In some ways, there is still a lot to write about. But after having been back in New England for what seems like an eternity, much of it seems slightly irrelevant. Like I asked earlier, does anyone really care about these stories? This blog is feeling very self-indulgent at the moment, even it is for school credit. So, this will most likely be my last post for a while. I’m sure that I’ll post again, someday. Eventually I’ll take another trip, eat some more lamb, or climb some more rocks. Then I’ll have more silly stories to write, and hopefully some of you have enjoyed them in one way or another.
Our second to last night in Deya was cold. There was another town wide bonfire, but apparently most folks were still burned out from the first one. When we arrived at nine, it was mostly young kids and parents, and lots of people were already ambling towards home. We drank a little free wine, cooked a little more sausage. Then we went home.
The next morning, I woke to snow. The mountains around our quiet valley were dusted in white. I was shocked. Just a few days earlier Reilly and I had been debating about snow. I thought that maybe it snowed very infrequently and probably never stuck. Oh how wrong I was. Talking to Dora over coffee, we learned that it snows now and then, sometimes even in town. She remembers days when the whole valley was white. I guess my knowledge of Mediterranean climates is lacking.
It was clearly to cold to climb, so we sat around the café and drank coffee and ate snacks. Later in the day we went to the cala (cove). Usually it’s very calm—the waves had been ankle height two days earlier. Now the water was a churning grey mass. Waves crashed dramatically against the sharp rocks and sprayed us on the little patio perched high above the water. A handful of other people were watching too. I couldn’t help that this dramatic change in weather was Mallorca’s way of letting us know our time was up. There was to be no more climbing, no more sun, no more time in this paradise. Maybe my memory is deceiving me, but I don’t think any of us three talked much that day.
Sa Fonda was open again that night. I know I’ve neglected to fully explain this place, but all you really need to know is that it might be the best bar on Earth, and everyone there is really nice. The bartenders treated us to several farewell beers, and I spent more time behind the bar picking music and dancing than I did on a barstool. Since our flight was early, we opted to stay up all night instead of just getting a few hours of sleep. So at 4am we walked home, finished packing, and got in the car. So long Deya.
I’d like to say the trip was easy, but as usual, it wasn’t. We got to Barcelona smoothly, but then our flight was delayed for several hours before being canceled completely. Dan and I stayed in a hotel near the airport, then headed back the next morning hoping the plane was fixed. It got delayed again, but eventually we boarded, got our seats in first class (amazing, thank you Aunt Donna). Soon enough we were back in JFK. After a few hour layover, we hopped a flight to Portland where my mom picked me up. I slept the whole ride home.
Now I’m back at Colby, classes have started, and it won’t stop snowing. I’m not complaining (much)—the skiing was great on Wednesday, and I’ll probably get out ice climbing this week. But I can’t help missing the perfect limestone, the succulent lamb, the cold cervezas, the sun, the sea. Mallorca, someday we’ll return. Who doesn’t have plans for spring break?
Sidenote: Sorry for the overall lack of pictures. If you're able, check out Dan Austin's and Reilly Taylor's albums on Facebook. They were the ones with cameras... Both took some incredible shots over the course of the trip.
