Logdown Log in Mallorca – Day 51

Wildflowers growing on the side of the lane in our valley

Yes, it’s day 3,789 of lockdown here in Mallorca (Spain). Not really; it just feels a bit like it sometimes.

But there was A Big Change in this country on Saturday, as Spain’s restrictions – reported as the toughest in Europe – were eased slightly for adults. From Saturday, May 2nd, we were allowed out for exercise (sports) or a walk.

Of course, there are restrictions, such as dedicated time bands for going out; this is is designed to minimise the risk to those most vulnerable to the virus. For walks, we can travel up to a radius of one kilometre from our homes; exercise is not so restrictive, but must be done within the same municipality. We cannot hop in the car and drive anywhere to walk or work out. (Oh, how I long to walk beside the Mediterranean again).

Lucky to Have Land

We’ve not exactly been lazy during the lockdown. Exercising to online videos could have been an option if our wifi signal was better, but we opted to walk.

We’re fortunate that our finca has plenty of land. More than half of it is still virgin territory for me, as it forms a valley within our valley and not only are the sides of this mini-valley steep, they’re also perilous, as the land underfoot is just loose stones. I had a small taste of this danger in our early years here, when I ventured out and slid several feet, ending up in a heap on the ground – my unplanned descent broken by a well-located shrub. This required a hospital visit to check on very painful ribs which, fortunately, were just badly bruised, rather than broken.

From this limited personal experience, I know that one careless step could lead to hurtling down the side, through a tangle of wild olives and mastic bushes, to an uncomfortable stop at what is the long-dried-up bed of a stream. Andres and Guillermo, elderly brothers who lived in the valley as small boys, once told us they’d fished for eels down there. And that there had been peach and apricot trees for scrumping.

Stepping Out

The rest of our land is not as dangerous. As well as the garden we’ve created, there’s a large flat field – which has become our walking track during lockdown. We don’t use the field for anything in particular, as it’s mainly layered with huge rocks and stones. The Boss used to get out his man toy (a bushwacker) to level the wild growth to the ground, but this marvellous piece of kit died last year and we have yet to replace it.

Almost since lockdown began, we have had a routine: 20 circuits of the field in the morning and 20 in the early evening. This was mainly to counter all the extra baking I’d been doing. We’ve missed very few sessions and, as a result, now have a well-trodden and compressed roundish track amidst what is now a field of waist-high (and in my case, some  shoulder-high) wild grasses and wildflowers. You could probably spot it from the International Space Station, if you were up there looking down on our part of rural Mallorca.

Felines in the Field

The cats that share our finca have been visibly bemused by our routine. Shorty, our affectionate ginger, started to follow us but realised that if he just sat in the middle of our track, he would get a few terms of endearment and a stroke on the head from me each time we came around. The others just sit in the grass at the side of the track and watch us.

During these walks we’ve also discovered Dusty’s secret daytime hiding place. He has a spot in a dense cluster of wild fennel and a plumbago bush that we certainly didn’t plant, but which thrives in the ashy area that was once our bonfire site. You’d never know that he was there but, one day, we saw him stalking through the grasses and then disappear from view. It was as though he’d entered the door to a parallel cat universe. Now that we know his secret spot, we can just about see him as we pass by.

As the weeks have gone by, we have watched Mother Nature continue her spring tasks. Some wildflowers have died, to be replaced by new ones. This morning we spotted some pretty blue flowers that weren’t out yesterday. We’ve seen several tortoises and butterflies galore. These little details are so easily be missed in the daily pace of ‘normal’ life (remember that?).

Venturing Out

On Saturday we used our allotted walking period to check on a couple of neighbouring holiday homes for their owners. It was good to see the land of other people’s properties for a change.

Yesterday, we walked up the lane for the permitted one kilometre. We didn’t expect to see many people out in the valley; but did spot a woman walking a dog in the distance and waved (but had no idea who she was).

What we did see were cyclists. Lots of them. In fact I woke up yesterday to the sound of cyclists yelling as they freewheeled down the lane. Our valley is a magnet for cyclists: it has a very steep and challenging gradient that has earned it a place on the route of the Mallorca 312 cycling event, which takes place at the end of April each year. (This year’s event has been rescheduled to October 10th, 2020).

Our rural valley is in the municipality of Manacor and it seemed that every cycling enthusiast in the town had taken the opportunity to escape on two wheels to the countryside yesterday.

Social distancing wasn’t as easy as it should have been, with huffing and puffing cyclists constantly passing us. In future, we’ll be wearing our black bandit-like masks…or continuing our field circuits, away from the sporty sorts.

Jan Edwards©2020

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