Monday, July 13, 2009, morning

We are on the ferry between Palma and Ibiza. It would have been cheaper to fly, but it is nice to feel the sea breeze and listen to the waves against the side of the boat. I really like the white, architectural lounge furniture on the decks -- you would not see anything like it on American ferries or cruises. In the cafe, there were some people playing loud techno. I am looking forward to hearing more music that is of a kind I have never heard before.

Alex -- who has sailed all his life, and took Greddy sailing all around the Caribbean, and sailed a Transatlantic race (for minis) between France and Brazil a couple of years ago -- is telling us all about sailing, and catamarans and trimarans in particular. We are thinking of renting a catamaran tomorrow, to explore around Ibiza, but Alex is a bit wary because it's actually very difficult to right a catamaran once it has capsized.  


Sunday, July 12, 2009, sunset

I am writing this while watching the last remnants of a tangerine sunset fade behind the jagged mountains of Majorica. I am sitting in the sand, and the Mediterranean periodically washes over my toes, grabbing sand from underneath each digit so that cavities are carved out in the hard, packed wet sand. My toes are gradually sinking into the earth and water -- as I track the patterns of far-extending waves up the shore, I know I must get up in a couple of minutes, if I wish to escape the high tide. I am listening to music.    

We came to this water yesterday and swam in it before and during sunset; the sand underneath is free of rocks, the water is clear and seems slightly green-hued, there are no fish or jellyish, and there is barely any seaweed. 

Before swimming, we walked about five kilometers to rent a scooter. The path there was meandering and filled with walkers, dogs, joggers, runners, rollerbladers, bikers, and those four-person pedaled carts (as in Chicago, it is a dangerous mix of sizes and speeds). It was beautiful: meadow grasses and sailboat docks and dry wildflowers and welded metal sculptures and sand all mixed together. We could look out East over the Mediterranean and more of Majorica's mountains.

Later in the evening, we scootered into Palma's old city and met Alex in front of the Cathedral, which is the city's only major building (there are several small to moderate castles and forts scattered all over the island, but this is the most imposing structure). The cathedral is built solidly of thick indigenous stone that is the same color as the island's stone and dirt. It seems to me that its buttresses are incredibly thick --  perhaps the cathedral was built to represent the might and presence of the Church on this outpost. It is known simply as "the Cathedral." We had wine and tapas at an outdoor bar nearby, and then gelato while walking by the island's main marinas and clubs. 

Me: "I never knew there were so many wealthy people in the world, that every island would have so many yachts and sailboats."

Alex: "No -- most just have their boats here."

Today, we scootered along the northwestern coast of Majorica, where there are steep cliffs that fall off into the ocean, and rocky beaches, and little coastal villages with names like Solle and Deia and Valdemossa. They are filled with rustic stone houses that are surrounded by gardens of orange (the fruits are small and pale), lemon, and olive trees. In one olive tree farm, I saw a magnificent white horse with dappled pale gray on its rear. It had a young foal by its side. The native trees are mostly alpine, I think. Cultivated flowers on the island are white and hot pink or majenta or pink-violet. The terracotta shingles, which are made from the island's pale orange clay, are the same beautiful color as the sides of the cliffs, and some of the striations I see bare on the sides of the island's ragged mountains. I think that the mountain chains are metamorphic in origin because they are striated, "ribbony," and appear compressed in certain planes when I look at cross-sections (I could be completely wrong of course). The landscape reminds me of California -- perhaps as the Irish and Scottish settled Appalachia for its mountains, the Spanish colonized California for its coastal cliffs and arid climate.    

In Valdemossa, we stopped along the coast, along a rocky shore to swim. The stones on the beach ranged from about six to eight inches in diameter, and they were multicolored: white and ivory and tangerine and ochre and deep red. There were also gnarled, sun-bleached twigs that had been smoothed in the sea. I wore flip-flops into the water because of the barnacles and sharp rocks, but they made me slip on the dark green sea slime that covered the larger rocks. Because of this slime,i think, the water near the shore had taked on an emerald hue.  

Being in Spain makes me realize how Puritanical America really is. Most young European women take their tops off. It seems strange to me that the countries that once conquered the world in the name of the Church are now the most culturally liberal, while the countries that were conquered are now the ones that are the most culturally conservative -- perhaps the echoes of missionary work reverberate in countries that are somewhat isolated from the rest of the world.    

I am irritated with myself for not being able to figure out how to connect to a wireless network with my phone, when I need to go to a website to put in the username and password. There must be some easy way to do it. 


Saturday, July 11, 2009, morning

On my way to Spain for the first time. After Mexico, it will be an interesting contrast: the conquered, and now the conquerer. 

On the flight to CDG, I watched the Coco Chanel biopic, instead of sleeping to evade jetlag. I would have liked to see some of her middle-aged life, when she was building her empire. 

Now waiting for our connecting flight to Barcelona, from which we will fly to Palma. Alex will meet us at the airport OR the hotel, in typical Cruftlabs boy fashion. I am excited to explore the Baleiric (sp?) islands, and I am hoping that we will be able to rent scooters or bicycles on Mallorca. Unfortunately, sailboat rental is too expensive, but hopefully, we will be able to swim in the Mediterranean. 

And in Ibiza, I am hoping to discover completely new electronic music, even though the boys have their hearts set on DJ Tiesto and Armin van Buren, great techno legends that I feel came before my time. I am not a huge techno fan, but it should be an interesting experience ("The world's largest club"). I am hoping to come across new subgenres of electronic music, hopefully on the beach, at night.

I am always struck by how well-dressed and slender Europeans are. I still want to move here -- not because I fit in, but because I just like everything here so much more (though Greddy says that my "attitude is European" -- not sure what that means). I really regret not having learned Spanish and French.     

OS 3.0 makes it possible for me to use my phone as a netbook:  cut / copy allows me to compose this and upload it later; the horizontal keyboard makes the act of writing on this tiny thing more pleasant, and certainly faster. I wish I hadn't deleted my Blogger app. It is far smaller than the pretty but bulky analog notebook I brought along.
 

Itinerary

July 11: Palma - scooters / island exploring, beaches
July 13: Ibiza - music, dancing, beaches
July 16: Barcelona - wandering, Gaudi
July 20: Granada - Alhambra and gardens 
July 21: Seville - wandering
July 23: Madrid - Prado, Alcazar, wandering
July 26: Chicago

Orientation starts on the 27th, and I am hoping that this trip (and the time I have had off since November) will help me to get over my wanderlust (and writinglust?). Starting in August, my mind will be awash with biochemical cycles. That's right -- nothing but biochem and molbio. 

I think I will find a weird kind of relief in it though -- I will be able to put off thinking about Major Life Decisions and Considerations, which have been driving me nuts lately. 

Yes, this quarterlife crisis has been stressing and freaking me out completely. I am looking forward to being too busy to think about frivolous things, or at least, things I don't need to think about.  

(Will the midlife crisis be much worse? Will I have maturity and wisdom by then?) 


Friday, July 10, 2009

Back from The Mayan Riviera two days ago. Learned to sail catamarans on the royal blue and turquoise waters of the Gulf of Mexico. It was my first time being captain on the open seas, a fact that frightened and excited me. I had not sailed in a long time, and it was difficult for me to find the direction the wind was coming from and the optimal
direction for me to sail in (should be 90 degrees WRT the wind, but for some reason I could not find it exactly -- it took some fidgeting, some fine-tuning). The water was rough, and the plastic, hollow Hobiecat hulls boomed as they hit oncoming wavecrests. It was invigorating, though we did not go too far.

On the beach, I read The Home and the World, scribbled in my notebook, sipped mojitos, jogged, listened to Empire of the Sun, and swam (until stung repeatedly by little jellyfish, which left their stinging, translucent, threadlike tentacles wrapped around my wrists, and hundreds of tiny millimeter-wide bumps on my arms and legs, concentrated in the shapes of their flowing bodies. The bumps ceased smarting and receded after a few minutes. I later ventured back into the water, but in safety, on a float, and mindful of the red flags arrayed on the shore. [Apparently, thousands of jellyfish congregate here in August / September. Not sure for what purpose: perhaps it is like Spring Break for spawning jellyfish?]).

Best part though was being with the fam. Won't see them again until white coat weekend.