It was nearly dark as I followed the track between resorts across rock and scrub looking for someplace to pitch my tent. At the southwesern tip of the island with the lighthouse of Cap d’Artrutz flashing at me I made do with a flat patch of rock beside a civil war gun emplacement. I figured if the forecast rain happened and the 15€ Aldi tent didn’t stand up to it I could hunker down in the bunker.  

 In the morning I was still dry but clouds were brewing.  

   The last leg up the west coast was a cliff top hike across lumpy limestone, once I’d cleared the holiday hotels and lighthouse.  

   I passed the nodding seed heads that had greeted me on my first day on the trail and another ageless stone shelter with its gravity defying roof construction.  


Before I knew it I was in Ciutadella. At the ferry port there was a boat due to leave in 20 mins but I was too late to buy a ticket apparently so I had a day meandering the narrow city streets probably clocking up as many km as I would on the trail. It was photogenic though so forgive me any overexposure.  

                             I was puzzled by this completely walled in boat.  


The sun was shining again so before my ferry left I had a final swim with the fishes from the little city beach.  


Back in Port Alcudia the shining morning sun slowly drew out the beach goers.  

     Walking to the bus I reflected that you can look all day for a phone box and then along come 5 at a time.  

 Driving in an hour past the mountain range it had taken me 8 days to hike I got to Palma where my funky and busy hostel was smack in the middle of the old quarter.  

 I dumped my rucksack and floated off 12kg lighter to explore. Again the street scenes demanded recording so bare with me.  

               The cathedral by the way was 400years in the making, started after the re conquest from the Muslims on the site of the mosque. Gaudi did a load of stuff for a finish. The rose window is the largest in Europe I think but unfortunately being Sunday the cathedral was shut (?) so I didn’t get me admire the multitude of stained glass.  


It struck me again how wealthy and sophisticated this island is, particularly compared to its neighbour Menorca. Even the ice cream parlours are pure class.  

 And the lap dogs have carriages.  


I walked down to the marina to be a voyeur on an alien life form and lifestyle. Who are these people? 

   Raoul was “entertaining” in full view of us rubbernecking tourists but didn’t seem to be pulling to me.  

 Sated by the boat porn I returned to the normality of a 6 bed dorm in a back street hostel to prepare for re entry. 

For I decided to postpone the remaining 2 Spanish islands (actually I’m sure I can find more) for another time. I’ve been a deserter from the Homefront for long enough and I’ll be flying to Ireland in the morning. 

These two routes have been good. I missed out the highest and possibly the best of the Mallorcan route due to weather conditions and missed out the worst of the Menorcan route due to time constraints but both were special and recommended. But there’s no place like home.  


                      I’m outta here. 


Ps  Stay tuned for more adventures in December  and I’d love to know who is the avid reader in Italy  


  1. Safe travels home father. Didn’t know you were checking where people were logging in from, I guess there was only one from Perth. Are you going to be blogging Tanzania?


    1. Only by country not postcode. I usually keep family occasions out of the media glare but I’ll have to be recorded. Don’t worry I’ll change your names to protect your identity.


  2. That boat was another by the guy who killed himself when he built a complete yacht in his basement and then realised he couldn’t get to float it! Great trip Steve. You’ve got my “bootheels to be wandering” as the poet said.


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