The Fortunate Isles: Life and Travel in Majorca, Minorca and Iviza

XXIV
OF ODDS AND ENDS

In Majorca there are hotels to suit all purses. At Palma the Grand Hotel is probably the best suited to tourists, especially if there are ladies in the party; while those who would like to see a real Majorcan fonda of the better class and eat good native cooking should go to Barnils' in the Calle del Conquistador.

The sum charged is invariably by the day, and varies according to the pretensions of the establishment. In most hotels it includes both wine and aerated waters. On arrival it is always well to inquire what the rate will be and whether it includes the little breakfast. If the traveller thinks the terms asked too high and says frankly what he is prepared to pay, he is almost certain to be accommodated at his own price.

Our experience of the country fondas was that they were infinitely superior to British inns of similar standing. The cooking was far better and the prices much lower. If one knows a little Spanish and can make a bargain, three pesetas a day is quite a usual price for a country fonda. The best should not charge more than four, and the catering is surprisingly good. In remote places beef may be scarce, but fish are generally plentiful, the rye bread is good, and the omelets are always excellent.

Here I might say that in every instance we found the beds admirably appointed and comfortable. The Majorcan housewife takes special pride in her daintily embroidered house-linen. Toilet arrangements are apt to be primitive, and, except at the larger hotels, baths are unknown. An india-rubber bath is easy to pack and will be found invaluable. In obedience to Baedeker's advice to travellers in Spain, we carried round a tin of insect-powder. But though the Balearic Isles are in Spain in one respect, at least they are not of it, for at the end of our wanderings the tin was still unopened.

In Palma there are several clubs, notably the Circulo Mallorquin, the Club Real de Regatas, the Veda, and others, political, military, and social, to which the desirable foreigner would find little difficulty in being elected. The subscriptions, which are collected monthly, would strike a London clubman as ridiculously low. He would find his fellow-members both courteous and charming, but disinclined to join in any exertion. And unless in very exceptional instances their acquaintance would begin and end at the club.

The Majorcan does not go in for sport, though there is a sports club. He detests walking, and very infrequently plays tennis. The entire group of islands does not boast a golf course. An English resident who was trying to get up a golf club found the natives apathetic; but the invasion of half a dozen good enthusiasts would probably change this attitude. Many of the Palma men keep boats. Yachting seems to be the only occupation they incline to; and it would be hard to conceive of a more delightful pastime than cruising about that picturesque coast.

Furnished houses are difficult to find, anywhere in Majorca. But in Palma unfurnished flats can be had. We saw quite a nice one in a good locality that was let at forty pesetas a month – a rent that included all taxes. At the delightful suburbs of the Terreno and Porto Pi, houses with exquisite views of the sea can be obtained. But everywhere to the foreigner who does not speak Spanish terms are said to rise.

Even in the capital town the wages of both male and female servants are very low. For about twelve pounds a year I imagine one might have the pick of ordinary female servants, the price paid men being alike small. But it would be futile to expect to find the carefully drilled attendance with which home usage has accustomed us.

To our more conservative minds, the attitude of the island servitors towards their employers seems strangely familiar. And their dress is apt to be informal. Once when I was paying an afternoon call in Palma the man-servant entered the drawing-room to receive an order sketchily attired in a pink undervest and trousers. And throughout the visit his voice trilling roundelays in the adjacent pantry made unusual accompaniment to our polite conversation. At the moment I confess I was surprised, but that was during our very early days in Majorca. A few months later I doubt if I would have noticed anything odd in either occurrence.

The cost of living strikes any one accustomed to British housekeeping as small – not perhaps because food is so very cheap, for it is dearer in Palma than in the country towns and rural districts, and much dearer than in Minorca and Iviza; but because life is much simpler and less pretentious and conventional than in England.

Certain imported commodities such as sugar are expensive, consequently the sweets that with people of the same class at home would be an everyday article of diet are reserved for special occasions, particularly the frequently recurring feast days.

Residence in Majorca entails no exhausting social demands on either the strength or the bank account. Even among themselves the inhabitants but rarely entertain beyond the circle of their own relatives. And their meetings with friends seem confined to the theatre, the promenade, the bull-fights, or at one of the infrequent entertainments given at the principal clubs.

The payment of fourpence secured a stall at the combination of cinematograph and variety show that during our stay in Palma was the fashionable form of amusement. And without further disbursement the visitor who inclined that way was entitled to wait on through the interval between the two houses and witness the whole performance over again. For plays or for light opera the fees advanced a little, though I doubt if they ever rose to the sum charged for the pit of a London theatre.

The bull-fights patronized by Majorcan society are those given in summer. We went to one held at Easter, and though society was absent the people were there in numbers that filled two-thirds of the Plaza de Toros, which seats five thousand. The action was mercifully modified, for no horses were exposed to the attacks of the bulls. We entered the place with our national prejudices strong upon us, and left it with a conflict of mingled attraction and repulsion. When a bull knocked down a clumsy matador who had been making painful but futile attempts to give him the fatal stroke, we lamented that the bull failed to kill his torturer. Yet when another and more skilful matador by a single thrust mercifully vanquished his bull, we shared something of the enthusiasm of the spectators, who threw hats and cigars into the arena, and finally bursting in, carried the hero of the moment shoulder-high round the ring.

It had certainly not been a fashionable function. From a neighbouring box our Vigilante bowed graciously, and Bartolomé, who was of the Vigilante's party, beamed broadly upon us. When we left the Plaza de Toros we encountered Maria, who was chaperoning two tall daughters in mantillas. And as we walked back along the ramparts we overtook Mrs. Mundo trotting homewards with her twin girls, whose uncovered locks were tied up with ribbons till they looked like a couple of nice little ponies on their way to a horse show.

For certain temperaments Majorca has a curious magnetic attraction. People who have first set foot upon its shores with comparative indifference find themselves returning again and yet again; with each visit becoming more under the thraldom of its charm. The Squire and his Lady, who half a dozen years ago visited the island because so many other Mediterranean resorts were already known to them, have returned with increased anticipation of pleasure each successive spring since. And during our stay in Palma we made the congenial acquaintance of a Scots lady and gentleman who find the glamour of these fair islands strong enough to induce them to make a yearly pilgrimage thither from the North of Scotland.

Majorca is a delightful place to loaf in. I know no place where one more keenly experiences the mere joy of being alive. In that ideal temperature, under those cloudless skies, one at first feels content to let the days drift past, taking no heed for the things of the morrow. But the air has an amazingly rejuvenating effect. In a short time years drop off – one loses superfluous weight and regains colour. Exercise ceases to be exertion and becomes a keen delight. Walks that formerly ranked as a day's excursion become merely a pleasant stroll, to be undertaken between an early tea and a late dinner.

In Palma something to interest or touch one was always happening. Once – it was on the first day of February – we entered the usually deserted Rambla to find a crowd composed chiefly of young men, all of the same age, gathered in front of the barracks. The majority had the sunburnt complexion of the rustic. A few were evidently of higher social standing. Many girls and a few old peasants fringed the crowd. It was the occasion of the annual drawing of lots for the enrolment of the young men of the Palma district, who were to spend their next three years in the army.

Some of the lads peered anxiously in at the closed gates of the barracks; others concealed their concern and chatted gaily with their friends. Military service in that land of sunshine is not arduous. Recruits thus drawn by lot are never sent off their native island, and to flirt with pretty maidservants on the Borne on a Sunday afternoon – which to the casual observer appears to be the leading labour of the Majorcan force – can hardly be termed hard labour. So no doubt many of the rustics were already wondering if they would not look better in shakos and crimson breeches than they did in the blue cotton and goatskins of their shepherds' dress.

At length the gates were thrown open and sergeants called upon the conscripts to enter. Many paused to wave farewells, and almost all saluted or raised their hats as they advanced to put their fortunes to the test. A few of the more smartly dressed strolled nonchalantly in, smoking cigarettes, and we guessed that they, following the native love of a gamble, had already paid a hundred crowns to the insurance company that, in the event of their drawing an unlucky number, would forfeit to the State the three hundred crowns that would purchase their exemption from the three years of service.

A period of suspense dragged past. Then a sympathetic movement of the crowd intimated the deliverance of the first two freed men, who, as they left the gate, threw high in air the couple of breakfast rolls that, with two reales, are presented to every man who has drawn a lucky number. Others relieved and hilarious followed quickly, but many pretty girls and old men waited in vain for the return of the candidates that fate had decreed were to swell the ranks of the standing army. The barracks had swallowed them up and they were seen no more. Perhaps they also had rolls and reales; perhaps they were elated at the prospect of town life; perhaps they already looked back with longing to their almond-trees and goatskins!

For the adventurous, Majorca has plenty of peaks to climb, coasts to navigate, shrines to visit, caves to explore. The distances between the known points of interest – and there are very many places still unexploited – are so easy that a tourist with only a few days at his disposal can visit the most noted parts.

The two brothers in whose interesting company we visited the Dragon Caves had only five days to spend in Majorca. But even in so brief a space of time they succeeded in seeing and in doing much. Their method of mapping out their time was so admirable that I am tempted to quote it.

On Monday night they crossed from Barcelona, arriving at Palma early on Tuesday morning. Having breakfasted on the steamer, they caught the early train for Manacor, where they lunched before driving to the caves. After dining and sleeping at Manacor they took the train on Wednesday morning to the railway terminus at La Puebla, and from there drove to the old towns of Pollensa and Alcudia. That accomplished, they journeyed by rail to Inca, where they passed the night, returning on Thursday by the morning train to Palma, where they spent the day visiting as many places of interest as possible. On Friday they drove to Sóller by way of Valldemosa, Miramar, and Deyá. Rising early on Saturday morning they drove to Fornalutx, and starting from there, climbed the Puig Mayor, getting a superb view from the summit. In the afternoon they drove back to Palma in time to catch the mail boat to Barcelona. The weather had been perfect, and they were able to carry out their well-planned expedition without interruption.

For those who enjoy gentle exploration Palma makes an admirable centre. A good pedestrian could encompass the island on foot, and a journey more full of varied scenery or among pleasanter or more unsophisticated folk could hardly be imagined. Those of less energetic nature would find much of interest within very easy walking distance.

It is almost impossible – in Palma at least – to hire mules, but driving is comparatively cheap. Every few minutes tramcars run to Porto Pi, where there is a good aquarium, with, when we saw it, a splendid display of writhing octopi.

A mile beyond the car terminus is Cas Catalá, where there is a delightfully situated hotel. Just beyond the hotel are lovely walks through the pine woods that border the sea, and pretty little bays, in one of which – that a little way past the carabineros' hut, I think – I got some nice little shells and quite a lot of sponges that had been washed up by the sea.

Genova, which is a very short walk inland from the car terminus at Porto Pi, makes an attractive point for a little excursion. In a garden off one of the by-ways is the entrance to a recently discovered cave, which is the property of the landlord of the little taverna– the Casa Morena – who discovered it when he was digging a well. The cave, though small in extent, resembles the Dragon Caves in miniature, and has beautiful stalactites and stalagmites which are both fine in form and quite unblackened by smoke.

The village church, which until lately was a favourite place of pilgrimage, has many fine altar-pieces and other paintings, and it has the rare quality of being so well-lighted that visitors are able to admire their beauties.

In one of the side chapels is a delicately modelled recumbent wax figure of a young girl. Another chapel has a small square glass case containing a representation of the Nativity that is peculiarly interesting because of the purely local dress of certain of the figures. The Virgin holding the Holy Child is seated in the centre. At her right stands an elderly man, apparently meant for Joseph. It was surely without humorous intent that the devotee who fashioned his garments garbed him in the quaint old Majorcan dress of abnormally wide blue breeches. After seeing Joseph's dress it is not the least surprising to notice that two women who are less important actors in the scene wear their hair in pigtails and the native rebozillos.

From the hill-side that rises behind the church, where the prickly pear grows in great profusion, one can enjoy a glorious panoramic view of the coast.

For slightly longer excursions diligences leave Palma almost daily for all sorts of out-of-the-way and wholly charming places, such as Esporlas, Andraitx, Lluchmayor, Sóller, Estallenchs, Calviá, and Valldemosa. And if the traveller is wise and hastens to book the front seat he will escape danger of death by compression, and be in a position to enjoy a leisurely and comprehensive view of the country.

It is well worth while, when intending to remain overnight at a town, to arrange to arrive on the eve of the weekly market. For market morning brings many quaint rural people flocking into town on panniered mules or in odd ramshackle conveyances. Sunday is the market at Pollensa, and there the traveller may see a profusion of the old men of the zouave-like breeches. San Sellas and Binisalem hold their markets on Sunday also. That of Manacor is on Monday. Artá, Montuiri, Llubí, and Porreras hold market on Tuesday. Wednesday is the day at Sineu, and Thursday at Inca, Muró, and Andraitx. Lluchmayor has Friday, and the day of the week at Palma is Saturday, when the country folk bring in the harvest of their fields and hold a little market of their own in the Plaza del Mercado, under the shadow of the high-towered Church of San Nicolas. Early in May Sóller holds a three days' fiesta, when a historic incident of the landing and repulsion of a band of piratical Moors is enacted with great spirit by the people of the town.

A hint that may prove useful to any one arriving at some remote place where there is no fonda is to ask to be directed to the schoolmaster. He is certain to know Spanish, may be pleased to meet a foreigner, and is sure to be able to recommend a lodging. It is to the courteous schoolmaster of Santañy that we were indebted for this suggestion.

Failing the presence of a schoolmaster, the civil guard is a good person to apply to. They are said to be a fine and absolutely reliable class of men. An artist friend chancing at nightfall to light upon a village where there was no inn, applied to the civil guard, who not only gave him a room in his own house, but appeared in the morning to offer the use of toilet appliances in the form of a comb and a pot of pomade.

The Balearic Islands appear to offer a good field to the entomologist. A friend who visited Majorca during February has given me this list of the butterflies and moths that, even at that early season, he saw in plenty, mostly within a few miles of Palma: Bath White, Cabbage or Common White, Red Admiral, Painted Lady, Clouded Yellow, Brimstone, Wall Brown, Holly Blue, Small Copper, Swallow Tail, and the Humming-bird Hawk Moth.

As the spring advanced and the giant poppies I had sown in November became a four-feet-high hedge, butterflies – strange, to me at least, and very beautiful – fluttered into the little garden of the Casa Tranquila, and probably not finding the poppies so luscious as their brilliant appearance had led them to expect, speedily fluttered out again. They did not make their home with us, as had the big locust that, in the late autumn, I captured when he was feasting on a moth in the shrubby field behind the convent. Bringing the prisoner home in my handkerchief, I set him on a pink ivy-geranium that flourished in one of the big green flower-pots on the veranda.

He seemed well content with his new quarters, for there he stayed all winter, taking up his position first in the tall scented verbena, and, when that lost its leaves, changing his perch to an adjacent almond-tree, as though he knew that would be the first to bloom.

Very early in the year he vanished, and we thought he had gone for good. But just as the first pale blossoms were opening in the almond groves he re-appeared, bringing with him the female of his species, and together in connubial amity they shared his old home in the almond-tree. When the pale rose-tinted blossoms had fallen, and the grey-green velvet pods of the young almonds were emerging from the crimson calyxes, the locust and his bride deserted us to seek a wider pasturage.

Though we wandered far from beaten tracks, the sole trace of reptiles encountered was an occasional discarded snakeskin. In Iviza lovely green and golden lizards and highly-varnished toy frogs in all "art" shades abounded, but we saw none of either in Majorca.

Our only insect pests were mosquitoes – who, probably recognizing an alien and attractive flavour in our blood, were a disturbing nocturnal influence until, with the aid of a few yards of mosquito netting, we succeeded in frustrating their knavish tricks. Even by day they were not invariably quiescent; but the mosquito is a gentleman. He always gives warning before attacking an enemy, and when we met in open combat, there was something of the joy of battle in the defence. According to local report, the tenure of his days should have ended with November; but it was not until a fall of the temperature about the middle of January that our assailant withdrew his battalions and left us in peace.

Though our visit was a winter one, the wild flowers were an unfailing source of pleasure. The season was unusually dry, yet I never took a country walk without finding some blossom that was new to me.

When we arrived in October the rocky slopes about Porto Pi were covered by a royal carpet of the purple autumnal crocus. The last of the sea lavender was fading, but horned poppies and chicory were in bloom. It was there, too, that in November we found the curiously shaped brown and green wild arums that are known in America as "Dutchmen's pipes," and locally referred to as frares, whose acquaintance we afterwards made at Andraitx. In April, when we left Majorca, pretty little white and lavender iris starred the ground and rich purple mallows and golden mesembryanthemums covered the rocks of Porto Pi.

The beautiful coast about Cas Catalá had a herbage of its own. Tall flowering heath, a persistently blooming plant with dark blue buttons, and delicate yellow rock roses were, as the months slipped past, succeeded by a fine display of cistus.

Throughout the whole time of our stay a constant succession of sweet lavender blossomed on the grey-green bushes. Asphodel, too, abounded. The first to open was the smaller species, with its rushy foliage and slender spikes of bloom. In January the tall rods of the poet's asphodel rose in such profusion that we were forced to give it place as the typical island flower. Forced reluctantly, I confess, for to some the odour of the tall asphodel, when growing in quantity, is far from pleasant.

It was at Sóller, that district of piquant contrasts, that we saw the delicate greenhouse maidenhair-fern growing in masses with English ivy along walls, or draping the moist sides of the water runnels.

It was at Sóller, too, that we first made the acquaintance of the ten-inch-high daisy. There was little of the character of its Scots relative, the "wee, modest, crimson-tippéd flower," in this aspiring plant. But the Balearic Islands have another form of the Bellis perennis, a lavender daisy, that sustains the family reputation for humility by cowering close to the soil.

The winter had been so dry that the flowers of early spring were disappointing. I found a few purple anemones where I had expected to see hundreds, and gleaned a handful or two of narcissus from the dry bed of the torrent where I had hoped to gather baskets full.

But with the coming of the long-hoped-for rain the earth gave up her secrets, and secrets worth knowing they proved themselves. There were amazing orchids – little round-bellied flies, so life-like that one half-expected to hear them buzz; or glorious travesties of insects that never were, some with bodies of glittering metallic blue daintily edged with brown fur, others with delicate wings of rosy heliotrope.

It was odd to find garden pets – grape hyacinths, gladiolus, iris – leading a gipsy life on those sunny slopes, and odder still to discover begonias, or even Nigella damascena, camping out, as it were. One felt inclined to demand to be told why they were shirking their obvious duty of beautifying gloomy British gardens.

The following list of the rarer Balearic plants, given me by a noted Scottish gardener, is specially interesting as showing the wide range of the island flora: Anthyllis cytisoides, Astragalus poterium, Cynoglossum pictum, Daphne vallæoides, Delphinium pictum, Digitalis dubia, Genista cineria, Hedysarum coronarium, Hedysarum spinosissimum, Helianthemum serræ, Helianthemum salicifolium, Helichrysum Lamarkii, Hippocrepis balearica, Hypericum balearicum, Lavatera cretica, Lavatera minoricensis, Leucojum Hernandezii, Linaria triphylla, Linaria fragilis, Lotus creticus, Melilotus messanensis, Micromeria Rodriguezii, Micromeria filiformis, Ononis crispa, Ononis breviflora, Ononis minutissima, Pastinæa lucida, Phlomis italica, Polygala rupestris, Scutellaria Vigineuxii, Sencio Rodriguezii, Sibthorpia africana, Silene rubella, Sonchus spinosus, Vicia atropurpurea.

Perhaps it was because wild flowers bloomed all through the months that the native children did not care to gather them, and that indifference to natural blossoms prevailed in all classes of the community. It seemed as though the Majorcans had not yet realized the decorative value of flowers. One rarely saw cut flowers used on the table or in the reception-rooms even of people on whose country estates roses and violets blossomed all the year round. I never saw flowers for sale in the big daily market, and the few clusters that in spring the countryfolk brought in to the Saturday market would scarcely have sufficed to trim one fashionable hat.

In February, when the rose-coloured blossoms of the cistus were beginning to open on the uplands, the brown-cheeked shepherd boys began to look for the young shoots of the wild asparagus, which they made into little bunches for sale, bound round with broad asphodel leaves fastened with long, sharp prickles.

Though a gourmet could hardly have taken exception to the flavour of the asparagus thus gathered, he might have objected to the size, for the shoots were seldom larger than that sold in London under the mysterious name of "sprue." But the flavour was delicious, and when one added the pleasure of gathering to the value when found, the wild asparagus was worth its weight in gold. While the season lasted we often brought in a bunch or two from our sunset strolls, and these occasions were signalized by the appearance of asparagus omelet at supper.