Reasons to be Cheerful - Part 2

 

The day started with a taxi ride. I was to be taken to Deia and my bags to be taken on to Porto Soller, so I had to be up early to pack. The driver was a little vexed that he had to detour to be within 50m of my digs, because the centre of town was closed in anticipation of more holy ceremonials, and festivities for Santa Catalina. Soon we were on the road and within 30 minutes at a lay-by above Deia.

Deia is such a cool place. It’s obvious what attracted so many artists - painters, poets, musicians – to settle here. The topography of the town is convoluted, with a long climb to the Church and cemetery at the top of a natural outcrop – that was to be first port of call. I had promised my nephew Mikey that I would find the final resting place of two musicians, Kevin Ayres and Ollie Halsall, in whose work and lifestyle he felt a connection. He told me also about the artist Mati (Abdul Mati Klarwein), whose elegant headstone is alongside. 

As well as a body of work that fused psychedelia, exoticism and religious imagery, he illustrated album covers by many well-known musicians his day; for Santana’s “Abraxas”, Miles Davis’ “Bitches Brew”, and one for Jimi Hendrix, never used because of his early death. Mati's is another fascinating story.

The path down to Deia’s beach was easy to find and an interesting, well-trodden alternative to the road. It’s a tiny but popular bathing beach but perhaps more importantly the launch pad for small boat excursions to nearby coves.

The path follows the coast line with just enough elevation to give a great view of the rocky shores, cliffs and the many active boaters and bathers. I envied them the cool water as the heat of the day built up, but the beautiful colours of the sea near the shore were spiritually, if not physically refreshing.

 The path is a little vertiginous in places. Having spent half my early years up a tree has left me with little fear of heights, only the fear of dropping anything of value, so I felt secure so long as all my pockets were zipped up and my hat firmly jammed on my head. In places there were extensive railings in a rustic style that reminded of the “xyloscala” of the Samaria Gorge in Crete. These looked particularly spindly so I avoided relying on them, but just to have them within reach was reassuring.

I noticed this prickly kind of bindweed, and began to notice it more and more, colonizing many walls, rocks, posts and living plants, using them for support – a very effective migrant. It actually produces little clusters of berries that attract goats. They are sweet but with tough peppery skins and seeds like little stones of which the goats are probably hapless distributors.

Eventually the path took a turn away from the coast directly inland, just after a most perfect and under-populated bathing beach, Es Canyaret, with quite a steep climb that brought me to a small group of properties by a tarmacked road, called Costa d’Or.

I needed a breather after the climb so I found shady spot and enjoyed my packed lunch there. You can’t see it so well in this selfie but the entire area of my tee-shirt, from the word “leave” downwards, is wringing wet – a condition I got used to in these days of 30 degree temperatures.

I enjoyed watching a succession of bathers emerging from the steep alley that I had just used, mostly dripping with sweat after the climb. After all that refreshing sea-bathing they were ready for a shower!

Lunch over, I was back in my feet, following the route… or so I thought. Checking the GPS app at one point I found I was way off course and it was quite tricky to work out how to rejoin it. The waymark system has a few flaws, the most notable one is that waypoints, where you might need to change direction or avoid a wrong turn, are not marked on the GPS trail, so that you might see that you have strayed from the path, but once back on it you do not know between which waypoints you have rejoined. (There are no map reference co-ordinates and in any case the map supplied is not sufficiently detailed for these to be useful).

I began to notice the strange forms taken on by ancient olive tree trunks. Part of the strategy for surviving the hundreds of years that some of these trees have attained seems to be to let pats die back during hard times, to recover again from what little living tree remains. Often the heart of the tree is exposed and contorted, but one side has retained the bark and tissues necessary to regenerate. Confronted by such oddities, one can’t help the imagination taking over and a more familiar image being branded onto one’s view. In this way I met with a rhinoceros, and a T. Rex among others.

Soon signs of civilization came into view. First an enormous farm building (housing olive pressing plant, I suspect), challenging the majesty and drama of the skyline. Then the bay of Sollér itself came into view, a natural harbour of perfect scallop-shell shape.

Though still along way off, the prospect of the end of the trail gave added vigour to my foot-slogging, and eventually the path came to end, joining tarmacked roads that brought me… to the opposite side of the bay from my hotel! Still, it was only 20 minutes of limping away.

What a joy! Arriving at the hotel my room was chilled to 5 degrees – like stepping into an icebox! And there were 2 litres of mineral water in the fridge – almost enough to replace what I had lost in perspiration over the previous 8 hours! 

Here’s the full set of pictures from my google photos account; https://photos.app.goo.gl/4kDLzRApitnp95K1A