On being a German Tourist…
Several weeks ago I decided to take a Monday off and spend a long weekend somewhere fun. I was waffling between someplace warm and someplace cold.
A co-worker had told me of a cluster of travel agents inside Frankfurt airport that offer deals on travel as they're all competing against each other. I'd been meaning to visit for a while, but the prospect of three days with no certain destination put me over the edge. A friend and I went on a Wednesday after work to see what they had to offer. She was looking for a week or two in Egypt. I was looking for just a fun weekend. The area is in Terminal 1, Section C, Level 3 (the level above departures). There are 30-40 travel agencies there, most with dozens of trips advertised on their back wall. After walking the gauntlet once (during which not one person attempted to call us over or try to solicit our business…a good sign) we determined that the deals were more or less the same, and that they're probably all tied into the same database, so everything depends on your rapport with the particular agent. We chose one and inquired about various locations, prices, options, etc. We thought the prices sounded really good and the travel agent, Sonja, agreed to do some further research on our trips. We left and after a little checking, figured these good deals.
On Friday evening we returned. I had just that morning decided that I would try somewhere warm as the snowstorm that was supposed to hit the French Alps had turned into rain. Fourteen hours later I was staring out the window of a Boeing 737 at the mountains, beaches and windmills of Mallorca.
I walked off the plane, picked up a rental car, grabbed my bay and was off. I headed east towards the mountains and over the course of the day made my way along a long windy road that runs along the western coast of the island. The drive reminded me of Mulholland Drive, Hawaii's Road to Hana and the American Southwest.
After spending the entire day exploring the small towns on the west coast I drove back to the city of Palma to find my hotel. The travel agency I had signed up with had advertised the RIU Bravo as a 4-star hotel. As my beloved GPS remained in Germany, I began scanning street signs looking for something familiar. As soon as I had become convinced I has past the location I recognized a cross-street. I looked around and saw a long line of bars, all with German (not Spanish) signage. I turned down the next street (just before the strip club) and didn't have a good feeling about the place. The entrance was decent enough. It had the appearance of being a top-notch hotel…30 years ago. The facade was a pinkish-salmon stucco that looked fairly run-down. I parked and walked in. My first clue that I was in for a different experience was when I told the front desk clerk that I was checking in she responded "My I have your voucher?"
Voucher?
I did have a voucher. When I made my reservation I received a stack of slips of paper stapled on one end. I understood that they were essentially my airline ticket and my hotel reservation, and I really wasn't surprised that the hotel needed it. I was surprised that that was the first piece of documentation she needed. I dug the stack out and handed it over along with my passport. After a few minutes she handed me a key and a small card that gave my room number, check out date and my dinner time.
I had paid for half-pension, which included the room, breakfast and dinner. Full pension would have included drinks and lunch. In my mind I had seen a traditional restaurant and being able to order off a reduced menu. Nope. It was buffet. The receptionist told me I had missed the first seating and that I would have to eat at 8:00. Not a problem, I wasn't really hungry at that point anyway. I found my room, dropped off my stuff and looked over some of my guides and maps, trying to determine what tomorrow would hold.
I headed down to the lobby just before 8:00 to find it packed. The doors to the restaurant were closed and the tourists were restless. I decided I wanted no part of the stampede that I anticipated would occur when the doors did open. I wandered back to my room and bided my time for 10 minutes. When I returned, the doors were open and most of the tables were filled. I showed my card to the hostess who asked me (in German) if I had half or full pension. I responded (in simple German) and was led to a small table in the back. I perused the food offering…there was a typical salad bar, a grill, a meat station, some soups, some bread and dessert. Nothing looked especially appetizing. I tried a few items and was even less impressed with the taste than the look. In addition to the food, the atmosphere left something to be desired. I was surrounded by loud German tourists whose average age was around 65. Most were in groups of 6 or more. I vowed to eat somewhere else the next night. After trying the equally tasteless desserts I returned to my room to grab a jacket and go for a walk.
Exploring the area around the hotel did not change my initial impression. As it was still off-season, many businesses were closed. Most that were open were run-down looking bars. A cluster of men selling cheap trinkets and knock-off watches had taken over one intersection and the only internet cafe I could find was apparently in the back of a karaoke/strip bar. I passed. I returned to my room and went to bed in what is the least comfortable bed I've slept in in a long time.
I awoke the next morning with a sore back. After a quick shower I headed down to breakfast, which was much better than dinner. Europeans apparently always do breakfast right…even in a crappy hotel. I was out of there by 9:00. My first stop was downtown Palma, which is dominated by the Palma Cathedral, or La Seu.
Following that, I drove toward the eastern side of the island, with no real destination in mind. I visited the Dragon Caves, finding them far too crowded and overpriced. The "classical music concert" was interesting, but the several hundred tourists alternately talking and "ssshhhhing" got on nerves quickly.
I next drove to the town of Artá which, like most other towns on this island, had a large stone church atop a hill.
I was pleased to see that the Spanish are implementing their own version of the Americans with Disabilities Act.
Leaving Artá was more difficult than I had expected. Streets in rural Mallorca aren't exactly well-marked, so most of my navigation was done by reasoning "I want to go in that direction" or "this looks like a well-traveleled road." After coming to two dead ends I found myself climbing a ridge along a series of switchbacks that didn't allow much room for error. When I encountered an oncoming vehicle each of us would slow to a crawl and edge as far to our respective rights as possible until our side-view mirrors passed each other with only a inch or so of clearance. At points there were drops of a hundred feet or so on one side, which wasn't protected by anything. Fully realizing that this wasn't the way I had come, I pressed on, figuring the cars (some of which looked like small vans of tourists) were coming from somewhere, and that somewhere was a place I had not yet been. After about 10km (6 miles), which took me about 20-30 minutes to drive, I arrived at another dead end. This one, however, had a parking lot and an open gate. I walked along the entryway and came upon the Ermita de Betlém, a small monastery whose monks live off the land.
There were some paths leading up the hill, which apparently lead to a lookout point. The hill is home to a flock of sheep, who eye you warrily as you approach.
I found my way back to Artá and onward to Alcúdia, arriving just as the sun was setting. Remembering my previous dinner expereince, I found a small restaurant (not realizing until I had already ordered that the kitchen wasn't scheduled to open for another 30 minutes). The food was good, and the view of the bay from the terrace made up for fact one of the trio of tapas was baby octopus.
I made my way back to the hotel and went to bed.
I awoke with a sore back again, had breakfast, checked out, and walked out of the RIU Bravo for the last time. I had determined to re-visit the mountains, so I set out for the towns of Valldemossa, Deiá and Sóller. I wandered their small streets, leaving as soon as a tour bus would show up. I found a small hotel in Deiá, S'Hotel D'es Puig (The Hotel on the Hill) and picked up a brochure and another map of the island. One of the ads in the margin of the map was for http://Miquel Oliver Wines, one of the local wines I had tried on Saturday. The map directed me to the town of Petra. After happening across a map of the town I found the bodega, which turned out to be nothing more than a large storage room behind a pair of unmarked doors. I would never have found it if the doors weren't open and a truck parked on the sidewalk awaiting cases of wine. I purchased some wine and picked up a pamphlet entitled "Mallorca: The Island of wine." There nine wineries were laid out on a map of the island. Why did I find this with only six hours until my flight back to Germany? I plotted a route back to the airport that passed by several wineries. I stopped at one...closed. I stopped at the next, Son Bordils and taste several wines. When I left I was wondering how I was going to fit eight bottles of wine into my weekend suitcase. I somehow managed and made it to the airport, returned my rental and boarded the plane.
My bottom line on Mallorca:
A co-worker had told me of a cluster of travel agents inside Frankfurt airport that offer deals on travel as they're all competing against each other. I'd been meaning to visit for a while, but the prospect of three days with no certain destination put me over the edge. A friend and I went on a Wednesday after work to see what they had to offer. She was looking for a week or two in Egypt. I was looking for just a fun weekend. The area is in Terminal 1, Section C, Level 3 (the level above departures). There are 30-40 travel agencies there, most with dozens of trips advertised on their back wall. After walking the gauntlet once (during which not one person attempted to call us over or try to solicit our business…a good sign) we determined that the deals were more or less the same, and that they're probably all tied into the same database, so everything depends on your rapport with the particular agent. We chose one and inquired about various locations, prices, options, etc. We thought the prices sounded really good and the travel agent, Sonja, agreed to do some further research on our trips. We left and after a little checking, figured these good deals.
On Friday evening we returned. I had just that morning decided that I would try somewhere warm as the snowstorm that was supposed to hit the French Alps had turned into rain. Fourteen hours later I was staring out the window of a Boeing 737 at the mountains, beaches and windmills of Mallorca.
I walked off the plane, picked up a rental car, grabbed my bay and was off. I headed east towards the mountains and over the course of the day made my way along a long windy road that runs along the western coast of the island. The drive reminded me of Mulholland Drive, Hawaii's Road to Hana and the American Southwest.
After spending the entire day exploring the small towns on the west coast I drove back to the city of Palma to find my hotel. The travel agency I had signed up with had advertised the RIU Bravo as a 4-star hotel. As my beloved GPS remained in Germany, I began scanning street signs looking for something familiar. As soon as I had become convinced I has past the location I recognized a cross-street. I looked around and saw a long line of bars, all with German (not Spanish) signage. I turned down the next street (just before the strip club) and didn't have a good feeling about the place. The entrance was decent enough. It had the appearance of being a top-notch hotel…30 years ago. The facade was a pinkish-salmon stucco that looked fairly run-down. I parked and walked in. My first clue that I was in for a different experience was when I told the front desk clerk that I was checking in she responded "My I have your voucher?"
Voucher?
I did have a voucher. When I made my reservation I received a stack of slips of paper stapled on one end. I understood that they were essentially my airline ticket and my hotel reservation, and I really wasn't surprised that the hotel needed it. I was surprised that that was the first piece of documentation she needed. I dug the stack out and handed it over along with my passport. After a few minutes she handed me a key and a small card that gave my room number, check out date and my dinner time.
I had paid for half-pension, which included the room, breakfast and dinner. Full pension would have included drinks and lunch. In my mind I had seen a traditional restaurant and being able to order off a reduced menu. Nope. It was buffet. The receptionist told me I had missed the first seating and that I would have to eat at 8:00. Not a problem, I wasn't really hungry at that point anyway. I found my room, dropped off my stuff and looked over some of my guides and maps, trying to determine what tomorrow would hold.
I headed down to the lobby just before 8:00 to find it packed. The doors to the restaurant were closed and the tourists were restless. I decided I wanted no part of the stampede that I anticipated would occur when the doors did open. I wandered back to my room and bided my time for 10 minutes. When I returned, the doors were open and most of the tables were filled. I showed my card to the hostess who asked me (in German) if I had half or full pension. I responded (in simple German) and was led to a small table in the back. I perused the food offering…there was a typical salad bar, a grill, a meat station, some soups, some bread and dessert. Nothing looked especially appetizing. I tried a few items and was even less impressed with the taste than the look. In addition to the food, the atmosphere left something to be desired. I was surrounded by loud German tourists whose average age was around 65. Most were in groups of 6 or more. I vowed to eat somewhere else the next night. After trying the equally tasteless desserts I returned to my room to grab a jacket and go for a walk.
Exploring the area around the hotel did not change my initial impression. As it was still off-season, many businesses were closed. Most that were open were run-down looking bars. A cluster of men selling cheap trinkets and knock-off watches had taken over one intersection and the only internet cafe I could find was apparently in the back of a karaoke/strip bar. I passed. I returned to my room and went to bed in what is the least comfortable bed I've slept in in a long time.
I awoke the next morning with a sore back. After a quick shower I headed down to breakfast, which was much better than dinner. Europeans apparently always do breakfast right…even in a crappy hotel. I was out of there by 9:00. My first stop was downtown Palma, which is dominated by the Palma Cathedral, or La Seu.
Following that, I drove toward the eastern side of the island, with no real destination in mind. I visited the Dragon Caves, finding them far too crowded and overpriced. The "classical music concert" was interesting, but the several hundred tourists alternately talking and "ssshhhhing" got on nerves quickly.
I next drove to the town of Artá which, like most other towns on this island, had a large stone church atop a hill.
I was pleased to see that the Spanish are implementing their own version of the Americans with Disabilities Act.
Leaving Artá was more difficult than I had expected. Streets in rural Mallorca aren't exactly well-marked, so most of my navigation was done by reasoning "I want to go in that direction" or "this looks like a well-traveleled road." After coming to two dead ends I found myself climbing a ridge along a series of switchbacks that didn't allow much room for error. When I encountered an oncoming vehicle each of us would slow to a crawl and edge as far to our respective rights as possible until our side-view mirrors passed each other with only a inch or so of clearance. At points there were drops of a hundred feet or so on one side, which wasn't protected by anything. Fully realizing that this wasn't the way I had come, I pressed on, figuring the cars (some of which looked like small vans of tourists) were coming from somewhere, and that somewhere was a place I had not yet been. After about 10km (6 miles), which took me about 20-30 minutes to drive, I arrived at another dead end. This one, however, had a parking lot and an open gate. I walked along the entryway and came upon the Ermita de Betlém, a small monastery whose monks live off the land.
There were some paths leading up the hill, which apparently lead to a lookout point. The hill is home to a flock of sheep, who eye you warrily as you approach.
I found my way back to Artá and onward to Alcúdia, arriving just as the sun was setting. Remembering my previous dinner expereince, I found a small restaurant (not realizing until I had already ordered that the kitchen wasn't scheduled to open for another 30 minutes). The food was good, and the view of the bay from the terrace made up for fact one of the trio of tapas was baby octopus.
I made my way back to the hotel and went to bed.
I awoke with a sore back again, had breakfast, checked out, and walked out of the RIU Bravo for the last time. I had determined to re-visit the mountains, so I set out for the towns of Valldemossa, Deiá and Sóller. I wandered their small streets, leaving as soon as a tour bus would show up. I found a small hotel in Deiá, S'Hotel D'es Puig (The Hotel on the Hill) and picked up a brochure and another map of the island. One of the ads in the margin of the map was for http://Miquel Oliver Wines, one of the local wines I had tried on Saturday. The map directed me to the town of Petra. After happening across a map of the town I found the bodega, which turned out to be nothing more than a large storage room behind a pair of unmarked doors. I would never have found it if the doors weren't open and a truck parked on the sidewalk awaiting cases of wine. I purchased some wine and picked up a pamphlet entitled "Mallorca: The Island of wine." There nine wineries were laid out on a map of the island. Why did I find this with only six hours until my flight back to Germany? I plotted a route back to the airport that passed by several wineries. I stopped at one...closed. I stopped at the next, Son Bordils and taste several wines. When I left I was wondering how I was going to fit eight bottles of wine into my weekend suitcase. I somehow managed and made it to the airport, returned my rental and boarded the plane.
My bottom line on Mallorca:
- Stay away from Palma unless you want to swim in tourists
- The shoulder seasons are excellent ways to avoid tourists
- Explore the mountains
- Explore the small towns...before the tourists arrive
posted by tcw1138 at 5:43 PM
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