It hurt me from there. A place where chalets are protected with traditional wooden doors that are saved in a jump is, certainly, special. It was what caught my attention the most, walking for White cove, In my first walks on the island. Then I corroborated the impression, that of that certain carefreeness with which you live here, In the streets of Ciudadela, where the neighbors accommodated the afternoons sitting in chairs at the doors of their houses, The most fortunate to a glass of gin.
With the days, I realized that this sublimation of the «Xano, Xano » (little by little, unhurried) throbbed throughout Menorca, hovering over its people as an ideal of conduct that scatters breaks and drives away precipitations and shocks. Me-1, The road that vertebra the island from end to end, It was an excellent test bench to imbute that philosophy without edges or stridency. Everything went through her. Any displacement, however, ended with the car circulating along the main road of Menorca, the one that joins the Citadel with Mahón, capital.
A place where chalets are protected with traditional wooden doors that are saved in a jump is, certainly, special
Newcomer, It is hard to understand why a highway has not yet been built between its two main cities. But after a few days, You understand that this project would betray the idiosyncrasy of Menorca. So we all ended there, In Pacific Caravana local and tourists (These easily recognizable because most, little accustomed to rental cars, It usually circulates with the lights on good morning because last night they have forgotten to turn them off), without shouting or horn, With that conscientious position that gave more than 100 kph, As if you were dragging the nails for a work of art.
With a highway, Mahón and Citadel could be closer (physically and sentimentally) of what these presume 40 kilometers that geographically separate them, But surely both prefer to continue like this -more urban and administrative the colonial mahón; more recoleta and peaceful citadel-, as a metaphor of the historic rivalry between the old capital and the current (an antagonism that drags even reproaches by corsairs sieges in which some did not come to the aid of the others).
He took care of conscientious to go to more than 100 km per hour, As if you were dragging the nails for a work of art
Permission, especially, In search of quiet coves, of sunsets where I could say goodbye to the sun without clouds in my eyes. I found both in abundance. And many others. Headlights to which we had to come on foot; streets where time had been sleeping a long time ago; A rich and unknown megalithic legacy; Borders of sea with ointment; Ensaimadas baked in the heaven very; A stimulant Horses path that circumvalas the entire island; desolate places that cleared into overwhelming cliffs and, especially, That pause that reconciled you with the serene look of the wasted days.
We met many beaches and coves, although I would not dare to give another advice that is not guided more for intuition than by the recommendations of others, because the perception of things is often very personal and, almost always, distorted by moods. We bathe between the rock ring, blessed by sunset, the Clot da to cera, An idyllic and little crowded corner of Cala Blanca; We walked through the steak cami de cavalls of cala Macarella To Macarelleta, A quite aerial path that gives unpayable views; We enjoy the tranquility of the ALGAIAREN beaches (Despite some ambush rocks) and of the crystalline waters of the unforgettable cala Morell, semi -via the abundance of stones, where the geological encounter of La Tramuntana and Mitjorn has drawn a watercolor landscape.
We bathe between the rock ring, blessed by sunset, of the closet yes to see
In the north of the island, Very close to Fornells Bay, We walked along the shore of Cala Tirant between a dune horizon and a peaceful wave. Descending to Mahón, We planted the towel in Cala Mesquida, where nudists were confused with textiles, from which we flee unable to tame the brave of the sea, that cornered the bathers without remission. In just half an hour we find the solution on the beach of It gray, In the protected place of S´Albufera, A haven of tranquility rescued by silence and rocked by dozens of boats tied in the Ensenada.
Much more it cost us to set foot in Binigaus, Next to Santo Tomás (south of Menorca), Because in the public parking lot there was no free hole and we had to wander around a nearby urbanization to be able to leave the car. Then, the beach (With interlected nudists) It was not so much. Nor does the celebration Cala Turqueta, preceded by 15 minutes of pine walk from the public parking lot with payment shower.
The Turqueta Cala suffers from the "Lonely Planet Syndrome" since a bad day some guide hung the "mythical" sambenito
The Turqueta Cala suffers the "Lonely Planet Syndrome". A bad day, In some guide he hung the "mythical" sambenito and has ended up succumbing to success. The beauty that undoubtedly treasures so many people that their carased charm fades. When we saw a tourist boat and began to disembark dozens of Italians who, In just a few minutes, They did not leave a square meter of free sand, We decided to leave. The mythical, sorry, It cannot be democratic.
First thing in the morning it was a good time to visit the headlights, Those corners of the world where it seems that civilization has been thrown out. Menorca preserves them and a visit to the island is not complete without approaching some of them. To Cap d´Artruix We arrived by mistake in search of a dodge and in Punta Nati, The westernmost end, The last kilometer of road (so narrow in some sections that only one car fit) We had to do it on foot for that stubborn, rugged and ungrateful to human presence.
Each visit to a lighthouse was a descent to those maps of silence where the earth and the sea hug them alone while the wind roars of envy
Another terminal landscape, that of Cavalry head, We enjoy it after a memorable seafood paella in Bakes. Much more busy than the previous, The rock sea also ended, Abrupt and fiercely, In abysmal cliffs where visitors accumulate lots of stones sighing to return someday. Each visit to a lighthouse was a descent to those maps of silence where the earth and the sea hug them alone while the wind roars of envy.
My only disappointment was not to find the path that goes up to Mount Toro, The highest on the island (361 meters), From the town of Merchant. Very much to my regret, We had to take the car and, Maybe because of that slight bitterness, Once up I disappointed me the agglomeration of people (Buses included), The corcovavo prayer that crowns its top and horrifying antennas that does not deserve the beautiful hermitage of the Virgen del Toro. The panoramic views, in any case, They are a gift.
My only disappointment was not to find the path that goes up to Mount Toro, The highest on the island
When the day was about to die, I liked going to the balcony of my apartment in Blancala, strategically located on the west of the island, or go down to the opposite cliffs -already paid by the enveloping idiosyncrasy of Menorca- To let me be surprised by the sun as it was swallowed by the sea horizon. And with it, All the hurried routines that lead us to those other cliffs where time is clear.
