How I Became a Speedy Swimmer

One of the many benefits of living in rural Mallorca – rather than on the coast – is the reduced chance of being stung by jellyfish.

The beautiful Mediterranean…

I’m sure that, if we were within walking distance of a beach, The Boss and I would be taking a regular dip in the Mediterranean. I would probably have been stung by jellyfish several times before now, but I made it to living here fifteen years before I was zapped for the first time in my life. Ooh, the pain.

We are sailing

My Dutch friend Sandra recently had her birthday and invited a few gal pals to spend that day on the charter yacht she owns with her husband. Four of us – including Sandra – enjoyed a lazy day of sailing,  sharing good conversation, Mallorcan wine, and the dishes that we’d each contributed towards our lunch that day.

We dropped anchor in an attractive bay, where Sandra’s husband – Captain Adriaan – showed us a nifty little app called ‘Grumering’. It was created by three Mallorcan friends to show information about the presence or absence of jellyfish – known in Spanish as medusas.

Jellyfish app

Using the app, anyone can add a notification to help other beach or boat users to avoid areas with jellyfish, or highlight areas that seem to be clear of the pesky little blighters.

The app suggested no reported sightings of jellyfish in the bay where we’d anchored. We’d have a swim here before lunch.

The Med was a little choppy that day, which made it harder to see what was in the water. Nevertheless, off I went, happier that the jellyfish app suggested the area was clear. I’d barely swum a few strokes when a horrible pain lashed my stomach, then my left thigh and calf and one of my fingers.

I’d never been stung by jellyfish before, but I didn’t need anyone to tell me what had happened. Even Michael Phelps would have been impressed by the speed at which I swam back to the yacht ‘Simmertime’ and hauled myself, shaking, out of the water.

Sandra quickly took on the role of efficient nautical nurse and did the necessary to remove the stingers and reduce the pain. Half an hour later, we were all sipping delicious Mallorcan white wine and enjoying lunch – which helped to take my mind off a deeply unpleasant experience.

Jelly stings – the gift that keeps on giving

Nine days later, the burning and itching of the stings suddenly flared up again and we sought advice. Our friendly local pharmacist said we should go to the hospital for treatment in the Urgencias department.

The doctor on duty looked at my wounds and prescribed a course of two different tablets and an ointment to apply twice a day. But that wasn’t all. He’d made a brief internal phone call and moments later a nurse arrived in the treatment room wielding a large hypodermic syringe. Having that jabbed into my backside soon made me forget the jellyfish stings…

 

 

For more about Sandra and Adriaan’s Mallorca sailing excursions on ‘Simmertime’, see here.

 

Jan Edwards ©2019

Merry Christmas from Our Casa to Yours

 

Wherever you are, however you celebrate (or not) this time of year, The Boss and I hope that this festive period for you will be blessed with the company of loved ones, delicious food and drink, happiness, and peace. And, in case you’re wondering, Mallorca does not have any snow at the moment…

Merry Christmas!

Jan Edwards ©2018

So long, Sweetie…

When we took on the responsibility of caring for the feral cats that were born on our finca in rural Mallorca (in two litters to the same mum), we knew that some of them would one day no longer be with us – for whatever reason. We lost Brownie, as a very young kitten, when she jumped out of an old almond tree in the lane straight into the path of one of our neighbours as she drove home. Poor Maria – an animal lover herself – was unable to stop her car in time, despite driving relatively slowly. Brownie is buried at the bottom of our field, just a metre or two away from the very spot where she was born.

Quite some time later, Bear – a lovely black cat (born in the same litter as Beamer and Dusty, still with us, and poor little Brownie) – disappeared. Although we hadn’t been able to pick him up for a cuddle, he did enjoy a fuss and seemed perfectly happy around the finca but, one day, he didn’t come as usual for his breakfast or dinner. We never saw him again and were unable to find out what had happened to him. We like to think that he decided to strike out on his own and be independent, preferring this to the possible alternative fates.

Baby Bear and Right Patch were both from the second litter and they too disappeared while still quite young. We had expected some of the kittens to leave once they felt ready to be independent, as that would be natural cat behaviour, so we were pleasantly surprised that the rest stayed with us.

Searching in vain

One of the problems of losing a cat in the country is knowing where to look for it. In a village or town in the UK, we would have put a notice on lampposts or checked whether any neighbours had accidentally shut the missing feline in a garage or shed. But here, in our part of rural Mallorca, we’re surrounded by fields – many of which are overgrown, having been long abandoned.

For just over a week we haven’t seen Sweetie – one of the cats from the second litter. At the end of July she would have been six years old which, for a feral cat, is probably a good age – given the perils of rural life (hunters, poisoning, disease, etc). But Sweetie – like the other six cats that have adopted us and remain here – is no longer truly feral, as she has almost always come for her daily breakfast and dinner and to drink from the several water stations we maintain for our feline family.

Sweetie as a kitten

One for the ‘Lost’ poster…

Chilling out in our dining room window recess

Beamer’s bestie

The little spayed cat was always nervous around humans (including us) and would rarely allow us to stroke her (unless she had her head down in her food bowl). She had a very special bond with her older sibling Beamer though and they used to have regular mutual grooming sessions; at times, she would bury her head in Beamer’s tummy fur – as she and her other siblings of the same age had done for comfort, after their mother Jetta had abandoned her offspring.

Sadly, Sweetie wasn’t popular with Pip – the female kitten dumped here more than two years ago, changing the dynamic of the cat clan. Although we’d had both females spayed, Pip had recently started to hiss at Sweetie sometimes and even chased her away a time or two. Perhaps that happened once too often for Sweetie to tolerate?

She had long had her own territory on the finca of our neighbours and good friends Maureen and Peter, and came back to ours only for her food and water. Maybe she decided on a new life of self-sufficiency? We’ve called her and searched for her in as many places as feasible, but to no avail.

In the meantime, we miss seeing this shy little cat and watching those affectionate moments she regularly shared with Beamer. And we’re sure he’s missing her too.

Come home, Sweetie, if you can…

©Jan Edwards 2017

Mallorca 312 passes our rural finca

Earlier this week a placard was tied to a post near our home in rural Mallorca, warning us that the lane would be closed yesterday for about five hours from 14:00h because of a sporting event. The event in question was the Mallorca 312 – the most international of all cycling events held in Spain. Of the 6,500 cyclists taking part, 33 per cent were from the UK; presumably Mallorca had greater appeal to these Brits than Yorkshire, which had its own racing event (Tour of Yorkshire) happening yesterday.

Our lane hasn’t been closed since our first few years of living here, when the Manacor Rally used to come through the valley. We were forced to be either at home all afternoon or out somewhere for the duration. It was a noisy but entertaining spectacle and we could watch some of the action from our terrace, so we always stayed home. Souped-up rally cars and old stone walls occasionally had brief encounters and, after the local council had invested in building new walls for the community’s shared watercourse in the valley below us, the rally was moved to a new route.

Road closed!

Our lane closure yesterday wasn’t much of an inconvenience to us or our relatively few neighbours, but many people across Mallorca were cursing the event because main roads through the mountains and in the north and northeast of the island were closed to vehicles. Social media was buzzing with complaints and stories of delayed journeys, as well as triumphant messages from race finishers.

I certainly felt sorry for any holidaymakers who arrived on the island yesterday morning only to learn that the road to their destination was closed for several hours. Or those staying in places like Deià, forced to leave the village before 7am for an afternoon flight home, because the road was part of the race route and vehicular traffic was suspended for the morning.

Looking at Lycra

Meanwhile, The Boss and I walked up to the corner of our property during the afternoon for a prime view of cyclists coming up the hill. It’s a steep haul on foot and several of the cyclists evidently found it tough to negotiate.

One of our Mallorcan neighbours was already spectating with her son, seven-year-old grandson, and a couple of his friends and we joined them in clapping and encouraging the participants as they passed us. Also there were a female marshall (who must have been desperate for a pee by the end of the event) and an official photographer. We offered to make them tea or coffee, but they’d come prepared with their own food and drink.

I had my own camera with me and, having reviewed my numerous shots, I can tell you I won’t be changing careers anytime soon to become a sports photographer. Respect to those who manage to take sharp photos of sportspeople on the move…and look good in a hi-vis vest.

During our time as Mallorca 312 spectators we saw Lycra in every hue imaginable; it’s certainly a colourful sport. We heard quite a few English-speakers and, as we bystanders shouted out  ‘Ánimos‘  (which means encouragement), I did later wonder whether they might have thought we were calling them ‘animals’…

 

Text and photos Jan Edwards©2017

Media calling Mallorca …

My UK broadcast media links have not been completely cut as a result of our move to rural Mallorca in 2004. On a few occasions BBC local radio stations have interviewed me by phone about some topical aspect of being an expat. I hope that my years’ experience of being a radio presenter have given me a good idea of what the interviewer wants from a guest contributor. It’s always fun to be back on radio in the UK, broadcasting from our country home in Spain …

The Only Way is … a Farmer and a Goat

Mallorcan farmer at work

TV-star-in-the-making? Far too busy.

This blog has also brought a few media requests my way. Recently, someone from the production team of UK reality TV show The Only Way is Essex (popularly abbreviated to TOWIE) contacted me. They were coming to film for a couple of weeks on Mallorca. Did I know a typical Mallorcan farmer here they could film? Oh, and would I be able to locate a goat as well? The mind boggled – not surprisingly, because there was no explanation as to how these ‘locals’ would be used in the filming …

‘Auntie’ Beeb abroad

Adam Kirtley in interview mode for the BBC on Mallorca

Adam Kirtley in interview mode for the BBC on Mallorca

Our latest request for help came at short notice, when BBC News journalist Adam Kirtley arrived on Mallorca yesterday to do a story on the likely effects of Brexit on expats. Adam and I spoke by phone mid-morning yesterday and we arranged to meet outside Palma’s Sóller train railway station at 3pm. He said he’d be wearing a checked shirt and Geoff-Boycott-style hat. Despite the fact that he’d clearly mistaken me for someone who knew something about  the headgear of the former cricketer, I managed to pick him out from the crowds of sightseers emerging from the station.

Meeting expats

The Boss and I drove Adam down to Palma Nova, where we visited the Amadip Esment café and recorded some interviews. We then attended part of a meeting in the town hall in Calvià – the southwest municipality that’s home to Mallorca’s largest number of British expats.  There, British Consul General Lloyd Milen addressed an audience of Brits and listened to their concerns. Of course, there were more questions than answers – because it’s still too early to know what our home country’s eventual departure from the EU will mean for those of us who live abroad.

A bit of bureaucracy meant we couldn’t record any of the meeting itself (we didn’t have enough notice to obtain permission from the powers-that-be), but Adam was able to gain enough information for one of several reports he was compiling for BBC local radio and the World Service.

So I’m going to be on the radio briefly again in the UK, answering questions from Adam. And The Boss makes his BBC radio broadcasting debut …

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Carnival in Manacor, Mallorca

Carnival is a time for fun and frivolity and, in our nearest town, Manacor, we like to be part of it. Well, at least be there to soak up the atmosphere, sway to the batucada beats, and take a few photos.

This year, for the first time, we went to see the children’s carnival, known as Sa Rueta, as well as the main event, on Saturday February 6th.

After watching the lively procession file past on Saturday night, we headed to our favourite Manacor cafe, El Palau, for a small libation (glass of Mallorcan wine). Two members of the staff were in costume but, like us, owner Nofre was in everyday attire. Seeing us come in, bundled up in outdoor clothes suitable for a cool February night, he joked: “Ah, you’ve dressed up as guiris!” A guiri is the colloquial name that the Spanish use for foreigners . . .

We’ve resolved that next year we’ll get ourselves costumes for Carnival. Something warm, like a gorilla or polar bear suit, seems appropriate. Or we could take inspiration from some of these photos?

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