Mallorca: Chronicles of Sand and Wandering Beach Umbrellas
On Sundays, along Mallorca’s east coast, the ritual never changes. You park your car in the shade of a umbrella pine before heading down to the beach, where personal space is negotiated between gusts of wind. Under the Balearic Islands’ sweltering heat, the ebb and flow of summer visitors offers a welcome respite: as some head off for a siesta or a late lunch, new arrivals claim the pockets of sand that have just been vacated.
Settling into the languid rhythm of a piña colada sipped at the chiringuito, we first watch the light breeze turn into more restless gusts. That’s the signal. For novices, disaster is imminent. It takes just a few seconds for a poorly anchored beach umbrella to take flight, Mary Poppins-style, launching into a series of acrobatic pirouettes above the vacationers. We shudder at the thought of the tip of the umbrella ending up in a neighbor’s eye or spilling a peaceful abuela’s cerveza. Fortunately, on that day, an athletic homeowner saved the day with a spectacular dive, narrowly avoiding a civil liability lawsuit.
The Art of Anchoring and Ali Baba’s Cave
Experience breeds caution. To keep your beach gear from turning into a projectile, the secret lies in an indispensable accessory that locals are snapping up: a giant plastic screw. This ingenious device, which you drive into the sand before securing the base of the beach umbrella to it, can be found in Palma at a knick-knack shop with the memorable name Wan Ke Long. You can find everything there, from Post-its to paint, but it’s this little tip that guarantees peace of mind in the face of Aeolus’s whims.
A “telenovela” on the shore
Once your camp is secured, the beach becomes the best show of all. Behind your sunglasses, you become a privileged spectator of an ongoing play. There’s this man in his forties, very elegant, absorbed in his reading, but completely unaware that a certain part of his anatomy—a “croqueta,” as they euphemistically say here—has decided to escape from his swimsuit. Should one intervene in the name of decency, or refrain to avoid an awkward mime act, lacking precise Spanish anatomical vocabulary? Discretion often wins out.
My gaze then drifts to other curiosities: why does this colossus with bulging muscles have a rabbit tattoo on his bicep? Is it a memory of a childhood pet he’s never forgotten? Further on, the padel players on the shore nearly knock out passersby, while watermelon vendors try to strike it rich under the midday sun.
By the end of the day, the book has barely been started. The Mediterranean beach is a continuous flow of emotions, romance, and minor dangers that surpasses any streaming service. It’s an immersion in a raw, funny, and sometimes perilous reality—and we’re already eagerly awaiting the next episode.