More on Mallorca

My notebook with all of the exciting tidbits that I was just dying to tell you is not at this internet cafe. But I am (and so is an African Gray who keeps wolf-whistling all of the female customers), so I will write without my notes.

We're doing a good job of vacationing here, I think. A nice mix of vegging out on the beach dramatically increasing our chances of skin cancer and partaking in the various tourist traps (erm... trips) that are offered through our hotel. And I think I am starting to strike a good balance between alone-time and dad-time, which was becoming increasingly urgent. (Unfortunately, the other thing I need, which is social-time, just isn't really happening, except electronically. Oh well. Cope.)

Yesterday we took a little cruise out to Mallorca's most famous cave, which quite lived up to its reputation. I find cave formations breathtaking in general, and found myself even cheering for the stalagmites and stalactites who had finally reached their goal and joined hands forever as columns. (Note how my need to socialize is causing me to anthropomorphize even the poor unsuspecting limestone?) And today, on our mini-bus tour through the "unknown Mallorca", I was all about the connection motifs, marveling at how they always plant two or three olive trees together, so that when they start to grow up, they can weather any storm. (Where two or three are gathered... there must be a sermon illustration in there somewhere.)

The flora is amazing here (the fauna, less so - mostly sheep and goats). We saw and nibbled on the fruit of olive trees, fig trees (is there anything more yummy than a ripe fig? *salivates*), lemon trees, orange trees, carob trees, date palms (which don't grow any dates, due to the too-cold winters, so no nibbling there), and almond trees.

I now know more than I would have otherwise bothered to find out about the production of olive oil, the history of Roman, French and Arab conquests in the area, and the soil quality of Mallorca. I also found out that Christopher Colombus was the son of pirates and grew up just offshore of Mallorca (wasn't allowed on the island for obvious reasons), and that my guide shook Bill Clinton's hand once. I had the chance to pretend to be trilingual as I translated the German tour for my dad and fielded the very nice Spanish chatter of our bus driver (we were sitting right up front next to him). My Spanish is piss-poor after so many years of latency, but it came back quickly enough to satisfy Pepe (yes, Pepe). I really enjoy this language stuff.

I'm exhausted. Time for dinner and then more of the nose-in-book phenomenon that I am realizing probably began as an avoidance technique in my not-terribly-happy (but not really catastrophically unhappy, either) nuclear family. Well, at least my avoidance techniques are constructive ones, I guess. All right, kids, I've got some more hard-core vacationing to do. Better check out what sorts of seafood is gracing the buffet tonight (I had grilled octopus for lunch yesterday... very interesting). Toodle-oo!