We’ve been to New York (multiple times making it officially our favourite destination, bit early for you yet though Iz), LA, San Francisco and I’ve been to Norway twice but I’ve never been to Mallorca. I was told by oh so many people that it was a very different heat over there…what a crock.
Stepping into the airport it was really humid, butterfly sanctuary so, and even sat writing this beside the pool now I’m sat in the shade, constantly moving like a human sundial as the blazing yellow orb of the sun makes it way round that made me feel like an ant under a giant magnifying glass.
Isabelle enjoyed the coach journey, switching between sleeping and taking in the new scenery – including a town that should surely be twinned with Basildon if giant signs are aything to go by – and finally we reached our apartments. We trundled round the pool with Isabelle and our cases and ended up switching rooms, thankfully we had aircon which was something of a god send…we did know have several stairs to go up and down so each time we decided to go out or come back again it was like the Odessa Steps sequence from The Untouchables, sort of.
The room itself wasn’t the greatest, we weren’t expecting anything plush, but it did exactly what we needed it to and it wasn’t as if we were planning on spending much time in their. Isabelle probably got the short end of the deal with a rather dubious cot that we dubbed Romanian orphanage chic.
Isabelle loved slapping round the cool tile floor of the apartment, even if it did make it somewhat comically slippy once she had crawled round once she had been covered in suntan lotion, cue much slipping and sliding from Dad to the amusement of Sarah and Iz. It all reminded me very much of the similar slippery floor escapades of Inspector Clouseau.
Thankfully this also meant that the floor was really easy to keep clean, essential when Isabelle was eating her chocolate filled bread bears (so good Isabelle even brought some back) in the morning or toast (thanks to the oddly named Bimbo bread) and jam, one morning it must have looked as if a murder had been committed. It was almost rather fitting then that when you looked across your balcony it was like watching the world unfold and was not unlike the set to that Hitchcock classic, Rear Window.
The other thing that seemed to fill our apartment was the endless bottles of empty water that we all got through, it really was a sign of us ‘mellowing with age’ I guess as 15-20 years ago that would have been a large pile of beer bottles…we did have a couple of course and sangria!
As we were self catering we pretty much had breakfast of sorts in the apartment and other meals out. Thank goodness we didn’t go all inclusive as Isabelle would hae been pretty much been eating fried crap all week and I think I’d have ended up eating chip butties as vegetarian wasn’t really something on the menu. Drinks were also served in measly small plastic cups which said more youth club than anything else…which meant most seemed to walk round with multiple cups all week, can’t see how that can be fun to be honest.
Being self catering and the nearest town being a 20 minute walk away or short train (ie a tractor disguised a s a train) ride away we often found ourselves travelling by train or walking into, which was also home to a beach, although we’d try and do the walking when it was cooler in the morning or the evening, cue the pushchair sun brolly with a life of its own, not helped by the fact they don’t really do kerbs in Mallorca. It was always easy to find our way back at night though, just turn left at the Gary Barlow sign, you’ll catch my drift at the end.
Food wise, being the other side of the island we thought we’d manage to largely avoid fast food, clearly we weren’t fast enough. Of course I’d happily have had a pizza most days but we didn’t want Iz eating rubbish all week which meant our search for food sometimes taking longer than others and the children’s certainly didn’t disappoint. Neither did Isabelle who tried getting to grips with a knife and fork for the first time on her own, of course they often ended up on the floor, keeping the drinks bottle company when she had had enough, but she loved it…she even managed to get her little hands on a sangria soaked strawberry that she rather enjoyed.