Our ferry arrived in Minorca several hours later than expected.
It was an everything-is-closed Sunday. In an isolated Spanish port-town. During siesta. Shop-fronts were locked up tight. Wifi eluded us. No, we hadn’t written down the contact number for the people delivering our rental car. In the sun-baked silence, not even crickets chirped. We battled post-apocalyptic conditions to discover our car-delivering individuals had given up on us.
“We’ll meet you at the ferry terminal” became “We didn’t think you were coming” – this despite the expat-British couple having lived on the island for years.
Surely it would be a bit difficult to miss the comings and going of a gargantuan beast like this on a fairly small island?
Surely the married duo running the small franchise had experienced a late ferry or two in their day? Surely the fact the no ferry had arrived would clear up their confusion and be distinctly different than their ferry-carried customers not arriving?
No harm was done, however. The blessing in disguise: making the acquaintance of Mariluz and Miguel! These adorable Spaniards, having lived internationally and raised three children, brightly welcomed us into their closed jazz pub. While they readied the bar for future opening hours, I used their landline and helped troubleshoot their internet connection to contact the local car company these long-time, small-town residents had never heard of. After we got our very necessary rental-car on its way, they regaled us with old travel tales and hunched over an island map circling the secret spots we must visit during our stay.
They helped us make myriad Minorca memories, including:
-
I adored the view from our bedroom.
antique pasture fences lining nearly all the roadsides — often it felt like we were driving on a bizarre racetrack tightly enclosed by stone walls. Our little mini-car barely fit!
- highway stretches so quiet that little flowers grew in the little cracks — just my speed!
- our bedroom and “office” windows with views of the huge, blue, rolling breakers
- discovering the mediterranean has no tide. Before we paddled our kayaks into ocean-side caves and to deserted beaches, I ran through all the contingency possibilities I could think of with the equipment rental guy. “Will we be battling the tide in either direction?” “No, ma’am. The Mediterranean doesn’t have one.”
- bringing way too much booze. In anticipation of high island prices, we arrived with an abundant stash of adult beverages. We failed to acknowledge that, as lovers of gin, we would probably not escape our tour of the island’s famous distillery without an additional bottle of spirits. We also failed to acknowledge that beer is also a requirement of beach vacations. We drank. A lot.
- our little terracotta kitchen where we cooked myriad meals
-
Such a privilege to prepare healthy meals in our “own” kitchen when traveling!
being taken out for a romantic session of seaside sunset watching over cups of belly-warming whiskey — boyfriend brownie points!
- attempting to find one of the many factories producing a special cheese for which Minorca is famous.
- speaking Boyfriend’s love language by taking him out to a nice dinner at a fancypants restaurant. Cafe 32, we thank you. And great job with the renovations!
- getting some much-needed downtime and alone time at our little apartment.
- solo springtime swimming at the nearly-deserted beach. Boyfriend can never be coaxed into cold water. To be fair, none of the handful of other beach goers were going anywhere near the water, either.
- communication dis-ease. My Spanish helped less than anticipated, as the primary language was not only Catalan, but a dialect thereof.
- running on parts of the island’s historic, defensive “horse trail” that circumnavigated the island.
-
Yeah, it was cold. Freezing. But how many more times in my life will I be in the Mediterranean Sea? #yolo. Proof of full submersion in the photo album linked to below.
never eating mayonnaise, despite the area’s badge of recognition for birthing the now famous sauce. It’s said a french nobleman visited the island long ago, enjoyed the egg-based concoction, took the recipe back to his country, and named it after the port city of Mahon — calling it “Mahon sauce” or, in French, “Mahon aise”
Goodbye little quiet, island paradise! (And if anyone has some extra cash floating around, the recession has half the island for sale. We thought about it!) ♣
2 pings