Sun, Sand, and the True Meaning of No-Frills Flight

My father once told me that there's no such thing as a free lunch. This is good advice, and I'd recommend that anyone with some sense of self preservation take it to heart. I would like to, however propose an amendment to this paternal preamble. Yes, there is no such thing as a free lunch, there is however such a thing as a very inexpensive one. The implied metaphor here is of course that lunch is representative of a flight, and inexpensive assumes you attach no cost to spending some quality time with some less than sober Germans. Yes, low cost air fare is within your reach, and all you need is a few euros, a light bag, and the refined sense of humor to appreciate a drunk Swabian in a straw cowboy hat mashing the service button for two hours. (Spoilers: The novelty wears off in about 10-15min).

Of course, I went into the whole affair expecting about the same. I mean really, it's a weekend jag to Mallorca, smack in the Mediterranean party Mecca of the Balearic Islands. That said, Germanwings is still a great airline for the price and I'd do it all over again. I suppose this little anecdote also preempts the ever present question of 'what the hell do you do over there anyway?' Well I assure you that in addition to small experimental trips such as this I do in fact work, but that's another post for another time. Now it's tales of hostels, beaches, trains, and the intricacies of European beachgoing.

So to shorten the preface, a friend of mine is working in Barcelona for the summer and suggested we meet up in Mallorca. I decided this was a good plan because a) it would be fun to hang out and b) Stuttgart didn't get the memo that it's summer time. So, sunglasses in tow, I headed for the airport on Friday and a few hours and rounds of drinking songs later was on the ground on the 'med. After a few misadventures trying to meet up at the airport, we finally met up and hopped a cab to the hostel. The hostel itself was a fun little place run by some ex pat brits and about 30m from the beach. All in all not too shabby. A few pitchers of sangria and an irrationally large dish of paella later we took the time to explore the town of S'Arenal where we were staying.

Long story short, the Germans apparently like to vacation by taking as much of their homeland with them as possible. Biergartens, signs offering schnitzel, and Bavarian checkered flags abounded. Did I really leave the continent? This cemented our afternoon plans for the next day - find something resembling Spain on this island. After some wandering we crashed out and awoke early to hit the beach. Hit the beach we did, and I have to say that even with the crowds it was really nice. A few differences from my usual US jaunts however, as it seemed to involve less clothing for both sexes, lots of naked children, and far more boomboxes than I'm used to. Even with all of that, the water was great and we still managed to get a good spot.

That afternoon saw us on the electric railway to Soller, which feels a hell of a lot more authentic than S'Arenal, what with being nestled up in the mountains. The Cathedral there was an unexpected surprise, and wandering the narrow streets and hearing people actually speaking Spanish, or perhaps Catalan. The ride home was an adventure, since it was the last train out. I will say though, that riding on the platforms on either end of the carriage is a fun way to see the mountains. We rounded out the day in Palma, seeing some of the older areas and the Cathederal before retiring for Tapas and bad techno in S'Arenal. Still a great time though. Sunday was a simple day at the beach for me before at last flying out with great reluctance and returning here to sunny (surprisingly, in fact) Stuttgart.

The entire affair was without a doubt a learning experience. I learned that you do get what you pay for when it comes to airlines. I certainly learned that if I ever go back I'll rent a car and get right out of the tourist traps. Most importantly, I learned that aloe vera is a really, really good thing. Pictures to follow when I get things uploaded to Flickr and maybe cook a steak or two on my forehead.