Touching Down in Paradise

Oh the sun, that lovely lovely sun…

Enveloping me in a warm, fragrant blanket as soon as I stepped out of the plane at Palma airport, it sent me skipping happily down the aeroplane steps onto the tacky tarmac below; contributing not a little to the general feelings of joy at a plan well executed.

Being a smidgen weighed-down with luggage, I decided to take a taxi to my destination of Puerto Alcúdia… possibly an ill-advised first experience in my host country.

The general approach to driving appeared decidedly less regimented than I had been used to: the speed at which cars were travelling apparently depending more upon the intensity of the conversation the driver was conducting, than either the legal speed limit or the nature of the thoroughfare.

Mirrors and indicators obviously serving purely decorative purposes; I watched, terrified, as drivers swerved haphazardly in and out of the traffic seemingly unaware that they were not alone on the roads.

At last we arrived at the northern tip of the island, and I lugged my bags  up to the top floor of one of the many white buildings lining the Paseo Marítimo, and into the little apartment I had kindly been offered the use of until I found my feet.

Throwing open the balcony doors, I was greeted by a huge expanse of glorious blue sea twinkling cheerfully back at me in the evening light; an endless horizon of as yet unknown possibilities stretching out before my greedy teenage eyes.

But first on the list of things to do was to eat.

My body, suddenly catching on to the fact that I hadn’t had a thing since breakfast, instructed my stomach to set up a hard-to-ignore rumble. So, pocketing the pile of pesetas still left over from the Thomas Cook exchange counter, I made my way down to street level.

A riotous wall of noise reached my ears as I pulled open the heavy door: mopeds zipped around deafeningly, driven with nonchalant carelessness by sophisticated-looking teenagers; car horns impatiently adding their complaints to the mesmerizing babble of chatter that before long would become the background music to my Spanish life.

There were restaurants all along the Paseo, but I chose the one directly beneath the apartment building.

A large, peppermint striped awning covered the terrace that spilled out into the street, and I headed for a small table in the corner – ideal for observing my intriguing new surroundings.

Delicious smells wafted out from the kitchen, increasing the gastric mumblings, and when a waiter handed me a menu, I took it eagerly; smiling my thanks.

Half an hour later I swallowed the last bite of pizza (it was far too early to start taking my chances with any of those foreign dishes…) and sat back with a sigh of unadulterated contentment.

Oh yes. The next six months definitely had potential…