Life in Pollença

I could get used to this lifestyle. And I'm glad I have time to. Days filled with sun, living off the land. Each moment a cornucopia of homegrown fruits and fresh vegetables, spicy sobrassada sausage, and the soft white noise of waves crashing against the rocks. A feast for the senses.

The days blow by, but time is melting to a syrupy slowness.

It's week 3 in Spain and the hidden treasures of the island are unfurling in magnificent display. As I make friends and settle into a new home I am enjoying my new vantage point of life here- not as a tourist but someone who stays.

The week began with an afternoon at one of the dreamiest beaches to date- Cala Blava. A bus ride from Palma the water sparkled like brilliant blue sapphires and the sky cleared its clouds to match.

With first week jitters out of the way it was a chance to truly relax, slipping away from the city and closer to the sand, book in hand and worries cast to the side.

The rocks warped around the cove like a modern art sculpture. Sharp edges, ancient layered sand, and notches and nobs victim to years of waves.

Perfectly serene.

The week marked the start of a new chapter here, I moved from an Airbnb I was staying in with 8 other English teachers to my more permanent home in the heart of Pollença.

A chance to finally unpack my suitcase and enjoy time with a wonderful Mallorcan host family presented an incredible opportunity.

Famed for its blonde stone architecture and sleepy cobbled streets, Pollença is a town situated between two hills in the Serra de Tramuntana and is a hop and a skip from the sea.

Rich in history, everyone from the likes of ancient Romans to the Knights Templar have walked these streets. And now me. Geez.

A stop at the local restaurant Mar y Paz for Paella and a view was a must. (For those counting it was the second time there, it’s just that good.)

I couldn't resist climbing up the 365 steps to the Calvari Church in the center of town. Surrounded by views lined with cypress trees and dreamy linen shops.

The reward was a quiet moment of prayer in the church at the very top.

A shiny October Saturday prompted a generous invitation from my dear new friends to their family-owned Finca. The word refers to a traditional Mallorcan type of rural property that features a stone cottage adjacent to a pool and often accompanied by orchards.

A place to gather with family in the summer and enjoy meals al fresco. AKA the perfect place to enjoy the lands bounty and relaxxxxx.

A lunch of juicy melon from the garden, grapes off the vine, and oranges left our mouths bursting with flavor.

Sobrassada, cured sausage from the Balearic islands made with ground pork, paprika, salt and a myriad of spices was spread on fresh baked bread.

It's traditional for families to raise a pig, or two, on the Finca each year just to make Sobrassada. Talk about meal prepping!

Rows of olive and fig trees abounded and adorned the countryside.

Rosy-fingered dawn came on Sunday and the warm South wind was blowing so that meant one thing, ideal sailing weather.

The Mediterranean dazzled as we cruised along in a uniquely Mallorcan boat called the Llaüt. With Latin origin, it is so unique in fact it is not translated in any other languages.

Canvas sails draped overhead and the sea folded like silk, a brilliant masterpiece under the afternoon sun.

Diving off the bow was followed by a lunch of Spanish tortilla, bread with Finca made olive oil and fresh sea salt scraped off the rocks in the wintertime. And to finish? Flaky Ensaimadas of course.

Post lunch some enthusiastic fisherman could hardly wait to drop their lines heavy with squid as bait.

The sun edged towards the towering mountains, one behind the other denoting different regions of the exquisite coast. Pollenca, Formentera and Alcudia in regal succession. A blurred sfumato between each peak.

I stretched my hands beneath the transparent turquoise of the sea and thought, this is a day I want to remember for a very long time.

And just like that we were back to the harbor. A Sunday that was nothing short of sublime.

The days are deceiving here. First they are long and blissfully sun-drenched, and then they roll into one another like waves on the Mediterranean, a beautiful pattern that I hope never ends.

Til next time, Ciao.

A special thanks to sweet Juan, Antonia, and Esteve for opening their beautiful Mallorcan home to me and teaching me so much about life here.