Making the Most out of a 10-Hour Layover in Mallorca
Semana Santa 2024: 3 regions, 3 cities, 1 week, pt. 1
If anyone’s read my post Pausing Travel as a Priority, you may be confused at the subtitle of this blogpost, and why the hell I’ve subjected myself to more ‘fast travel.’
But this time, it’s different.
Part One
It’s the last week of March — what may be spring break for some is Holy Week, or “Semana Santa,” for others this year. Almost every day of the week before Easter, there are processions held on the streets of most Spanish cities and towns, commemorating “the passion, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ,” according to Wikipedia.
Málaga’s Semana Santa processions are known for carrying some of the most grandiose ‘tronos,’ or floats, demonstrating different parts of Christ’s life.
While my students were raving about the floats and processions, I wasn’t convinced enough to stay in Málaga to see them. I saw my first Semana Santa processions in Santander last year, and it was super powerful for many reasons. Although southern Spain is well-known for their celebrations, I didn’t feel like squeezing myself between thousands of people trying to watch the thrones move 5mph for hours. So I took advantage to see my partner in the north, and from there visited another Spanish capital by myself before returning south.
Friday, March 22: The Kickoff
The day before my flight out started with my first alarm at 8 am. Beach day, baby.
The sky has a weird blur without a cloud in sight. It all simply looks like a textureless, flat, gray fog. Supposedly, this is due to a phenomenon called Calima, which is when dust from the Sahara Desert travels with the wind toward the Southern coast of Spain, leaving a blur across the sky often in a rust-orange tint. The air quality is ‘unhealthy,’ according to the Apple Weather App, and the blazing red color over the map of Málaga tries convincing us to stay inside. The forecast doesn’t predict rain though, so to the beach we go.
My roommate Vanessa and I leave at about 9:30 AM to stop at a Moroccan market on the way. My friend Lara set the beach meeting at 10 in the morning, which was strategic. Spain un-programs the American view of time. We all knew nobody would arrive at 10, but if we aimed for 10, perhaps we’d arrive at best by 10:30… or 11, who are we kidding?
A few steps outside of our apartment, Vane and I meet an adorable, golden, chowchow-collie mix. The owner’s from Ireland and has been traveling in her camper van with her pup and husband. Their trip started in Portugal and was supposed to be a temporary vacation ‘attempt’ at van life. She confesses to us how much she loves it, so much so that they’re thinking about making it a more permanent arrangement.
I feel like the Universe often sets me up to talk to people that have ended up making big changes in their lives for the sake of travel. I’m grateful for this synchrony, because I never forget those one-off moments. There were other questions brewing in my mind before quickly parting ways at the next turn — are you guys working online? Are you documenting your journeys anywhere/anyhow? Does it matter, Tea?
As we’re about to walk past Muelle Uno, the port promenade, there’s a tabling event campaigning to save water. My curiosity can’t help but lean toward the colorful ads and orange watering cans lined up on the ground. We grab a brochure, and one of the spokespeople introduces the campaign to us and has us spin-to-win a free water-saving prize. We won a free 5-minute shower timer and an unfamiliar metal device. The friendly lady tells us it’s a water aerator, which reduces the amount of water coming out of the faucet to control the stream. Feeling slightly ignorant for being unfamiliar with the invention, I realize that there’s soooo much more research I could do to learn how to better appreciate my resources.
Even after writing about my appreciation for Málaga’s various environmental campaigns in a previous post, the coastal capital continues to impress me with its sustainability moves. At the same time, the campaign is out of urgent need considering how far the issue has gotten. The city is suffering a drought, the reservoirs are less than half full, and there’s no time to waste. The government has even prohibited people from filling their pools and watering big gardens, threatening a massive fine if they see abnormally-sized water usage. Quickly, we find out it’s World Water Day, and to the water we go.
After all our pit stops, we finally meet up with Lara and her roommate and his friend at La Malagueta, the closest beach to the city center, which is also inevitably the most murky and populated. But they have volleyball nets, and we have a volleyball. While we play, some of my students from the high school I work at call my name from down the beach to say hi. Looks like they decided their vacation starts a day early!
Exhausting ourselves from hopping around in the sand, we relax, eat cheese, bread, and grapes. Warmed-up enough from the snacks and game, we brave the sea and play in the strange-for-the-Mediterranean-in-Malaga–sized waves. And I personally, gratefully, stop thinking. Fully immersed and flowing.
Later we get some tapas at La Tasquita in the center, sharing a delicious eggplant-garbanzo hummus adorned with pomegranate seeds, roasted cashews, and spices, with the warm fresh pita bread on the side. Stomachs still missing stock, we stop at La Tarta de la Madre de Cris, a renowned to-go cheesecake bakery, for dessert. Something I learned about myself in 2023 was that I love cheesecake and especially trying new flavors and places. Too many delicious options make it hard to narrow down, and in the end I go with Bailey’s.
I was so excited to come home and wash off the layer of salt and sea grime sticking to my skin from the sand-raising waves. Realizing I’m still unpacked for my early flight, I quickly figure out some outfit combinations according to the weather, mostly depending on my boyfriend for clothes once I get to rainy and bipolar Bilbao.
Around 8 PM, Lara and Francesca come over to make dinner with Vane and I. My friendships with Lara and Fran began last year doing NALCAP in Santander, so it’s been a real comfort and home-like feeling to have them around again. We make two delicious nutritious pizzas and take down a liter of wine, chatting and reminding each other of the adventures that await on our week off from work. It was a nice despedida, since we’re all about to part ways on our Holy Week adventures.
I rush to finish packing after my friends leave, and of course, I manage. College taught me to be good under pressure. Moving to Spain taught me that there’s nothing I can’t do. I’m not mad about going to bed late or only getting four hours of sleep. Making dinner together was my idea anyway, knowing I wasn’t prepared for my early morning flight the next day. Not saying being in sleep debt is a good idea, but obviously, it was so worth it!
Saturday, March 30: Waking Up
Sometimes, the way the world does things is impractical. The supply and demand of economics allows it so that a direct flight from Málaga (southern coast of Spain) to Bilbao (northern coast of Spain) is a lot more expensive than two flights separated by a 10-hour layover in the Balearic Islands (off the east coast of Spain). In total I paid 30 euros, and the sacrifice I had to make for that cheap fare was to spend ten hours on a gorgeous archipelago in the middle of the Mediterranean. Poor me!
The night before, Lara gives me her train pass so I can save some money on an Uber to the airport. As soon as I wake up, however, I accept that walking 20 minutes to the train station in the dark morning half-asleep with my heavy backpack… is not an option.
I stumble out of my apartment building to my Uber blasting flamenco music that I can hear clearly from outside of the window-up car. I open the door attacked by the sharp guitar strums and vibrating vocal chords. He lowers the volume, asking me if the music’s okay. Appreciating his consideration, and not minding it that much, I respond, “I’ve gotta wake up somehow!” It’s six in the morning and I woke up hardly thirty minutes ago. I can’t help but smile in the backseat, enjoying the passionate tune and watching the driver tap his fingers against his wheel clearly caffeinated or anxious. What's unknown is whether his shift has recently started or is just about to end.
Long layovers may be impractical for some, but it really depends on the many nuances and details. This particular transfer is in Mallorca, and I’ve never been there before! I land on the island around 9 in the morning and my flight to Bilbao doesn’t take off until 7 in the evening. Who the hell’s going to stay in an airport for ten hours when the capital Palma is a half-hour away, and the sun is just begging for more friends to hug?
I get a round trip shuttle bus from the airport to the city center, stepping off near the second bus I have to take, to embark on my first scheduled adventure of the day.
Yes, I scheduled something for my layover.
With time to spare, I stop at an Argentinian café right in front of the bus stop for my first coffee of the day, accompanied by a delicious maicena alfajor. I charge my phone for a bit to make sure I can access directions to my first stop. As soon as I come out, my bus is already there and I run in like it’s meant to be.
With my fingerprint grazing my home button, I levitate my phone above the card reader multiple times before the bus driver tells me credit cards don’t work. Is it wrong for me to assume that because a certain convenience exists in Malaga, it exists all over Spain? I guess so. After seeing that the smallest bill I had was a twenty, the bus driver judges the situation as not worth it. He sighs and lets me on for free, instead of taking my money and scavenging out 18.40 euros in change. He technically bought me a coffee (because coffee in Spain is cheap — it can cost anywhere between €1.20 and whatever inflated price touristic cities may charge). It was meant to be.
This free ride reminds me how different things can be within a country. Each region of Spain is so different — each has their own systems and set of laws and rules and customs and culture. That’s why I love Spain so much. Traveling within the nation can feel like traveling outside of it.
The Plan
Arriving early to my flexibility class at Pole Dance Mallorca gives me time to gawk at all the newspaper clippings, pictures, and awards exhibited in their front window. Pole Dance Mallorca has been operating for 14 years already. They’re one of the pioneers of Spain’s pole industry and it feels so cool to be taking a class here.
Entering the studio gets me even more excited. Between the three rooms, one dedicated to hoop and aerials and the other two to pole, there’s the cutest waiting room with a couch and coffee maker! They have all the materials available — yoga mats, crash mats, blocks, and straps. In the bigger pole room, they have a receptionist desk and even a little store with pole outfits, heels, grip, and more. I have a little shopping spree after my class, buying heel protectors, my favorite grip, and hot pink mesh biker shorts. Worth it. One of my favorite parts is the TV playing pole competition videos on the wall behind the desk I pay at. What an inspiring and motivating detail!!!
I feel renewed and ready to take on Mallorca. Not sure if I'm so relaxed from the intense stretching class, the week-long break for Semana Santa, island vibes, or cuz I had an amazing, fulfilling day yesterday. Body and mind in place. Next thing to put in place was my rumbling stomach.
The Unplanned Plan
Honestly, being a vegetarian makes life easier sometimes — less options, quicker decisions. Lunch happens at Arabay Coffee Roasters with some gourmet hummus toast. Sitting in the shade has to be a whole 5 degrees Celsius colder than walking in the sun. I haven’t put in my headphones the whole day. I’ve been enjoying the sounds of my surroundings, leaving myself available to the spontaneous interactions that happen when I’m in a good mood and fully present. People at the restaurant over are singing and clapping. Love that energy.
I’m taking advantage of my long layover by reporting my adventure on Instagram. It feels good to share, perhaps inspire, motivate, contribute new ideas. I haven’t posted on my instagram in almost one year, and maintain my existence via scattered insta stories and interactions. But what I learned from today’s posting spree is that magically, one of your followers may reach out and give you a hand wherever you are, or maybe even they live there and come to hang out with you. Maybe you’ve never even had a full conversation with them before.
Today’s instagram adventure blogging comes across Emily, a girl who went to the same pole studio as me in Santander. We’ve only exchanged a few words and complements before. She reaches out to me on Instagram before I head to lunch. She’s from Mallorca and had moved back a while ago. She happens to be available. We make a plan.
After lunch, I stroll through the city, letting my curiosity guide me apart from Google Maps. My detoured destination is the Cathedral/Basilica of Santa María de Mallorca. When the spires are visible from a distance, I follow my own route. Confronting the cathedral, my plane of vision inches from detail to tiny detail across the neck-craning structure, absorbing the tiny figures across the gothic church. I sit there for a bit, windshield-wiping my head from the cathedral to the view right next to it of the sea, and the pedestrian promenade between the two.
I meet up with Emily a few minutes away from the Cathedral. Walking to our meet-up spot, I come across an artisan market and pick myself up a 5-euro natural lavender exfoliant. I’m tempted to keep looking because who doesn’t love an artisan market and supporting local businesses? But I’ve loaded up my tab today, so it’s time to calm down.
I leave my heavy backpack in Emily’s car while we walk around the city, get some expensive but delicious gelato and take a seat near the cathedral overlooking the promenade below, where they were setting up for a music festival. We get to know each other and cover all kinds of topics: the official language of Mallorca besides Spanish being Mallorquin (which may look like Catalán but is not), pole dance, living abroad, tourists being disrespected, tardeo, and more! We continue walking, getting some to-go drinks from a nearby kiosk and sitting on the grass near the channel. We continue chatting with the Cathedral perched in the background, hugged softly by the easy sun.
Losing track of time via good conversation, it’s suddenly 5 PM, and my flight leaves at 7. This may give some people anxiety considering it’s recommended to arrive two hours early for a flight. In this case, I only have a backpack and therefore go straight to security, so arriving at the small island airport two hours before my flight would have been exaggerated. Last year in Santander, the airport was so small that on a normal day you hardly needed to arrive an hour early for a flight.
Emily offered to drive me to the airport so I’m not too worried about arriving late; buses usually take soooo much longer than normal cars. We pack up and head out.
We arrive to the airport and finally take the selfie we forgot to take earlier from the grass near the channel. It’s such a treat to be able to hang out with a local, and initiate a relationship with someone I hardly knew, someone who felt confident and willing enough to let me in and be my host for a few hours.
Satisfaction
The Universe never stops sending me little gifts when I’m available to let them in. I often wonder why I don’t post more travel content, knowing I could easily become a content creator if I wanted to, and thereby meet more travel-loving, purpose-hunting people. The fact of the matter is, social media doesn’t feel too natural right now, but daring to post more while regulating my usage can help spark and maintain the relationships that wouldn’t be possible without it.
Thank you for reading! Until part two.
With peace, love, and compassion,
Tea