Menorca in 2012
Memories from a short solo trip to the Balearic Islands.
I remember that I had taken a week of vacation towards the end of May beginning of June, planning to stay in Berlin. Then work and the city got so exhausting that I spontaneously decided I needed to go abroad, somewhere with salt water and sun. So, for the first – and so far last time – in my adult life, I booked a package tour that included the flight, airport transfer, and a hotel room. I picked Menorca as my destination, an island that always had a certain pull as we used to visit it often when I was a kid. In my memory, the trip lasted a week, but in fact, it was only three days.
I remember that I declared this vacation to be an offline vacation that’s how annoyed I seem to have been with all things digital. So, I bought a single-use underwater camera and walkman that I filled with some old tapes. Obviously, I only half-heartedly stuck to this plan and I have to admit that I was only willing to spend half the day without a phone because I was scared someone would steal it on the beach.
I remember that the flight took me via Mallorca with a short transit time at the airport. I was bored, but an immediate vacation feeling hit me. The flight between the two islands felt ridiculous as it took less than an hour and the plane did not even bother to really reach its cruise altitude. I spent the whole flight glued to the window, spotting boats and their passengers and finally the coastline of Menorca. At the airport I found my airport transfer, a large coach that would make its way across the island, dropping off the vacationers at their individual hotels. Mine was close to Ciutadella, the furthest from the airport, which made me one of the last passengers on board.
At the hotel I was a bit overwhelmed by the size of the room. I had booked a palace for almost no money. The size of the room, however, did not make up for the fact that it was quite ugly. Still clean and with a small kitchen for breakfast and lunches. The surroundings were plastered with other hotels and a strange assortment of pools, the sunbeds occupied by couples and families basking in the sun. Fortunately, a cove was just a short walk from the hotel. From there I could take short walks along the coastline or just lie in the sand and read. And reading I did. I believe I had two or three books, but in the end I still had to pick up another from one of the small shops that cater to the needs of tourists.
The days during this vacation followed the same pattern. I would get up early and have a small breakfast provided by a small supermarket close to the hotel. Passing through the strange hotel resort to what I would start to refer to as “my cove”. In the mornings, I was the only person there, the first to take a swim in the sea – and even during the day not many people appeared, and the main language on the beach would remain Spanish. The Germany and Brits seemed to prefer the pool, which I did not mind at all. For the next hours, I would lie in the sun, read, listen to music, go for swims to cool down, and go for walks around the cove.
In the late afternoons, I would take a cab to Ciutadella, to have dinner and explore the town with my camera. I have a faint memory of a festival happening one day, with musicians at every street corner, singing songs in Balearic-Catalan, the native tongue of the islands. Then there were the swallows crisscrossing across the small strips of blue sky above the small alleyways. I also remember standing next to a building for a while, taking it all in, while listening to the music coming from one of the windows. After dark, I would take a cab back to the hotel, to sleep in a bed that was too big for one person, in a hotel room that was too big for one person, feeling very content.
During my stay, I hardly spoke to anyone. I did not make any phone calls to people at home and my conversations with people on the island were limited to ordering food or drinks or saying “hello” and “thank you”. I was alone but I never felt lonely.
The day of my departure I was the first to be picked up by the airport transfer. Since it had to make the round across the whole island to pick up the other tourists, it came awfully early. I think my check-out was handled by a security guard who spoke no English or German. But he was so nice to offer me food and coffee from the breakfast buffet, despite the fact that I hadn’t booked any meals. I have no recollection of the bus ride itself, I must have been dead tired. Maybe I witnessed the sunrise, maybe I fell asleep. But I do remember how happy I felt after this short trip. How long it felt and how relaxed I was at the end of it.
