Weather

You could tell they were on holiday, filling their trolley with cheap booze and by the vest tops they were sporting in 8C. The first tourists are arriving, full of hope and swimming costumes. There is a misconception that Mallorca is warm and sunny year round and to be fair, it is a whole lot nicer than the UK, who have had to deal with Beasts from the East. But March, oh March has been full of weather. Full of rain. Full of cold. Full of wind that whips round your face and creates monstrous plastic bags. Full of warm days where T shirts and sunnies are required. We've had it all, and now I am ready for a decent run of calm, of sun and of the gradual ascent to mental searing, blistering heat.

Today we have been treated to a whole day of rain. So much so, that our village Sheep and Goat Festival was abandoned in a torrent of water which ran through the streets, cancelling the dancing and tapas sharing, halting the goat admiring and beer drinking.

The horses spent all but an hour in their stables. Spot, who was born here in Mallorca, doesn't do rain. Grateful for the duvet day, he munched his hay with not a wet hair on his fat, hairy body. Kira, a girl from the north of Spain, is quite happy to stand in her corale, the water soaking her to the skin. The ducks came back to swim on the lakes created on the riding arenas, grateful for a few more weeks of puddles before they have to fly off to find a new watery home.

Sun

Snow

Rain

Violent sunsets

Windy palms

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.

Nearly over

It's been chilly for a while. Enough to wear a fleece and a scarf inside the house and for two duvets to be on the bed. There's no carpets, double glazing or central heating on this Balearic Island, the houses are made for heat - which to be fair, it is most of the time. We even had two days of rain in a row, some snow and frost on the ground. This morning, for the first time here in Mallorca, I had to defrost the car.

It will soon nearly be over, the winter. Not that it has been a tough winter at all. Christmas boasted t-shirt weather while 'Las calmas de enero' delivered the most glorious January of all. Not a drop of rain fell and day after day of blue skies and luke-warm sun led us all to believe that summer was merely around the corner. The horses enjoyed rug-free days and the stray cats were quickly neutered to avoid the inevitable spring kittens. The almonds blossomed, a little too early for likes of the farmers, and the fields became a vibrant green and yellow - a dazzling display for the eyes. More lambs were born, they seem to arrive year round here, and coffees were sipped outside on street pavements, sunglasses mandatory and fake-fur coats. There are so few tourists here; reminding me to enjoy the calm, the empty wind swept beaches and the easy parking. The tranquillity of the winter before the storm of the summer.

Empty beaches

T- shirt rides

As the island comes out of hibernation you can feel the season and vibe hotting up. The restaurants shake off their dust, the beaches are cleaned of the sea weed, terraces are painted, pools are cleaned and buildings are hurriedly finished.

Ready for the long, hot, crazy, hectic and gloriously fabulous summer.

Sant Antoni

I had butterflies in my stomach as I cleaned my long, leather boots. They hadn't been worn since my competing days on a large ginger thoroughbred horse in England - it felt like a lifetime ago. The bridles were sparkling, the numnahs freshly washed and I awoke far too early, excited about the day ahead.

For today was our horses debut. Not competing in dressage arenas or flying cross-country, but to parade the streets of Calvia in a procession towards the church - for all the animals of the village to be blessed by the priest. Today was the festival of Sant Antoni, Saint Anthony, who lived as a hermit from 251 to 356. Legend has it he once cured a terminally ill black piglet and now on the closest Sunday to the patron's day, animals are blessed in Saint Anthony's name.

We brushed their coats, combed their manes and oiled their hooves. They knew something was up and fidgeted as we got ready, the excitement building in their blood.

As we gathered in the town hall car park, the horses began shitting freely without the fear of fines and the intensity began to build. The pipes started playing, tractors arrived adorned with ivy-strewn carts full of little children dressed in traditional Mallorquin clothes. There were lambs and goats, dogs of every colour and breed, a very lame donkey and a few horses and riders. Kira's body shook as she took in the scene; the waving balloons, the dancing children, the swinging sausages from the carts and the sheer enormity of it all. She stood proud, eyes on stalks as Spot the pony jig-jogged in excitement, throwing his head about to the pain of his rider. 

As the procession began we wandered through the village, people taking photos and making lovely compliments about the horses, I felt ridiculously proud. Even a little emotional. Kira is the horse who has galloped down roads with me in fright into oncoming traffic, she has pinned me against walls and smashed my hand, stood on my toes, snorted in fear at plastic bags and spins and fights to go home - and now here she was walking calm, noble and impressive as though she knew it was an important occasion. As we waited for the priest to bless her, she kicked out at Spot to bloody well behave himself,  to the 'oohs and the aahs' of the crowd.

It was a truly magical moment.

....and Spot even made it into the islands paper the next morning. Fame at last little pony!

New year new goals

I love the new year, I always have. The relief that Christmas is over and summer is on its way gets me every time. The excitement as the bells chime and we kiss goodbye to the old and eat grapes welcoming in the new. The grapes eaten at new year is a great Spanish tradition, each of the 12 grapes represents the months of the year, to be eaten with each gong of the clock at midnight. Small grapes are needed, without pips of course, to be able to to swallow the good luck and fortunes of the coming year. It's fun and so much more refined than snogging strangers.

2018 is to be the year of achievements. We now feel settled and content on this special Mediterranean island, calling it home and feeling we belong. Of course the house needs reforming, the garden needs taming, the WiFi needs to arrive and the gas system changing - these achievements need to and have to happen. The personal ones are perhaps a little harder to attain. Like, learning Spanish once and for all. Like, cantering a 20 metre circle on both reins in a calm and balanced manner. Like, curing my back pain and being committed to the exercises. Like, walking the dogs who haven't got a home, volunteering my time which is elusive as ever. To name a few.

Happy new year everyone, may 2018 be a happy, healthy and peaceful one for you all.

Holidays in pictures

I've been too busy to write over the festive period, so I took lots of photos instead.

It is finally all over for another year

That time of year

Anyone who knows me also knows that I'm not a fan of Christmas. The magic is lost on me, amongst the shopping, the wrapping, the cooking, the Christmas fairs, the teachers gifts, the cards, the marketing madness, the organisational stress. I could go on.

I see magic in the everyday. The lambs that were born last night on the mountain with their umbilical cords swinging as they hurried to keep up with their mother. The vibrant sunrises and sunsets, a technicolor show every day for free. I see magic in the oranges and lemons which are abundant on the trees and the almonds which lay, uncollected, on the ground. The smell of my horses sweet breath and welcoming nicker every morning fills me with wonder and huge feelings of gratefulness. The frosty side of the field, the ever expanding tummies of the stray cats, the donkeys ee-aw and the wobbly hedgehogs who cross the road.

Magic in the morning

We are lucky here in Mallorca that the Christmas build up is less intense. There are a few Christmas markets, a carol concert or two, some pretty lights in Palma and a Christmas jumper day at school. I have managed all with little more than a deep breath and a good slug of rioja.

Magical balloons in Palma

With 5 days to go, you could almost say that I am calm.

Feliz Navidad a todos