Esporles.

On the corner of Albion Street and Boar Lane. Free coffee from Caffé Nero. Good morning. Draw a line under the negative me since Estaing? What is going to happen today? Mum just told me the airport in Palma has been closed due to adverse weather - heavy rain not falling on the plains of Spain - but I believe that is old news?

***

Dead moods. Yes I understand dead moods. When I can not connect with anything to help me claw myself up from the flatness. 2nd time in a few weeks when I can't connect. It's LBA. It's a form of escapism. But it's never going to resolve it unless I face it absolutely head on.

Although I know it's always up to me I don't think it's a thing I can chose. Cause and effect.  The world I react to is simply my projection.

Voices, in waves, like a tide

Overwhelm in foaming murmur;

Differential drown,

Approaching yet to depart 

And return again; spluttering.

But no words, only

Suggestions, on this dead shore.

From a landscape to cloud cover. Central France? Melancholic! How far to the sea. How long before we free fall, down into the deep, from which we cannot escape?

At LBA I was taken aboard a white van especially designed for those who cannot travel unaided. At the reception desk in LBA I explained how difficult I found the previous occasion when passing through and so he listed me as potentially requiring assistance in airside. Another elderly gentleman, who couldn't manage a single word (as I think he was struck dumb facing someone with my condition), was also carried onboard this elevating vehicle.

Just now I was able to move towards the front of the cabin, because there are many empty seats, and creep away from the crappy couple, with their browbeaten kids, who did nothing but force their children into the kneeling position. And I am flying to Palma for a holiday.

***

Holiday day one. Just approaching 8am. I managed to return to lalaland after my alarm woke everyone up. I managed to return to sleep. That's a revelation. Usually I am awake and anxious. I was chatty. Except with the American who appeared to be buzzing like a fridge. It seems too cold for mosquitoes too.

But now I am walking west along the GR221 once more.

And it's the second day. Nothing matters much. I walked to Banyalbufar, on a tender knee, some 9 kilometres. I almost caught a bus to be a sightseeing tourist but a brief conversation with a German girl at the bus stop heading to Estellencs to walk back to Esporles. I only dislike the fact it a thoroughfare, but it's hardly the A58 passing Harehills.

This new prescription is giving me a better night's sleep. Although I woke to go to the toilet around 5 I returned to sleep until 7. None of that stark awake anxiousness I was feeling. It's Friday. The start of the European Championships. Scotland take on Germany in a Munich on the opening game.

What am I going to do today? I am kind of disinterested in walking. It means nothing. And I am a little sore, but there is a bus back if I decide. I was considering walking from Lluc on Monday to Palma.

In truth I feel like I always need to be moving, but actually I like Esporles so I don't need to? And I am starting to recognise the people going about in the mornings.

An hour to climb up to the Son Trias Font, wash, refresh and fill the flask. And now I am back on the 'passeig', alongside the Carrer Joan Riutort, below the plain trees shading us from the late morning sun.

But what am I going to do? I feel like heading into Palma - ideally I need to withdraw some cash for the weekend as I am close to my limit on the Zopa credit card until Thursday, when I get paid ESA and pay off what I've just used.

It is a different experience 'to stop'. I walked gingerly down off the escapement, where the Font runs free, and I am repairing well from the damage I inflicted on myself after the fall last Saturday, full of wine, with Glenn; satisfactorily it seems. 

Another drunken haze. I've eaten three small tapas in Bodega Morey and consumed a beer, a vermouth and two cups of vino(one of each) then I arrived back at the estacio intermodal just as the 202 shipped off the dock(2 minutes early) and into polluted seaways. So I am in it's slipstream 35 minutes behind, but now I see Alba who is the hostess of Sa Fita and I have two cans of Xibeca Damm.

So far I am actually enjoying not 'walking'. I know this is an expensive trip - Mallorca seems around double the price of the mainland. In financial terms, but I am happy in the Albergue so ... Relax

***

To Palma. And back again. Slightly jaded this morning. 7am I am the first customer at Café Passeig. As they assemble a market along Passeig del Rei. Final night here in Esporles before I head off to either Lluc or Deià on Sunday. But first Americano and agua Vichy Catalan. The guys who run the cafe are so chilled out. And smile. And are well presented. It's easy like...

Three drumming marching bands played along the main thoroughfare and it brought a couple of tears to my eye as I was back in San Cristobal de la Casas 2014 or Santiago 2013 or 2006 with Steven Fitzhugh in Barcelona. Latinos definitely know how to celebrate. It an ingredient which puts a smile across my ravaged face...

Another coffee and another croissant. But I am going to chill out today. No alcohol will pass my lips as I consider walking from Sunday onwards.

Sa Fita has a good vibe. The cluster around the tables were from the four corners of the planet. At least two were Argentine. One was German and another Irish and another Seville. And I. A few corners. In my room I have two Germans and a lass from California.

The proprietor says it gets busy on Saturday with the street market - the same one I must've seen in Polença?

Suddenly I felt fear. Where is the bum bag I carry everywhere... Oh yes it is where I left it ... in my backpack. I was a bit early this morning - the room was a little warm and I found returning to sleep difficult... I hadn't the previous two nights. A glass of fresh orange juice and I am cleansed? Possibly. Now it's time to eat breakfast in Sa Fita and then return to doing nothing... Is walking something? I no longer am sure...

I remember skipping and cats cradle. What larks? What fun... 

Up to the fuente/font/spring once more. And up to the top of the escapement to the west of the great divide which is Esporles. Slipping slightly on skrees and worrying about the knees. The bad knee and the used to be bad knee. I needed to force myself out of a malaise which I feel has passed. Time for pa amb oli con tomato in Café Passeig as the guys are good guys.

***

Yes! An alcohol free day! Just eaten a shared sardine, capers, red onion, garlic, pesto and stale bread(Portuguese) pasta meal - I threw in a few basil and thyme leaves. Still no salt, but I used the capers brine so it wasn't lacking in umami exactly. Aiden wolved down two helpings. It's better to give than received. There is a line dancing event on in the main plaza and Spain have just scored against Croatia. When you give you do receive. Blessings. I bought couple of natural bio yogurts. Ready for another day... A day walking? The knee is tender. I am giving it plenty of exercise going up and down those two steep flights of stairs. It's now 2 nil. But I feel it would be wrong to turn this 'holiday' into anything else. It's still cold and wet in England. Rain is forecast here next weekend too. Summer 2024 is a mixed bag so far... I am not interested in line dancing. But it's good for the community spirit? Another Vichy Catalan and then I think that's me for Esporles? Sa Fita is booked out by a group on Sunday night so I have to move on tomorrow anyway.

As everyone seems to be getting ready to go on to the Passeig del Rei I've gotten beneath the covers... My time in Esporles is over. I want to be nice for Sunday...