On Sunday the Don and I decided to skip the Jolly British Garden Party (Alaró is full of lovely English people! Just saying…), and take a little road trip instead. We headed east, into the big flat wilderness into which we haven’t ventured before. Well, to call it a wilderness is somewhat of an exaggeration, but the landscape was new to us at least.
Final destination Petra, which lies more or less in the middle of the island. Everybody seems to think Petra is something special.
This guy seems to be the reason for all the schnozzle, the tiny village would be completely off the tourist map if it weren’t for him. His name is (was) Fray Junípero Serra. Born in 1713 he became a priest in 1730, and worked as a missionary in Mexico from 1749 to 1763. At the age of 54 he was sent to California; the missions he established there grew into some of the USA’s largest cities including San Diego and San Francisco.
It was – as always – a beautiful day, although a few dark clouds gathered in the horizon. I didn’t mind because the light becomes almost magical with a bit of darkness up above.
One can visit the house where Serra’s parents lived, a museum devoted to his life and work, the font where he was baptised (in the church of Sant Pere) and a plaque outside the same church describing him as ‘explorer missionary hero civiliser’. Anyone walking down the street leading to his birthplace decorated with majolica tiles depicting him baptising Native Americans might be inclined to disagree, but by the standards of his day he was certainly a hero.
Oh well, it’s a quaint little village with only 2 800 inhabitants. People tell us it’s a wonderful place and I suppose we’ll have to give it another chance. A Sunday in January might not be the best time to visit, there were hardly any people to be seen.
Except for this family.
And this cat.
And these geezers huddling outside a bar.
The odd Christmas decoration still hanging.
As were the tangerines – such sharp contrasts for us Swedes.
A statue of a pretty lady, was hiding in the bushes outside the huge village church.
In the absence of people I had to photograph other odd bits and pieces.
Don Pelle wasn’t particularly impressed, but a Sunday outing is always fun, even if we did take many wrong turns on our way back home. Something that’s easily done on this island, where some of the ancient roads date back to the Moors.
For an observant eye, there are lots of hidden treasures to be discovered. Mallorca is such a wonderful place for a girl with a pen and a camera!
Je suis Charlie!