there are going to be more this winter who have not done the required number of months to qualify for unemployment benefit. Michael was saying that it's not as if this is the first time there has been recession; it will be about the fourth in four decades. In the past people have just struggled through as best they can. But people change and the number of people increases, and so the temptations and the opportunities change and increase. It's not though that it's a case of robbing from the rich. The million-euro and much more villas have tended to be the magnets; not only them now, according to the Guardia. Anything will do.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - "Jump Around" (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZZZADbubu0Y). The Robin Williams connection? Among the schmaltz of Mrs Doubtfire was a funny scene of a kids' party with this as the music. Today's title - I never got it with this band, but this was damn good.

(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)

House Of Pain

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

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

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

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

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

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


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


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

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Day At The Dog Races

So I happen to pass by the Lluna leather shop in Puerto Pollensa, and Joana is busy swabbing the street. Yes, the street. There ensues a touch of small talk during which I comment, jokingly, that it's good for business to keep the shop front clean. Only thing is, this isn't a joke. What's with the town hall and the rubbish and the streets, asks I. The chap with the street-cleaning machine used to come by three or four times a summer. Not now he doesn't. I look down at the pavement that has yet to be treated with Joana's liquid. And afterwards I walk the streets, my head bowed.

I suppose the thing is that years of Greece, France and Spain have maybe inured me to the pavements or at least to what is on them. I observe much, but the walkways tend to pass me by, or I pass them by and over without much in the way of a glance or more detailed study. Until today. It's only when you really scrutinise what you're walking on that you realise that, yes, it is actually pretty filthy. Dog shit is one thing; the other is the regularity of stains of all sorts. And then I think again of all those nutters who take to the pavements without anything on their feet. You hope to God they don't go jumping into pools straight after without having been treated with industrial disinfectant.

There was this thing today in the press about a push to improve ever more the quality of hotels as part of a drive to attract more tourism. Which is all very fine. But you worry that there is an ever widening gap between the splendrous facades of tourism and the untreated splatters on the streets and sidewalks. And they want more pedestrianisation. Let's hope they find someone to clean it. Personally, it doesn't really bother me; it's that inurement, though I am as hacked off as anyone by crap or chewing-gum on the soles. But that's only me. There are plenty who are far more sensitive, and not without reason.

Maybe it's just all this "bloody country". Those aren't my words. They are the words of a bar-owner in Puerto Pollensa. The bar in question was closed today. Very unusual. Want to know why? They'd had the electricity cut off. Not that they hadn't paid bills; they had. It was just that they'd paid the wrong bills; someone else's. It was all a bit of an electricity company admin mistake - cock-up in other words. And so they were left with a day's loss of revenue and having to pay their bills before being credited for the ones that they had paid. I mention this because it's not the first time these particular people have had an issue with electricity bills. They used to rent a villa; quite a nice villa. Quiet area, with just a smaller place neighbouring; a smaller place belonging to the owner. Except that smaller place shouldn't, strictly speaking, have been there. The questionable legality of its presence didn't appear to deter the owner too much; not when it came to some jiggery-pokery with the electricity metering. They, it came to pass, discovered that they were paying for the other place's electricity consumption as well.

So having seen the street swabbing and heard the saga of the bills, I wandered off, examining the paths of Puerto Pollensa and mulling over lines about who let the dogs out or having gone to the dogs being quite literally the case what with the on-street dog powdering of the nose; lines about dog day afternoon as it is now past noon, or day at the dog races because of perambulation but with obstacles of a canine faecal variety. And then there's this noise as I'm staring down at the physical representation of the name Carrer Metge Llopis. I look up and it's this apartments development. Why are they working on this? Is this a tourist area or what? Is this August or have I been transported to November? What happened to suspension of works? So I'm looking up and I walk away and it's a sixth sense that makes me focus again on the pavement. It would have completely ruined my afternoon, had I stood in it.


KITESURFERS FACE FINES
Following on from the piece of 26 August, comes news, as noted in the "Diario", that kitesurfers who act with "imprudence" could cop fines of up to 3000 euros. Essentially what this refers to is if kitesurfing is practised in areas that are strictly for swimming. One of the reasons for the concentration of kitesurfers at La Marina in Pollensa bay is that the beach there is "free" in that there is no demarcation of a swim zone.

The kities are asking for an increase in the number of beaches that are designated for what is a fast-growing sport. They are also saying that their own diligence, when it comes to safety and training, reduces the risk of accidents. And one does detect a definite increase in responsibility, whether this has been out of personal choice or enforced. As an example, back of me in Playa de Muro there used to be kitesurfers in what is a swim area. Not now there aren't. I did wonder last year why the Guardia used to turn up now and then. Perhaps this was the reason. There was once an almighty set-to when a kite came down close to some kids in the water.

But kitesurfing is not the only thing that is banned from the beaches. Boats are also forbidden. Yet there is a guy here who these past couple of weeks has turned up every afternoon with his Laser and launched it off the local beach. The beach sign is quite clear. No boats. One wonders why the lifeguards don't say anything; they patrol up and down the beach regularly. It's not a case of spoiling people's fun, just that the beach and the sea have become potentially more dangerous since the advent of all the various bits of kit that nowadays manifest themselves. This is why there are "sports areas" off beaches. Let the sea be a free-for-all, and it would be chaos.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - "Nightswimming" (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Z8sr4oCS94). Today's title - one of the great American bands, though you'd be doing well to get this.

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September's Coming Soon

September. It lends alliteration. The sad season. September's coming soon. September is the saddest month of the year. The season starts to feel as though it is running down. All that optimism of spring, and September gives a backdrop of storms to pessimism and even despair. So many bars and restaurants for sale, or so we are told. The heavy dews will start to return and there will be mists; the lawns are at their happiest while others are not. But sleep can also return. The nights are less oppressive and the darkness already extends for longer till seven in the morning and from nine in the evenings. Sleeplessness though for some; how will the winter be and what will the next season bring? September's coming soon, but it can also be the best of months. The economy-class families of August go back to school and the couples come back and linger longer and more regularly at the tables. And the football's back, and the bars can be packed even for the misery of an England international. September's coming soon - sad but happy; all depends how the summer's been, for autumn's coming soon.


September though should be a good month for the souvenir and china shops. August has seen a drop of some 50% in sales for this type of store in centres such as Puerto Alcúdia. It can be attributed, in large part, to the nature of the August tourist, that economy-class family. The last thing on their list of must-dos, it would appear, is to go on a shopping binge and load the suitcases with Lladró and Majorica. September brings the couples, the families with very small children and the senior citizens, the latter just the ones for the china. While some of the souvenirs are basically crap, the porcelain, ceramics and glass are not - well some, but mostly not. A problem for these shops, however, is, like bars, there tend to be too many of them, and the brands are the same. It is hard to differentiate in such a homogeneous market. Yet there are stores that seem to manage it by presenting themselves in a stylish fashion. One such is Ones on the frontline in Can Picafort. Ignore the bikinis and stuff to the left of the store; the rest is filled with displays that are quite captivating. Porcelain brands are collectibles, and there are those who come here with at least one acquisitive eye on adding to their collections, while - say it ever so quietly - Christmas is not that far away; so all that gift-buying back home can be made less onerous through the purchase of some NAO and Elisa.


PUERTO POLLENSA - THE DAILY MOAN
Well it seems that not a day passes without some complaint or controversy. The latest - rubbish. I had actually received an email from Colin about precisely this issue. Today's "Diario" highlights the problem, and quotes critics of the town hall administration and its "inactivity". For a council that managed to up its rubbish tax so much, it does seem to be in a bit of a mess - quite literally. Unlike other recent reports of matters in Puerto Pollensa, the beleaguered mayor has not been hauled out to issue a denial; presumably as there is nothing to deny. With rubbish, smells from the torrent, criticism of the swimming-pool, to say nothing of the ongoing dissatisfaction of the local police, maybe now is not really quite the right time to be adding to the sense of chaos at the town hall by going ahead with the pedestrianisation trial, the wisdom of which, at best, is questionable.

For a nice photo of the rubbish, go here:

http://www.diariodemallorca.es/secciones/noticia.jsp?pRef=2008082700_3_387615__PartForana-PPUMP-denuncia-acumulacion-basura-calle-exige-plan-limpieza-prometido


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Donovan (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h2arEUEAWck). Today's title - it's REM week on the blog; where does this line come from?

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Catch The Wind

"Charlie Browner", "chicken bone", "donkey dick". At some point in the future, an Olympics will doubtless will be treated to an expanded lexicography as the games add yet another sport. Kitesurfing.

Windsurfing, which is an Olympics sport, is in retreat against the onslaught of the kite variety; at least that is so here. The gathering of kities (Charlie Browners) at La Marina beach on Pollensa bay has grown significantly over the years. Whereas once there were only a dozen or so kites, now the air over the sea seems to be filled with hundreds of inflatables of reds, yellows, blues, blacks, whites - a collage of multi-coloured technology grasped by those in pursuit of air time and the demonstration of "mobes", the tricks of the kitesurfing trade.

The La Marina kitesurfing exhibitions have reached the stage of the spectacular. They have become a tourist attraction in their own right. Drive along the coast road and see the cars stopped and the passengers disgorged with their cameras. Kitesurfing can be a dangerous sport and watching it is not without danger on what is a notorious stretch of road.

Surfing of all varieties has had its roots in communities of thrill-seekers. It is not so long ago that surfing was an obscure pastime; you can argue that the Californian early '60s saw the real birth of sea riding, when the local college kids would care whether they had enough money to fill the tank of a Chevvy in order to get to the beach and catch the wave. And from all this grew catch the wind, which brings us up to date and to the kitesurfing off the shores of Mallorca.

The communities of kities that take to the water and to the air are populated by those in constant search of the right conditions. It's as if everything else is put on hold when the wind is right and the kit can be hauled onto a beach in anticipation of a good cross-wind. Onshore and offshore winds are not the right conditions. Too fierce and the wind can be "nuking".

This is not a cheap or an uncomplicated sport. It can cost up to 1500 euros for all the kit, while the safety measures and the actual art of kitesurfing make for something more complex than may appear to those watching through camera lenses. The focus on safety is important. I had always understood that instruction in kitesurfing was banned here, but today's "Diario" points out that lessons cost 30 euros and quotes a guy from a shop called Pipe Line who offers such lessons. Perhaps the responsibility towards safety has persuaded the authorities to grant licences. Someone has to have been engaged in instruction; the growth in the sport locally hasn't happened just by chance.


PUERTO POLLENSA FRONTLINE UPDATE
Well the mayor has diverted his attention away from normal matters to do with water in order to tackle, if that isn't exaggerating things, the unrest surrounding the trial closure of the frontline. Not everyone is happy, which will come as no surprise. So the mayor's going to have a meeting with the unhappies, which begs the question - shouldn't he have done so before now? Whilst pedestrianisation has much to commend it (and one should remember that this is only as yet a trial), there is a point at which it becomes an inconvenience, whilst the exceptions, e.g. for buses, taxis, police and emergency and deliveries, make it questionable in the first place. "The Bulletin" today points out that the new road remains virtually unused, while the coast road remains the key thoroughfare. It's a fair comment, but only up to a point. Not only does the sign at the roundabout as one joins the new road point along the coast road to the "centre", thus obviously directing traffic away from the new road, the coast road is more direct. The new road is a bypass, not a means of access, even if roads off do create some of this access.

People are also whingeing about a lack of information. I drove along the coast road today and saw nary a sign saying anything. Maybe there was and I missed it, but what I did see were numerous no-parking signs taped up with bin-liners ready to be unveiled to an unsuspecting motoring public. The thing is, if you take away all the parking that is currently available, where on Earth are people going to park? And this includes not only residents but also those with hire cars staying at seaview hotels such as the Uyal. Presumably, it gets pushed into the side roads. And that is going to piss the residents off even more. Trial by road closure. Yep, reckon it will be.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - this great film with Martin Sheen and Sissy Spacek was set in South Dakota; the badlands refer to the terrain to be found there and in North Dakota. Today's title - hippy-dippy, British Dylan.

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Badlands

I was reminded recently that the antagonism towards Grupo Boulevard and specifically the company's Dakota Tex-Mex restaurants rumbles on, especially in Puerto Pollensa.

Let me explain for those who may as yet not be up to speed on this one. Boulevard is one of the most significant players locally; it is HQ-ed in the dark glass-fronted building in Playa de Muro. Its operations cover: in Puerto Pollensa, three Dakota Tex-Mex restaurants, Café L'Algar, Gran Café 1919, a tabacos, O'Hara's pub and the curious Australia Boulevard place; in Puerto Alcúdia, a Dakota and a supermarket/tabacos; in Playa de Muro, the Shopping Centre in Las Gaviotas, another Dakota, a Gran Café-ette, a shop, a tabacos and a supermarket (misleadingly termed a hypermarket). Perhaps there are more. Doubtless you'll tell me if there are.

It is the Dakotas that have caused most of the opprobrium to be levelled at Boulevard, much of it emanating from the expat community. There are, it seems, plenty with an "agenda" against the company. A while back there was an anonymous comment sent for a piece I did ages ago about the Dakotas; it was unflattering to say the least. I ignored it. Someone had to have gone to some trouble to have unearthed an old blog item in order to indulge in some slagging-off.

Quite what is the problem? Much of it, one fancies, stems from the conversion of the old fisherman's cottage at the start of the pinewalk and its reincarnation as a Dakota. The tex-mex "chain" has become, for some, the Devil incarnate. And it is in Puerto Pollensa that the Boulevard and Dakota horns have reached out more obviously than anywhere else, thus generating reactions of takeover and perhaps not even a little envy. One is not sure whether it is the strength of Boulevard that is objected to or its brashness; both probably. Boulevard is a successful business, or at least it would appear to be. Success is not always greeted with acclaim, especially if it seems to in some way undermine a particular image of a place; in this case Puerto Pollensa.

Boulevard probably doesn't help itself. Rather like the hotels, as I spoke about in a previous piece, one doesn't really know a great deal about the company. It doesn't engage in community or public relations, or at least none that I am aware of. That HQ building with its dark glass perhaps says something; it wants awareness but to be unknown and unseen. Boulevard is, one concludes, a hard-nosed business, doing what hard-nosed businesses do, making money, hence the Dakota-isation of Puerto Pollensa where few can understand the sense of three of the same restaurants being in close proximity. But as I pointed out some time before, the model is hardly unique; McDonald's perfected it.

The Dakotas, however, say an awful lot about shifts in local "Spanish" attitudes as well as about matching tourist demand and wants and about some expats. To take the Spanish angle first. Recently, there was an article in "The Bulletin" which highlighted the closure or sale of the more typical Mallorcan restaurant in Palma. It pointed out that the new types of restaurants - pizza joints for instance, to which one could add the likes of tex-mex establishments - were doing well by comparison. There are different reasons for this, of which one is the growth in popularity of fast-food and the newer style of restaurant among the indigenous population. Some while back there was a report that pointed to the decline in the consumption of typical local cuisine in favour of what one might term imported dining experiences. The Mallorcan is, therefore, the beneficiary of greater consumer choice; thus is the nature of free (or free-ish) markets anywhere. Don't think that it is only tourists who frequent the Dakotas, because it isn't, though clearly the restaurants fulfil, if not a tourist requirement, then at least the creation of tourist demand. Not all tourists want the quaint Mallorcan restaurant, especially those tourists with demanding kids' mouths to fill. And don't underestimate the power of the child dining-out lobby; the kids are frequently the fulcrum of the family purchasing process. Someone said to me not so long ago that the Dakotas don't go far enough and that there is scope for more razzamatazz of an Americana style; this could well be right.

There exists among some of the expat community and also visitors a sort of reactionary militant tendency that would have places like Puerto Pollensa stuck in a timewarp of what might be dubbed "Mallorcana". They want it both ways. The influx of expats is a facet of change; they are a facet of change. Yet they wish all around to remain unaltered. The Dakotas reflect a change that does not fit with the romantic image of Puerto Pollensa. But the place has undergone a change in its tourist demographic alongside the change in its physical appearance. Tourism is business, Puerto Pollensa is tourism business, and the Dakotas are business.


PUERTO POLLENSA FRONTLINE CLOSURE
There has been a plan to pedestrianise more of Puerto Pollensa's frontline for some while. How sensible this would be is another matter. But with the new road open, along comes this plan or at least a trial. And trial may well be what it is if one wants access. In the next ten days or so, the road will be closed to non-essential traffic or so I am led to believe. This will be, apparently, from the Galéon down into the port. Which raises the question - what will happen to all that parking by the beach? Chaos beckons.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - "Man On The Moon", REM (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bs4pTCqhTfY). Today's title - this was a film; what's the connection with today's piece?

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Andy, Are You Goofing On Elvis?

"Uh-huh-huh, I'm all shook up." No, I'm not. Me, definitely not. But many are. Take Mulligans in Puerto Pollensa. Three nights a week, Elvis live. One hell of an achievement after 31 years of being un-live. It must be all those heartbreak hotels with less than full occupancy. Call for Elvis, Robbie, Rod, Freddie, Abba, The Beatles. There are whole armies of Elvises. Or maybe armies is not the right collective noun; perhaps a Saturday-at-the-Lord's-test of Elvises or an in-ghetto of Elvises. Who knows. However the Elvises are collectivised, they have taken over. The pharmacies and Burger Kings are the graced lands of their plentifulness. So many bars, so many lonesome tonight. So many bars hoping Elvises will make them less lonesome tonight.

The bars are seeking solace in tribute acts to keep the tills rolling. All this retro, but amongst it nothing that even resembles summertime. 'Twas ever thus. The tribute act is the contemporary local manifestation of the Winter Gardens and pier shows. Tribute acts work well only insofar as they are recognisable and have a large body of work to draw upon which is also recognisable. You don't get too many Edison Lighthouse tributes for the simple reason that they only had one hit and are utterly unmemorable. The Elvis tribute is a kind of group bonding session. Anyone and everyone can do an Elvis because, like the Elvises themselves, they can impersonate someone impersonating Elvis. The Elvises may be little more than parodic stars in their eyes effectively goofing on Elvis, but chalk an Elvis appearance on the terrace board and in comes an audience of wannabes or really reckontheycouldbes. Familiarity breeds conceit; "I can do that - uh-huh-huh, I'm all shook up". The power of the tribute act stems from the security of mob karaoke.

But amongst the tributes there is no sense of summer. They fit with recognition but are misfits of the spirit of summer. There is only one act, that is not to be found, which would make for an appropriate summer tribute. Where are The Beach Boys? A whole body of work that even after the transformation of "Pet Sounds" continued to embody beach and sun, as typified by later stuff such as "Do It Again" and even the elegiac "Surf's Up". Perhaps those close harmonies are beyond the balladeering mechanicalness of Westlifes.

Am I goofing on Elvis? Nope. I'm surfing safari. Wouldn't it be nice? But if not a summer feel, then how about those of today's title? Tribute act. Imitation of life.


BULLFIGHT
There is a bullfight this afternoon starting at 18:00 in Alcúdia, a special one apparently, featuring one Juan Duque. No, I've never heard of him either. Depending where one sits, it costs up to 50 euros. I can't go, but I would like to as I mentioned some while ago in a piece about the bullfight. I've known about this event for some while. I thought long and hard about listing it on the WHAT'S ON BLOG but decided against doing so. Why? Perhaps I didn't wish to offend any sensibilities. If this was the case, it was a bad case of censorship. It was a mistake. People should have the option to go or not to go, whatever they may think of bullfighting. In future I shall be less sensitive.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - "Love Don't Live Here Anymore", Rose Royce (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=imKKClp8FTk). Today's title - something lunar.

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You Abandoned Me

In the water-borne wake of the floating bottles and cups of Alcúdia's canals comes another load of old rubbish, a substantially greater load of old rubbish than anything of the channels around The Mile. By the commercial port there has been and is an accumulation of old garbage that would have an alternative contemporary sculptor salivating at the potential for symbolic end-product. Want rubbish; here it is. Cars, plastic bottles, wood adorn the port' area. 15 metres in height and 60 in length; a voluminous square meterage of the discarded and unwanted.

Eyesore for even the blind, but it is not what it might sound. This is not some large-scale fly-tipping but the final resting place but one for material destined for recycling on the mainland. It comes from all over the island and waits to be shipped. It is the wait that causes the blight on the landscape, though we are assured it is all decontaminated and therefore blight-less. The reason for the wait is that everyone's gone on holiday, including, most importantly, the companies that do the recycling. Everything stops in August and consequently it just piles up until the chaps have got back and unpacked their vacation suitcases. So it's something that is tolerated for a short period, but for how much longer can it be repeated?

The commercial port abuts the site of the old power station, the one that at some point is meant to be the shiny new edifice of questionable arts and science tourism. As importantly, the commercial port is in the process of development and enlargement so that it can accommodate cruise ships. Welcome to Alcúdia, welcome to the island's recycling mountain. One doubts that they mention that in the brochure. Why can't they erect some form of warehouse to conceal it? Perhaps they will.

Then there are the neighbours. What neighbours, you might ask? In fact it is difficult to see the rubbish if you are a neighbour, but these neighbours are a story in their own right. Did you know that there is a small enclave of dwellings that was established for workers to serve the old power station? Head away from the roundabout by the commercial port and one can anticipate the villas and smart residences of Alcanada, but before one gets far there is, tucked away off the main road, the Poblat GESA.

This small urbanisation has been there for 50 years. It is a dismal collection of whitewalled cottages with green shutters, an open space that once had a small school and roads suffering inattention. It looks abandoned, and the people who live in the cottages that are still occupied, are complaining about just that - abandonment by GESA. And there are suspicions as to what GESA might have in mind for these tenants. If one goes along the road to the neighbouring butane factory, there is open space to the right with a large estate-agency sign saying for sale. Behind this land is the poblat.

Whatever the situation, the poblat is a curio of local housing and planning. It is not the only one. Nearby is the Poblat del Marquès de Suances. It too is a bizarre relic of what looks like little more than prefab housing. Like the Poblat GESA, it is not something one would normally see; there is no reason to go there. Yet these small urbanisations are a reminder of histories and stories that lie hidden from the normal tourist and real-estate brochurisation of the area.

* Acknowledgement to the "Diario" over the past two days for some of the information above.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - "Where Have All The Flowers Gone?", Pete Seeger (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RhlOJm9nkwM). Today's title - first line from what?

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