A BULL ON THE BEACH
Copyright Anna Nicholas, 2012
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For Sari and Tomeu, and their daughters, Isabel and Catalina, whose friendship has been an enduring factor of Sller Valley life
CONTENTS
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Many kind souls have aided me on this latest adventure exploring the many wonderful aspects of Mallorcan rural life and, more importantly, island sustainability. Some of those who have gone the extra mile include my dear friends Ignacio and Cristina Recalde, Barbara Mesquida of Jaume Mesquida wines, Cristina Alcover, sheep farmer Jaume Jaume and Manuel Romero of Angus Mayol.
It would be unforgiveable of me not to acknowledge the enduring support of Roger Katz, Maggie Tyler, Pere and Margarita Serra, Ignacio Vasallo and Enrique Ruiz of Turespaa, Jason Moore, editor of the Majorca Daily Bulletin, Lluc Garcia, editor of the Sller newspaper and Biel Aguareles, editor of the Veu de Sller. I would like to thank Sven Gevers, director of La Residencia in Deia for his support of my books and for his excellent advice about Catalan caviar, and Maril Ribes for introducing me to a wealth of ecological producers across the island.
I much appreciate the continuing generosity of Jumeirah Hotels, one of whose flagship properties now adorns Sller Port, and also the new Corinthia Hotel London. As before I would like to give a special mention to Jennifer Barclay, commissioning editor of Summersdale Publishers for her continuing friendship, and to the company's editorial and publicity teams.
And finally I would like to offer a well-deserved abraada to Alan and Ollie for their unstinting good humour and patience, and extend my sincerest thanks to the Sller community for its warm friendship and to my readers for having so loyally supported my work.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
As a freelance journalist, Anna Nicholas has contributed to titles such as The Telegraph, Financial Times, The Independent, Tatler, Daily Mail, Daily Express UltraTravel and the Evening Standard. She contributes a twice-weekly 'Majorcan Pearls' blog to The Telegraph Expat and a weekly column to the Majorca Daily Bulletin. She is a fellow of the Royal Geographical Society and has been an international adjudicator for The Guinness Book of Records. Together with explorer Colonel John Blashford-Snell she has also organised an expedition to carry a grand piano to the remote Wai Wai tribe in South America, which was the subject of a BBC TV documentary. Her author website is at www.anna-nicholas.com.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Most of the local vernacular used in this book is in the Mallorcan dialect. Although Mallorcan is derived from Catalan and is believed to have been spoken for more than five or six centuries, it varies greatly when written. During the Franco era, Mallorcan was forbidden in Balearic schools and this has made it an oral language, reliant on Catalan when transcribed to print because no dictionary in Mallorcan exists. Today, Catalan is the main language used in Mallorcan schools with the Mallorcan dialect being spoken in the street and in the home. The vocabulary and spelling often varies greatly from village to village in Mallorca. I have taken advice from local language experts and so hope to have accurately transcribed the Mallorcan language to print. However, I apologise unreservedly to any fervent linguists who may care to differ!
One
THE NAKED TRUTH
S omething is sizzling in the sun. Not a sausage, but what appears to be a naked human form smothered in a deep, coppery-hued oil and sporting swimming goggles. I stop on the track to catch my breath, rubbing my eyes hard to dispel the bizarre mirage shimmering before me in the fierce late summer heat. When I look up, it's still there, lying corpse-like on the cement surface of my neighbour Rafael's squat cisterna, his decrepit old water tank that stands a few feet from the track. What to do? There's nothing for it. I decide to jog casually by in my well-worn, dusty trainers, directing my gaze to the distant, verdant flanks of the Tramuntana mountains where hopefully I might see nothing more surprising than a frisky cabra Mallorquina, the island's famed goat, or possibly a hunter setting off home in the early morning with a cache of rabbits.
As I reach Rafael's front yard, there's a flicker of movement from the cisterna and the strange bronzed creature rises up onto its feet, grasps a small towel to cover its modesty and yells out to me.
'Hey, running woman! You don't say hola to your neighbours any more?'
I turn round, wincing under the white glare of the sun. 'Rafael, please tell me that's not you.'
He raises the goggles carefully up onto his head displaying two ludicrously white circles around his brown eyes. 'Of course it's me! I am sunbathing, how you say, au naturel. Is the same in English?'
'We have many expressions, but I rather like "in your birthday suit".'
'But I can sunbathe in my birthday suit even when is not my birthday? And why say "suit" when I wear nothing at all?'
'"Suit" just refers to the naked state you were in on the day you were born. It's just a funny expression.'
He claps his hands together enthusiastically. 'OK, so today I shall wear my birthday suit until the sun goes down!'
'Well, I wish you wouldn't. You're frightening the chickens.'
Indeed Rafael's brood of histrionic scrawny hens and cockerels, which are forever wandering freely on the track in kamikaze fashion, are now flapping about his feet and squawking in evident shock and disdain. He shows me a set of gleaming teeth and does a little jiggle.
'My friend bring me this special tanning oil from Hungary, but he tell me to wear tight goggles because if it runs in your eye, the pain is very bad.'