Day 4 Wednesday 23 October 2002

As I write this lying here on the soft, fine, beige coloured sand of Palma Nova beach in the hot sun with the continuous dull roaring noise of the surf in my ears; with beautiful girls passing by; with planes taking off overhead at 35 degree angles in the distance from Palma, banking over the Tramuntana mountains with their highest peaks in the clouds; with a three-masted schooner passing by on the near horizon without sail; as the boats bob up and down to my left; as I turn to see the impressive Palma Cathedral visible about seven miles away at its seafront location; with a cool, fairly strong breeze blowing in from the sea; as the red flag warning of No Bathing flutters; under the shade of the Palm trees for only a few other people; as four yellow buoys pop up and down; with the terraces of hotels behind me and as the single lad windsurfing the three foot waves all I can think of is that it doesn’t get much better than this.
I caught a Number 15 Palma del Plata auto bus into the city of Palma this morning with vague ideas about wanting to see the Placa del Torro Bull Ring and maybe cross the island on a bus jaunt although I didn’t feel particularly enthusiastic about the latter. I found the Placa del Torro. It was an imposing piece of multi-layered architecture, a mini Wembley Stadium in London came to mind except that it was built from a light brown stone and most intricately put together. A Bullfighters’ Bar nearby was full of evocative photographs of the bullfighters and the beasts in action, highlighting the sheer ferocity of the bulls and the masculine aggression of the Matadors. It must take an extraordinary amount of courage whilst playing to the baying crowd, to face such gigantic animals. Their horns were hooked and massively long and its body packed an absolute powerhouse of raw strength. But the facial expression of the Matador in the photographs said it all for me as he made that killer thrust into the heart: absolutely determined to see it through.
Back to the beach watching…the windsurfer is an expert, skimming back and fro along the crests and the troughs of the waves. He is joined by another right now.
I treated myself to a meal today for E5.34 + a £1.50 mineral water bought up in the mountains. I had a spring roll, egg fried rice, ham and peas and an ice cream. It was superb value for money and eaten with great relish.
I collected a small load of what I thought might have been baby sponges but I tend to think they were horse droppings instead! (Each one was a mass of interwoven fibrous material.)
I enjoyed a half-pint of cold beer and saw Arsenal lose 2-1 at home to L’Auxere. Later on Barcelona sneaked a 1-0 victory over Locomotive they never deserved. Loco had two chances to score but thy managed to miss both. Newcastle beat Juventus 1-0 so they will have to meet Kiev in their next round to progress. Manchester Utd. Are through after beating Olympiakos 3-2.
Fabien, who is the young man running the hotel where I am staying told me that he used to work for George Best, who had given him a tape of his footballing years, in George’s two restaurants. Apparently you could set your watch by George’s attendance at a pub on the King’s Road in London. I told Fabien that George had nearly died when he had his new liver transplant and that he had said he had stopped drinking altogether. But you can bet on it that because he’s got a new liver he will start it all off again. Gives a new purpose for transplant surgery as if it needed one.
After a cup of tea at the hotel I watched some of the Barcelona match and had a brief walk down to the seafront and back again. This is the last night here. Seeing the sun go down behind the mountains last night, with the spectacular red glow it left behind was unforgettable.

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