Menorca

With the upcoming elections, I want to take a moment to point out one important issue that, disappointingly, the candidates have been conspicuously avoiding: increased vacation time. I'm not one to think that my short time in Europe, and my short time on this Earth in general, puts me in a position to preach about complex ways that European countries are different from America, but I think we can all remember elementary school when we learned that 4 > 1. This especially applies with summer vacation. Since the Spanish have a month of vacation time (in addition to adjusted work schedules to allow for beach time), it's the general rule in Spain that August is holiday month, and things pretty much shut down. Because no one wanted English lessons during their Sacred Vacation Time, this meant a lot of free time for me as well. And let me tell you, I'd give up having a dishwasher (and dryer, and microwave...) for life if it meant having more than a week or two of vacation every year. I've had people tell me, completely straight-faced, that there would be riots in the streets if the government tried to change the current system. They're in disbelief when I tell them that a lot of people in America have a week tops, and even more so when I explain the concept of sick days. Here, when you're sick, you just don't go to work. (But to be fair, they have been building the Sagrada Familia since 1882, so maybe there's something to be said about a few less siestas every year).  Anyway, after Tomatina, Ashley and I took a short Monday - Thursday trip to Menorca as soon as the prices dropped September 1st.

The first day, we only had to walk out of the hotel to find ourselves on the beach.  At one point I realized that I was paying the same amount to stay in the hotel on the beach as I did to stay in dreadful Hostel New York during the second half of my first month in Barcelona. But I probably would never have moved if my hostel had a pool with flamenco music and cheap pitchers of sangria.

How fun do these look?!




The second day, we took a bus from Calan Bosch, where we were staying, to Cala Blanca a little bit further north.  This is where the bus driver dropped us off:

 

Menorca's coastline is dotted with "calas," which don't really have an easy translation into English.  This is what a cala is:

Closer look:
There are dozens of these mini beach/coves all over the island, some more secluded than others.  I went snorkeling with a snorkel I "borrowed" from the hotel.  (By the way - in Spanish, you can say "gafas" for the mask, which is the same words for glasses and "tubo," for the tube.  It's so intuitive and makes you wonder who came up with words like "snorkel" and "goggles" that you can only use in a really specific context. This is why I sometimes find myself apologizes to my students for the complexities of our language.)

Back at the hotel:



On the last, and decidedly best, day we had an unexpected, amazing time completely by accident.  In order to kill time before we caught the bus to the other side of the island, we wandered towards the coast near Ciatudella, the main city on the west side...
There we came across the coastline, which was nothing like in Calan Bosch.  It was rocky, with cliffs that dropped down into the sea, and it reminded me a little bit of the way Northeast of America.

We found a secret cave/ homeless person's dwelling, and ventured in.

Ashley found her Favorite Spot in the World, and we carefully climbed down and dangled our feet off the edge, waiting for just the right wave to come along...



Then we walked down to the water, and played chicken with the waves.

Soaked!  Some boys fishing off the edge were looking at me like I was a crazy woman.  They signaled to me that they had caught 4 fish so far, then I waved bye and it was Ashley's turn.

Wait for it...

Classic!

Instant Replay!

With the sun setting, it was time to leave.

We made our way back to the bus, then fell asleep during the 45 minute ride to Mahon.

Downtown Mahon:

Mahon is known for having the second largest natural port in the world, or some other impressive statistic like that.  Here is it - it's really pretty at night: 

We caught a late flight back to Barcelona, the kind of flight that takes off, and after what seems like 5 minutes, the pilot announces the landing.  It's times like this that make me appreciate choosing to live in Barcelona versus another city in Spain and make me realize that I could never live away from the coast.  

"My life if like a stroll on the beach... as near to the edge as I can go." - Thoreau