Next time, I’m doing my trip research

Well, now that we’re more or less settled into Mallorca, six months later – no big deal, we decided to get back to our weekend excursions. This time we decided on Soller (pronounced like Tom Sawyer, kind of). Why? Because I keep seeing signs for it everywhere and I read mention of it in an expat blog interview, which I took as a sign. If you’re wondering whether I make all decisions on such whims, the answer is yes. Yes, I do.

We started out at the port, which was beautiful and lined with trees, quaint restaurants, small but chic hotels, a beach here and there, and an adorable trolley that runs from the city center all the way to the end of the port and is chock-full of German tourists. It reminded me of San Francisco – the trolley. Little tear, sniff…

As the title of this post subtly suggests, I must do research before taking these little day trips from now on. If I had done for this little jaunt, I would have read that Soller boasts some amazing restaurants, one of which leaves its kitchen in the capable hands of a chef who has run five-star and Michelin-rated restos across Europe, and is touted among the best eateries in all of Mallorca (It’s called Espléndido, btw, and we walked. right, by. it!). But no, we didn’t read anything about Soller beforehand and so we went with a little place we happened upon, which can be spontaneous and lucky sometimes too, but not this time. This place, Miramar, had a lovely casual seating area and a nice view. And that’s about it. I’m not a snob or a foodie, believe me. All I ask is that my food taste good and have lots of flavor. This fare was undercooked, bland and just downright depressing AND the service was laughable, even for borde Spanish standards. Strike out for the non-planners. Boo.

And now for a lesson in language and culture. “Borde” (pronounced bored-ay) is similar to British cheek, but harsher. While some find it clever and charming, I think it’s a cultural pass to act like a smart ass prick. In the U.S. we’re more up front about it and call it bitchy. And that concludes this lesson.

Anyhoo, after we had our fill of our little nausea-inducing lunch, we mosied on over to the city center, which offered all of the legendary charm of old Europe with it’s little plaza, old church, meandering cobble-stone streets and little old couples sitting on benches while people watching. As a friend once said to me during the good old days while we studied abroad in Madrid together, “you could put that in a bottle and call it Spain.”

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