Dorset - and the Queen

Morning dawns and I thank and farewell Libby and hop into my Uber to Temple Meads Station. It's been a wonderful 20 hours in Bristol.

The station is very quiet. My train comes along and I get on board - with the help of a very nice woman who lifts my case on board and even stows it safely for me! 

We trundle through the Dorset countryside, passing Bath and other lovely English towns and villages along the way. The portly conductor comes along and checks my ticket. "Maiden Newton", he states the name of my destination and I nod in confirmation. 

Bath

Through this station and that station we go, past hills and dales and picturesque countryside. I hear the announcement "Next station Maiden Newton" - this is my destination. The train slows and I stand up, grab my baggage and head for the door. Push the button, hurl myself and bags out the door. No one else gets off and the station is deserted except for a lone man on the platform. 

I look up. OMG, the sign at the station says "Yetminster".  

OMG this is definitely not Maiden Newton. The lone man feels my angst and says something presumably helpful that I don't hear.

Yikes, I turn around to get back on that train, with visions of the doors closing before I can lug myself and my luggage back on board, stranding me in a place I've never heard of. 

OMG, the doors close. It's a couple of hours before the next train to Maiden Newton is due through. A sinking feeling envelops me, but one must never panic. 

I look to the front of the train for some help that I am not sure will be available and am relieved to see the nice conductor man standing there in the distance looking back at me. 

"This is not Maiden Newton, luv," he yells out. This I do know by now, and while I'm relieved he's recognised me and remembered where I'm going, this statement does little to diminish my plight. He stands on the platform looking towards the driver and I get the feeling he is going to have a bit of fun with me. 

"I need to get back on board," I yell, pointing furiously so he gets the message loud and clear. It seems like an eternity, but the doors do open with a welcome hiss, and I lurch back on board, my bags and rattled self intact, but my dignity in shreds. 

I remain standing as sitting down is more effort than hanging on. I wonder how on earth I got it wrong but there is little point; I've been saved by quick thinking, loud yelling and a nice conductor man.

Nice conductor man presently comes into my carriage, smiling at my near disaster. He confirms that Maiden Newton is the next stop - and the exit is on this other side, he says. Feeling much better prepared, I duly alight at the next stop ... and there are Lyn and her friend Lois to greet me. 

Maiden Newton is a small station with no lift and a car park on the other side of the tracks. Carrying luggage up and over the old footbridge is no easy task but between us we manage!

We drive to Lyn's home in the market town of Bridport. I've stayed with Lyn in Bridport before, but not at this house which she has done up beautifully over the past several years. My room is The Pink Room - in tones of pink and lilac with hints of taupe and a beautiful "hearts" display. As a girl I used to dream of having a house with themed rooms, and now I am in such a house. 

Lyn had left the TV on to keep her dog Smartie company while she was out collecting me and, around 12.30 as we sit down to chat, news of extreme concerns about the Queen's health erupts, with reports of the royals rushing to be with her in Balmoral. We chat, with an eye on the events unfolding. Outside, rain is falling. 

Later, while preparing dinner, news of QEII's death is announced at 6.30pm by a man in a black tie. We toast the Queen's full life with a nice red, and dine on delicious dahl and pappadoms and other Indian treats. At 7pm new PM Liz Truss, makes her statement, the first of many formalities. Little did she know that the handshake with a white-fingered Queen just a couple of days earlier would be their last. 

The royals arrive at Balmoral, with Harry a lonely last. Tears will be shed in the depths of Scotland and a new King Charles III will soon be proclaimed.

Lyn and I continue our chat and catch-up until bed beckons. As always, it's like there were never any years in between. We catch up regularly on Facetime but there is nothing like the real thing and it's great to be in her house for real rather than seeing it via a screen!

OBSERVATION OF THE DAY:
Being in the UK on the day the Queen dies and Operation London Bridge gets under way is quite poignant. There's a sense of sadness that an old lady has died - but no lady wants to linger when old age becomes a burden. There are no details about cause or time of death at this point, but it seems her life-ending decline and ultimate death were mercifully swift.  

Within minutes of concerns about her health breaking, people were heading to Buckingham Palace in the rain, milling around outside as if their presence might make a difference. 

When her death is announced, with a notice pinned to the gates of the palace, people flock there. The mourning and pageantry is about to begin on a scale never quite seen before. Whilst I won't be joining any queues, and the endless media attention and speculation quickly grows tiresome, there is something about being here and witnessing it all unfold in real time. 

Smartie in sombre mood

Off to Bristol

This day, 7th Sept, is the earliest morning I've had for a while - the alarm was required as my body clock is now well and truly on Spanish time. The taxi arrives and I thank and farewell Jill & Peter. Tears brew and I head to the airport, with tears flowing, where the Tui plane that will take me to the UK awaits me. 

I've had a fantastic time in every way enjoying special times with my friends and fab times out and about around Mallorca - but now it is time for the next stage of my journey. 

There is a queue at the Tui desk but it is moving swiftly and in extremely orderly fashion. These are mostly Brits heading home and Brits always do a good queue! Tui is what used to be Thomson Holidays - new branding with something of a Kiwi flavour! They mainly specialise in holiday packages, but you can also hitch a most satisfactory one-way ride on a plane, which is a good thing as flight options between Palma and Bristol are a bit limited.

The flight is on time and check in is speedy and simple, as is security - there are multiple zones you can go through and the one I choose is smooth sailing. The other zones all look just as easy. Having these different zones breaks up the masses and makes for easy processing and shorter queues which is all good for the travel psyche. 

Once at the gate, I discover the plane is delayed about an hour. It's no big deal and we are soon up in the sky with the pilot apologising for a baggage issue at Bristol airport on the inbound flight which meant it arrived late and hence left late. 

It's the end of the school holidays so lots of families on board - all very well-behaved. It's a seamless flight in a clean and modern aircraft. With no grizzling, hyperactive or highly irritating kids, which is quite heartening given there were plenty of them on board. 

We touch down in Bristol and I emerge on UK soil. I've never been to Bristol before. I find my way to the A1 Bristol Flyer bus and take the 8 pound ride into Temple Meads where I am met by Libby - a friend from schooldays at Epsom Girls Grammar. She is British, a lawyer and has lived in Bristol for many years after returning to her homeland. We last met up in 2017 - twice - both in NZ and the UK, after nearly 40 years since leaving school!! And here we are again, as though there were never any years in between. 

We walk towards the harbour area on a lovely sunny day and Libby is a most excellent tour guide, providing lots of info about the area and its maritime history. 

Libby and a lovely boat

Bridge with lots of padlocks

We have coffee by the water and catch up on things. We take the little taxi ferry boat across to the other side and continue our walk back to her workplace where her car is parked. She usually bikes to work but this obviously wasn't a viable transport method today given me and my baggage!

Libby and her husband Patrick live in a lovely street by a park and we settle in for a refreshing G&T before heading across the common for an Indian meal at their favourite little authentic restaurant that serves street food alongside traditional offerings. Patrick recommends the panipuri (fried puff pastry balls filled with spiced mashed potato and served with spicy flavoured water). Fill it up, pop it in your mouth, taste explosion occurs! Every dish is sensational, washed down with red wine and lots of laughter.  

If you're ever in Bristol check out Indian Junction on Gloucester Road!

We walk home under a moonlit sky and I am replete with great food, wine, company, conversation and environment. I sleep like a baby.

OBSERVATION OF THE DAY:
I love how English cities have lovely leafy squares to sit and contemplate the world in, spacious commons to walk across, and residential streets that are somewhat uniform and [mostly] tidy. Whilst things may look similar out front, especially the terraced variety - out back each home has a garden that is individual and private to its residents, but hidden from the passer-by. I love imagining what sort of garden glory lies out back behind closed doors and curtained windows. 

On our walk to the restaurant, we pass a tidy terraced street in which Cary Grant once lived. 

Cary Grant lived here

Lovely leafy square

A Day out in Palma & Santa Catalina

We start the day with a swim. This time there are reasonable swells but no breaking waves. The water is marginally today than it has been, but not enough to deter an easy plunge. There is no one about at this relatively early [for Spain] swimming hour. It's magical to bob about in the salty sea and watch the world go by and planes fly overhead, with the cathedral standing proud over the city of Palma in the distance. An unhurried and invigorating start to the day - which is heating up by the minute. 

After a hearty brunch of cheese, jambon, pate, crackers and nibbly bits, we take the No. 35 bus to the Cathedral. We are now dab hands at this bus business and it sure beats that long walk on a hot day ,especially when time is of the essence. Having said that, I have already espoused the glory of the Molinar-Palma walk ... which is best taken in the cooler hours of night.  

Even a bus rides generates thirst and we need a beer in a square. We find a nice place called Simbad and are amused that the beer here, situated beneath the Cathedral, is cheaper than other beers have been, which is surprising and heartening given this is one of the more touristy parts of town. A higher price was expected, but a lower one is worth shouting about! Go Simbad! I do hope our surly gruff waiter has a happier day tomorrow and smiles at his patrons more than he did for us!

Above us sits the Royal Palace de l'Almudaina, next door to the Cathedral - and this is where we are headed. It is an imposing alcazar (fortified palace) dating back to the 13th century. It is the official summer residence of the King of Spain and royal family members and an impressive mix of medieval and Moorish styles. The public can visit and it is well worth doing so. At night it is lit up beautifully.

Functions are held in this room - I'd like an invitation!

There are some wonderful tapestries on the walls - it's hard to quantify how many countless hours and people it must have taken to create them. 

There's a lovely little courtyard and a lovely little chapel. And behind it all - the massive Cathedral.

I'd been enchanted by the shape and simplicity of this palace since I first set eyes on it during a visit to the island back in 2008. In fact, I used it as the basis of an artwork. Called "Mallorcan Memories" I put it in an exhibition in Dec 2008 - and not only did I sell it, I also won a prize for it!!

And now I have walked inside, outside and all around that palace. Excellent!

"Mallorcan Memories" artwork

Some photos of the Cathedral ...

We'd been planning to also visit Palau March museum which houses sculptures by Rodin, Moore and others. Alas, it is closed. We don't lament the situation too much as it's so damn hot we're not sure our bodies or minds will cope with anything more than ice-cream. The pistachio and white chocolate flavour is delicious and we gain energy to walk to the Santa Catalina area where we will dine tonight. 

Leaving the majestic Cathedral and Palace behind us, we head to the old town whose charming alleyways will lead us to Santa Catalina. 

But first we come to J&P's favourite little bar - the Bodega con Rigo. It's almost 6pm and this tiny place, with its bar-seating and a little mezzanine floor reached by a tricky staircase that I fear I may come to grief on before I've even had a wine, is so authentic and inviting it would be rude not to go inside and give them custom! At 18 Euro a bottle or 3.50 Euro a glass, the rose we enjoy is cheap and tasty and we absorb the surroundings that are admired by all who enter, as well as those who poke their nose in and move reluctantly on because they have somewhere else to be. This is one very cool little bodega and one cannot help but be entranced by it.

We cross a little bridge and make our way to Santa Catalina, an area of Palma that used to be the home of fishermen, ropemakers and flour millers. Nowadays, its a mix of photogenic old houses with charming facades and a vast array of restaurants serving edgy food from around the world. It has become a sophisticated hotspot with a casual vibe and is an ideal place to wander, eat and drink at leisure, day or night. 

We dine al fresco at Buscando el Norte which offers a modern take on tapas. Directors chairs do not make the best dining chairs on an uneven pavement surface, but being outside on a balmy calm evening in Mallorca is perfect. It is 32.5 degrees at 7.10pm. 

Peter and I share a selection of pinxtos - shrimp, ribs, suckling pig, foie (you can tell why Jill is not involved!) - and all choices are delicious. The foie with chocolate and papaya is a yummy combo and the shrimp is one huge beast to be chopped up and divided. Jill has a roast pumpkin burrata salad that she declares absolutely delicious. 

Replete, warm and weary, we walk back to the Born (the hub of Palma), hail a taxi and head home. A red wine nightcap slips down easily and sleep soon beckons. Another fabulous day concluded and my last full one, on this trip at least. 

OBSERVATION OF THE DAY:
I have enjoyed my Med swims very much (four in total). As mentioned, the water hasn't been flat and calm like it usually is in this part of the world but, no matter, it is still very easy to swim around in - no ocean beach waves crashing over you, undertows pulling you out and currents lurch you about.

As I swam around the rocks in Molinar, I reflected back to the day I nearly drowned - yes, on Tuesday 18th January 2022, my life might have ended. I got into extreme difficulty in the water at Omaha Beach, where I have swum for 50 years, and it was a terrifying ordeal. 

Here is how the drama unfolded ...

I am paddling around in the shallows at about 2pm on a gorgeous summer's day with the intention of a quick afternoon swim. For some reason I don't like the strength of the waves or the pulling swirling sensation around my feet as they ebb away. My gut is saying a loud "no, don't go in" but my whole being is keen to do so. And why wouldn't you want to swim on a perfect day like this ...?

18th January 2022 - the day I nearly drowned!

I move along the beach a short way to see if another spot might have less undertow and a less threatening feel. I am paddling up to mid-calf level and my gut is still screaming "no" at me but I am choosing not to listen. 

Next minute I am bowled over by an incredibly strong wave and am on all fours in the shallows in a most undignified pose, wondering what on earth has just hit me. Before I am able to stand up, I am whipped out to sea in a matter of seconds. Suddenly I am far from shore and I have no idea how I got there. I'm a bit alarmed as it happened so quickly but I start swimming my way back to shore. OMG I  seem to be heading further out to sea with each stroke that is taking me nowhere. I tread water and try to get my head around my predicament. It is not good. I'm a moderate swimmer, but this is way out of my league. 

I am not being carried along the beach like a rip would do; I'm just being carried out to the horizon. To a place where I may never be seen again. 

I realise that drowning is a real possibility - even if I have the stamina to keep myself afloat for some time, no one will know I'm out here and drifting far away. I contemplate the reality that my life could end right here at this beach where I have swum for five decades. The thought is horrific and my life flashes before my eyes. It is a dire moment in time and a sickening feeling that I cannot describe but will never forget. 

And then I think of my boys. I can't leave them. I tell myself I can't drown, not here, not now - I have too much more to do in life. And I have a group to take to the Chatham Islands in three day's time!!! I gather all the resolve and energy I can muster and make a plan not to die. 

The Surf Club is on duty but by now I'm not sure they'll even see me, I'm so far out. I feel like my head must be as hard to spot as a peppercorn in a swimming pool and if I don't get help very soon then not dying is probably not an option. 

Time is of the essence and there is nothing else to do but put my hand up and yell "HELP". It feels surreal to be doing something that only happens in movies or to other people - and by now I am both terrified and terribly calm. Help, Help, I yell as loud as I can. HELP!

Thankfully a guy walking along the beach hears my cries. It is not far to the Surf Club and I assume he'll run and get help, but instead he discards his backpack and t-shirt and races out to me. When he reaches me, his presence and strength flood me with relief and we begin to make our way back to shore. I am not panicking, I am working with him to get us back to safety - but it takes more than half an hour of incredibly hard work. At one point I am worried my rescuer is low on energy and, with still a long way to go, I fear we both may drown. But one must never give up, not if one wants to live ... 

We finally make it to shore, both of us completely exhausted. No surf lifesavers ever came - I obviously became a peppercorn in a pool too quickly! Being a Tuesday, the beach isn't very busy but, even so, no one there has noticed anything either, they continue to read their books or chat amongst themselves.

I am shaking in utter shock and so glad to be safe. My saviour's name is Dwayne and I discover he used to do some surf lifesaving some years ago. We have come in right on line with his backpack - there had been no drifting or being taken along the beach like a rip is supposed to do. Dwayne tells me that there is some sort of channel that has formed out there and I got dragged out to it. Happily, we both got out alive. I thank him profusely and he goes on his way. 

Standing on the beach in complete disbelief at what has just happened, I have the wherewithal to take a photo of the near-death scene ... can you see the channel? Look closely, it's the small dirty smudge in about the centre of the photo - this is where I was sucked out to! Believe me, it's way further than it looks and I cannot believe how quickly I was taken there or how frightening it was to be there. 

18th Jan 2022 - the smudge that nearly killed me!

I walk home and tell my neighbours what has just happened. "But we were down there and saw you paddling in the shallows as we left," they say incredulously. "Yes, but next minute ..."

Later, reflecting upon my ordeal and trying to make sense of things, I realise there were some contributory components - the slack tide was turning, it was the peak of the Full Moon and, perhaps most telling of all, the Tongan earthquake had happened three days earlier, generating tsunami warnings and some sea chaos. Somehow this channel had formed. It seems all these things collided and almost got me. OMG, I contemplate the absurdity that the Full Moon nearly killed me!

It was obviously not yet my time to go, and my guardian angels were looking over me. With Dwayne to the rescue! Thank you Dwayne, it would have been a different outcome if you hadn't come along when you did. You were the right man in the right place at the right time, and you saved me!

Morals of the story: Never under-estimate the power of the sea even on a perfect day. Always listen to your gut! And don't swim on the Full Moon and turning tide when tsunamis are about!!

Walk, eat pizza, snooze & swim

Peter chops up a fresh pineapple for breakfast today, washed down with coffee. We prepare for the 5km walk to Playa de Palma that lies ahead. It is hot already but we ready to go. 

We walk south-east from Molinar towards Aranel, which is the resort and beach area where the German tourists hang out. The British head the other way to Magaluf which is south-west of Palma. We will be going to neither. 

Where we swim in Molinar - by the obelisk

We pass pleasant beach scenes as we walk and the sun gets hotter. There aren't many people out and about yet but the beach loungers await them under little thatched umbrellas when they do come. 

By the time we reach an area called Cala Gamba we are parched and have a pit stop at a little bar with  blue walls, a friendly waitress and cold beer. 

We continue towards Playa de Palma and the walk takes us through Es Canatge - it means "bait" in English and got this name due to the skinning and boning of animal corpses which went on here until the end of the 19th century. The skins were used for all sorts of things and the bones for soap. 

It's a coastal area full of fossil beaches of great geological and paleontological interest - hence it has been declared an area of Special Natural Interest. The landscape itself is a bit of a dry wasteland but every so often there's an old ruin to be intrigued by. There are walkers and cyclists about, navigating the various trails. 

The area borders the busy airport runway where planes either take off or land literally every 2 minutes. 

If you've forgotten what being underneath a soaring plane looks, feels or sounds like, take a look and listen.

On round the coast we go, past beaches and resort hotels and restaurants and some very lovely homes. We are hot and growing wearier with each step, but we know that a late lunch of pizza and beer lies ahead. It keeps us going.

We make it to Playa de Palma and have most definitely earned our lunch at l'artista pizzeria. Beers are ordered without further ado and the breeze is welcome. Pizzas are ordered and devoured - anchovy, capers, artichoke, jambon, mushrooms, cheese - all good things are on this menu, it's hard to decide. 

YUM!!!

The pizzas are delicious. A taxi home is in order - none of us would have made it home, we would have conked out half way or even melted into the pavement. We are in need of a siesta and swim pronto!

I sleep for about an hour and wake around 5ish feeling revitalised and ready to swim. The sea is smoother than it has been. It is warm and wonderful and welcome. 

Jill & Peter's street from the beach - they're up on the left.

Back home, Peter pours a G&T and J&P have a jacuzzi while I do some work and blogging. We then head up to the roof terrace for wine and local pate and cheese as the sun sets and the moon rises. Another perfect day in this little slice of Spanish paradise comes to a close. 

OBSERVATION OF THE DAY:
The Germans may love Aranel, the British may go en masse to Magaluf and others may sojourn in Palma - but when in Mallorca I am based in Molinar in the middle of it all, yet away from it all. With a beach at one end of the street and the No. 35 bus at the other, it is the perfect location to experience all the fabulosity that Mallorca offers. 

On other trips I have been to Port de Soller (lovely coastal village) and Valldemossa (gorgeous hillside town), Bodega Jose L Ferrer (fab winery), Santanyi (charming village) and the unique and beautiful Cala S'Almunia (also known as "the wrong beach" - and that's another story!) 

All these destinations require hiring a car but for my 2022 trip we are using our legs, taxis and the No. 35 bus route!! Many people cycle, roller blade, skateboard and scooter around the place but not us. We are, however, always on the lookout for them so we are not wiped out by small-wheeled speedsters!