All mallets available for purchase.
Festival Frenzy: Dancing Myself to Mallorca
My journey began at the sounds of "Shalala and who cares! Malle is only once a year!" Echoing from the shooting festival—an annual spectacle I've always missed out on. It seemed these people had their fun only once a year, basking in the Mediterranean sun and pulsating to the music. Perhaps twice, considering the shooting festivities.
I, however, was oblivious to this until now. Yes, I once visited Mallorca three decades ago, filled with animated hotel activities, buffet breakfast skirmishes, and alcohol-fueled debacles. Loose little British ladies danced the "Macarena" on the dancefloor without a care in the world. A sight I hadn't imagined before—trained to think it was just an ice cream flavor or a footballer.
As I've aged, I've carried on the winning spirit I'd learned from those British women: "To party hard, one must embrace one’s silliness." So, I found myself back in Mallorca, reassessing my boycott list.
The locals, armed with their alcohol, deserted the shores late into the night. In contrast, I breezed into the airport early, an old habit since the passport mishap—you know, the one time I misplaced my travel documents. A slight mishap that ended with me stuck amidst hordes of night owls, clutching my belongings and suffering from flight anxiety. But my return flight was already booked. Catch the error?
We dressed up in warm promises for Mallorca; "It'll be warm." "Definitely warmer tomorrow." "The island is different." They all said these phrases, typical for Mallorca tourists.
Our journey took us to Peter Maffay's donkey farm, perched before Rafi Nadal's villa, and secret beaches smothered in dead, tiny jellyfish. The streets were narrower than I remembered, and the suicidal cyclists racing the mountains made me thankful my partner refused to drive the rental car any further into the labyrinthine old town.
"We'll manage walking!" we groaned. "You see so much more when you walk!" We strolled through the narrow alleys, eventually landing in a small plaza bathed in evening light. The intimate bar captured us from the first sip—the tapas were as delicious as I dared not reveal. Dancing, or maybe still sitting in the plaza, the shooting festival boycott remained.
Shooting festivals in the Mediterranean, while not as commonly celebrated, play a crucial role in preserving cultural traditions, fostering community bonds, and symbolizing resistance or liberation. They celebrate shared identities and the need for communal unity, reflecting the spirit of the Mediterranean region. Returning to such a festival represents the reconnection with one’s roots and a resurgence of cultural pride.
Inspired by the Mediterranean spirit and intrigued by the unique home-and-garden setup of Peter Maffay's donkey farm, I pondered transforming my own lifestyle to accommodate more home-and-garden activities. After all, travel broadens the mind, and exploring new destinations, like dancing myself to Mallorca, can offer insights into intriguing lifestyle choices. Perhaps in the future, I'll incorporate traditional Spanish fiestas, like the shooting festival, into my travel itinerary to fully immerse myself in the local lifestyle.
