Adventure

We squeezed in a great adventure before the lock down. A wild weekend so exciting, a true and rare thrill with very little regard for health or safety.

She's brave enough to ride fast with me these days. After many years of riding and falling off horses my eldest daughter is starting to fear less and enjoy the adrenaline associated with hard and fast gallops. We headed east on our Mediterranean island to a stables run by the original mallorquin cowboy for a night in a tepee, riding ex-racehorses and those who had been given a second chance. I worried about her being on that big and spirited gelding - a few hands taller than our naughty pony, Spot - but she looked good up there, comfortable and fully in control of her steed. I was so proud; these days like dreams as we galloped into the sunset, chips of stone flying and the clatter of metal shoes thundering in unison - past orange trees and barking dogs, past olive groves and newly born lambs. She had never been so fast, but I could see as she turned to me as we slowed, that adventure had lit up her very being. She had experienced utter freedom on a horse, the pure joy of galloping without fear, she sweetly patted him - thanking him for his grace and power.

We untacked the tired horses at our tent for the night, throwing the saddles on the ground and feeding the hungry animals once they had cooled. Early March being cold in Mallorca, we were so grateful to huddle around a quickly made fire, drinking wine out of plastic mugs and sharing stories of travel and the equines in our lives - into the early hours. She sat there with me, as I slowly inebriated myself along with the others, listening to our tales and poking the fire in a trance. We crawled into sleeping bags, all five of us as the horses wandered around grazing on sparse plants and grasses. Freezing, drunk and truly happy.

Awoken by hoopoes and partridges, after needed coffee and sticky pastries we were off again, in a crazy manner, back to where we had started. With views of the sea to the north, tantalising and glistening in the distance, promising summer swims and long days. With vibrant green buds on the twisted fig trees and blankets of spring flowers in the fields as we jig-jogged home. She asked when we could do it again, before it was even over.

Soon I said. Very Soon. Little did I know.

August

August came and went in a sweaty, blurry haze of siestas, rose wine and far too much fun. Days merged into one long month of early mornings with the horses and late nights around the BBQ. People came and went, we screamed with with the demons, we moaned about the heat, we read books and watched TV, we learned to paddle board and messed around on boats. We moaned a little bit more about the heat, swam, drank gin, had headaches and then complained just a little bit more about the heat.

We stared at the telly with the shutters shut. We lay around in our pants in the air con commenting on the heat, comparing it to yesterdays heat and how hot it would be tomorrow. We rode before the heat, through olive groves and dried up torrents, sweat poured down the side of our heads and the horses foamed between their legs. We drank litres of cold water and lemonade and undid all that hydration with chilled white wine, beers, gins at sunset and hierbas to digest. We watched Mama Mia 2 twice to lie in a dark, air-conditioned cinema, we lived in the pool and ordered tanks of water every week.

A reprieve was had in a trip to Wales and Somerset where we wore hoodies and jeans, trainers and socks - and commented on the cold and damp, glad to get back to bikinis and onesies...and commenting on the heat of the day. We went to Nikki beach and posed with the selfie-takers, we climbed the hills in Deia observing the beauty and the weather, we swam in the sea and found jelly fish, sea cucumbers and parrot fish. Still the heat, the oppression, the stickiness and the discussion with everyone you met.

Pfffff! Hace calor! (Pfff, it's hot)

Roll on September, August you've been a blast.... but I really need to change my topic of conversation.

Ibiza

She never lets me down, Ibiza. With her magnetism and hedonism, with her charm and delight, with her wild nights and serene days. She always inspires me, leaving me with wanting more - leaving me exhausted but full of love, she ages me and takes years off my age.

Ibiza is Mallorca's little sister, just a couple of hours by boat - we can even see her from our house. I was insanely excited to be going to Ibiza for the third time, knowing what the island holds and how she affects me, to be celebrating a 50th birthday.

The first time I went to Ibiza was to celebrate a wedding of two beautiful friends - on a yoga platform, dressed in Indian clothes and overlooking the sunset of Beneras beach. There followed a week of parties and yoga, of booze and cleansing, of veggie food and Sunday drumming sessions.

The second time I went to Ibiza was to celebrate the 10 year anniversary of the wedding. We were all older, richer and much more badly behaved. Having been let off mothering-duties for 6 whole days the parties seemed more intense, never wanting to sleep knowing that real life was just around the corner.

The third time I went to Ibiza, last weekend, was a blast. We are nearing 50 now and perhaps should have been heading for a group walking holiday rather than Pacha, or maybe a tour of a vineyard rather than staying up until 8.30 in the morning.

She was fantastic this time - giving us local Spanish restaurants and crazily-priced ones, we chatted by the pool and partied in clubs, we wandered along seaweed strewn beaches and cuddled at dawn, we mooched around hippy markets and ate a BBQ with new friends. We were grown-up and childish, we felt love and peace as well as banging brains, we danced just like everyone was watching and no one was. It was out of this world.

Every time Ibiza, every single time.

Fear, at its deepest

I looked behind me and the ascent seemed vertical. I looked ahead of me and the descent looked like a sheer drop. I was completely frozen with fear. I had no phone, no idea how I was going to get off this mountain, the fog was descending fast and my 5 euro sunglasses were clouded with snow. I don't think I have ever felt so frightened, I didn't know what to do. I looked up, I looked down. I looked up and I looked down again, both options completely unattainable and finally Ava, my eldest daughter, snow ploughed at 5cm/minute crying - with snot dribbling out of her nose - towards me. At last she was with me, my baby - her mama. We hugged, helmets and skis colliding, so pleased to have found each other - now we could tackle it side by side.

Last week was our first try at skiing. We took the ferry to Barcelona along with almost all of Mallorca for Semana Blanca (literally meaning 'White Week'). The ski resort in Andorra was beautiful, we drove to the snow whooping with delight at the two metre drifts and the people flying off piste. I couldn't wait to try it.

Ski school lasted for precisely 2 hours. Ben, bearded and gorgeous, put up with our inability to slide down a hill, our ineptitude, our clumsiness - he had seen it all before. The two hours disappeared fast, as did Ben, and we were alone on the slopes. We skied down and took a lift up. We did it again and again. And again. And then drank beer congratulating ourselves on our skiing ability. How fun! How thrilling! (Actaully, How Easy! we thought)

So the next day we all headed for a Blue run, one up from a nursery slope and two down from the Black run - depending how you look at it. Ava hesitated and I was off - all my 2 hours of ski instruction disappearing in the blur of snow, speed and pine trees. I couldn't stop. I couldn't scream. I couldn't bail out as I had 2 metres of goddamn metal attached to my feet. The next bit of my life I have blanked, I actually have no idea how I came to a halt but I can assure you it wasn't pretty. And there I sat waiting for my daughter for 20 minutes, maybe more. 

On a mountain. With fog descending. With 5 euro sunglasses. With no phone.

With absolutely no idea how this was going to end.

A new year

It started with snivels and snotty noses, my 2017, although I didn't want this to be the focal point of the first day of the year on the island of Mallorca.

My horse had acupuncture and some opium homeopathic treatment to chill her out, she yawned a big fat yawn or two and retired to her garba, munching away happily as though the last few days never happened. The relief was beautiful for both her and me.

We made a picnic and drove away from the sick house to the intensely beautiful Cap de Formentor. The sun was warm on our cheeks although the wind a little chilly. The jagged mountain edges, the thrilling roads, the navy blue sea dotted with turquoise calas and the pine forests with their native mountain goats made this day the perfect start to the New Year.

Only to be topped by a sighting of four dolphins, frolicking around the bay of the lighthouse, swimming in the direction of Menorca. Such freedom, peace, health and beauty  - a sign of good things to come.

Happiest of New Years everyone!

Those are dolphins, I promise you

Half term

We all needed the break, especially little P with bags under her eyes so dark and ingrained. I needed a pause from the driving, the girls needed a few homework-free days and he just needed a holiday. So we all took last week off and had multiple days out exploring the island and falling ever-so slightly in love with it.

You see, there was no one here. We had the beaches to ourselves. We found a parking spot easily in Palma. We found a table for lunch in Alcudia. We saw no other cyclists on our bike rides. There were no supermarket queues. And still the sun shone.

Discovering Biniagual

Morning cuddles with Spot

Swimming in the sea in November

Lone palm and just us

Palma days

And just as the children returned to school, and he returned to work, the skies turned black and the temperatures dropped - just as it should be in November after all.

Arta

We feel we should be exploring the island more, getting out and discovering the National Parks, beaches and exquisite little villages. But it is still 35 degrees, everyday from 10am until 6pm. 

Today we forced ourselves away from the air conditioning and drove through immaculate countryside dotted with olive, carob and almond trees, to the sleepy town of Arta. I say it is sleepy because by the time we arrived only the tourists were awake, the pretty shutters of the town were firmly shut with only the wafts of garlic and something fishy seeping through the windows.

After wandering around Santuario de Sant Salvador, and spending a little longer than usual in the dark and imposing church - we found some lunch and litres of chilled water. 

Botanicactus

The kids have been doing a pottery course in the south of the island, finally mixing with other children and listening to the sound of many languages - to Spanish, Catalan, French and German. They were shy and wide-eyed on their first day but now, towards the end of their week, are joining in with mime and Spanish - the common tongue.

During the 2 hours where they mould, carve and paint their clay creations - I have explored the coves, beaches, farmland and cafes of the surrounding area. By far the outstanding attraction was Botanicactus, mainly because no one was there, they would prefer to sit like packed sardines on the beach burning to a frazzle (I wince at those pink bodies and burnt skin).

I thought Botanicactus was a garden centre, but in fact it was a stunning botanical garden with the most extraordinary collection of cacti. I spent an amazing hour there before the sun got too searingly hot.

                         

Pollenca

I started to get cabin fever with this heat. It's crazy to go out anywhere between 10am and 5pm, even the walk from the parked car to the supermarket is dangerous - the skin screams with the vicious sun, prickling with a thousand sore needles only to be relieved by the air conditioning or shade.

A welcome 29C and a breeze happened yesterday. The pool was even a little chilly so I put on my brave pants to drive somewhere new. I even found a front-ward parking space which required no backward driving. Armed with the Lonely Planet guide, with 5000 other tourists, we explored the delightful Pollenca and walked the pilgrims steps to Calvari.

Penance for having too much of a nice time in Mallorca so far.

Oh God, dem wrinkles

Stray cats

365 steps towards icecream

The never-ending birthday

I'm not sure why I felt I had to make up for P's birthday being just a few days after we landed in Mallorca. As if her own swimming pool wasn't enough.

Weeks before we left Sussex I had bought a mountain of Playmobil, and Lego, and books and a rather fetching pair of roller boots. These were all diligently wrapped and sent on the truck to Mallorca, ready and waiting as we arrived.

She had a party with her Sussex friends amongst rain and tears.

She had a party at Granny's house with cartwheels and games.

She had paella and chocolate cake on the actual day.

And she had a Mallorcan BBQ party with our 3 friends on the island, their dogs, and a delicious ensiamada.

An Aldi special choccie cake

Much longed for paella

Alcudia bowls

Magdelenas for birthday breakfast

Ensaimada con crema

Figgy-woo

Happy 8th birthday my little one

The fattie catties arrived

What an ordeal for the fluffers. A drive to Gatwick at 5 am, a 3 hour wait in check-in, a 2 hour flight (I wonder if their ears popped?), a wait in Spanish cargo and then a drive to our house in Mallorca.

Cleo was meow-ing loudly as she arrived. Lupin had given up all hope I think.

We let them out of their wooden boxes and cuddled them furiously, despite them stinking of pee. Keeping them in one room, the last of the English Felix cat food was wolfed down in a nano second before they walked with purpose exploring their new surroundings.

They protested loudly at being kept in the spare bedroom wanting to be with the family. If cats could speak, Lupin would have struggled with words fighting back the tears with relief.

I have never seen happier cats.

Three days in, the Spanish cat food is delicious and the coolest places to snooze have been discovered. It will be a month before I let them outside where they will have to learn the language quickly. I'm not sure the locals are that friendly around these parts.

Milady for m'ladies

French food in Spain for my Euro-cats

Everything is the same but just a little bit different

We did it!

The build up was insane, leaving Sussex took weeks of goodbyes and see-you-soons. I didn't sleep for days and we were all delirious once we had arrived. Dizzy from the excitement and from the the 2 am start.

Moving to Spain has taken years of dreaming. Every Friday night, after too much wine, we would remember our days before kids, living in Seville. We were in love with the culture, the people we met and lifestyle, wanting it so desperately for our children as well. Nine years of plotting and 6 months of planning, we have finally landed on the island of Mallorca. To start life anew, where everything is a game and a puzzle to decipher. Where everyday is just a little different to what we know. 

We are thrilled and overwhelmed.

And just a little bit scared. 

But that's what makes you feel alive.