ALL ABOARD!

There's a new tourist attraction on Mallorca – and we seem to be it. Of course, I don't mean us as individuals, but the rural valley in which we live. It all began in the spring, with the occasional appearance of a tourist-packed orange minibus, being driven slowly down the lane that abuts one of the borders of our land. There's a point on this lane where these minibuses slow down to drink in the views over our property and down in the distance to Llorenzo's farm on the valley floor.

Over the summer, the frequency of the minibus appearances increased – to the extent that they became daily and, on some days, there were two of them travelling in convoy. Even this week, with autumn rains lashing down, at least one bus has come by each day. We could set our watches by their arrival; we've usually been sitting outside having a coffee break at the time. It's been a bit like being in a goldfish bowl ("Ooh, look, people!"), but we've usually given a cheery wave in their direction. Such precise time-keeping surely means these excursions are for German visitors.

But what exactly do they come to see? I'm curious to know how much tourists have to pay for these trips and how they're pitched to them: "Having trouble sleeping? Come and count sheep!"; "A trip into the valley that time forgot"; "A magical mystery tour" or "Discover The Real Mallorca". Surely it's not the latter, as rural tourism's hardly something new . . .

This is a lovely picturesque valley, but I just hope these folks feel they're getting value for their holiday euros. Does the experience of journeying through our narrow country lanes, noses pressed eagerly against the minibus windows, as they pass tumbledown stone walls, fields full of asphodels and hobbled sheep, and the occasional finca, meet their expectations of the trip? There isn't even a traditional local restaurant serving frit mallorquí or a cup of coffee . . .

Perhaps next year we should erect one of those mirador signs for keen photographers, and set up a roadside stall selling drinks and snacks? Could be a nice little earner – but not half as lucrative as selling minibus excursions.

Jan Edwards ©2008

I ♥ SEPTEMBER

September is probably my favourite month on Mallorca. The searing heat of August is over – usually washed away by the first storm after summer – and life gets back to normal. Like returning to school or college, there's a feeling of a new beginning.

In July and August, many businesses in Manacor (our nearest town), close at lunchtime for the rest of the day. September sees the return of afternoon trading hours, so we can once again choose which end of the day we want to shop or do other chores in town. Even after five summers here, it's still a bit frustrating that there's a mass shut-down at lunchtime – though who can blame the locals for heading for the beach in such heat?

Manual labour outdoors isn't on my agenda in the height of summer. One job that's impossible is decorating: once the temperature hits 25 degrees, gloss paint turns into something akin to liquid tar.

Come September - after a long break from DIY - I'm champing at the bit to begin the sanding, painting and varnishing necessary to prepare our sun-scorched persianas (slatted shutters) for the ravages of winter. We have a lot of weather in this part of Mallorca . . .

When we're not working on the finca, September's social calendar is pretty rich. A favourite is the Nit de l'Art in Palma – a celebration of art in the city's galleries and streets. Palma has more art galleries in relation to population size than any other city in Spain, so it's a full evening of browsing, partying and people-watching. And the last weekend of the month sees September out in fine style, with the wine festival in Binissalem. Another souvenir wine-tasting glass for the collection . . .

As the September days shorten, my early morning walks don't need to be quite so early, so I can linger in bed for another quarter of an hour and still enjoy the new day's freshness before the sun pops over the side of the valley to warm things up.

September also brings a brief ornithological treat to our valley: the bee-eaters spend a few days checking out the local scene (but not eating bees, apparently). We're always stupidly excited when we hear their distinctive calls, and rush outside with the binoculars in hope of a sighting. Their exotically colourful plumage, gliding and swooping add up to a fantastic flying display. Within days, they're off, until this time next year.

And finally, September is when my Dad always has the second of his two holidays a year with us. Before we moved to Mallorca, he'd never holidayed on the island; now he's been out nine times and has come to love the place and its warm and hospitable people almost as much as I do. And
September's weather here is much better than in the UK!

HOLIDAY DREAMS

It had dawned on me that we hadn't had a proper foreign holiday – one with relaxation, pool, great food, no cooking, and drinks in glasses accessorised with paper umbrellas – since 2002. I started dreaming (day and night) about being on holiday: I was back at Le Maquis, a small but very special hotel in Porticcio on Corsica, where we once had a fabulously relaxing time and ate way too much. I'd be nose-deep in a Michael Crichton (book, of course), parked on a lounger by the sparkling swimming pool and sipping at a cool drink brought to me by a smartly-uniformed waiter. Dream on . . .

As well as coming to stay with us on Mallorca, several of our recent visitors have been holidaying in more exotic places like Australia, Japan and the States, and regaled us with tempting travellers' tales. But when I mentioned my need for a holiday to one couple, I had a fairly typical response: “You're permanently on holiday - and you live on Mallorca!”

Excuse me?! Permanently on holiday? We live in an old finca and, believe me, it's no holiday. There's always a list of jobs to be done when you have an old house with a lot of land. Just keeping the window shutters in decent repair is one of those jobs like painting the Forth Bridge – you never actually finish it. Why is it that some people imagine that our days are spent sightseeing, enjoying long lunches in glitzy waterside eateries, and lazing around on one of the island's many beautiful beaches? If only . . .

We also spend quite a bit of time looking after friends and family members who come to stay with us on a holiday or short break. It's something we really love doing but, to make sure everyone has a great stay, calls for a fair flurry of activity in the housework/shopping/catering/entertaining departments.

Sadly, our budget and a few other factors mean a "proper" holiday isn't possible, but The Boss recently celebrated An Important Birthday, and it was the perfect excuse to slip away for a couple of nights and pretend to be holidaymakers.

Our trip took us to Cala Rajada in the north-east of the island. It's only a 25 minute drive from our finca (close enough for me to be able to return each day to feed/water/cuddle the two cats; there are no decent catteries near Manacor) but we'd only visited twice before, so it was a bit of a voyage of discovery.

We stayed at The Sea Club, a unique place that's rather like chilling out in the colonial-style seaside home of British friends. It's relaxing, comfortable, totally unstuffy, has a fascinating history (Sean Connery's stayed there) and there are no smart uniforms to make you feel underdressed when you're slopping around in your swimmies or shorts. Want a drink? If there's nobody behind the bar, you help yourself and write what you've had in the honesty book!

It wasn't the 5-star hotel I'd been dreaming about, but it was every bit as enjoyable and had two great advantages over the Corsican holiday: one, we didn't have to go through all the hassle of flying home afterwards and, two, it's close enough that we can return for the odd night when we've saved up some more dosh. Time to crack on with the freelance writing . . .

Jan Edwards ©2008