Spotty feet

It´s come to this. My feet are spotty. Ouch. I don´t know how I managed it, but I think yesterday I stood on something and today I have these bastard spots on the sides of my feet. In hindsight, it may have been worth it, for yesterday I was swimming with the fishes. I bought a snorkel and mask combo for a bargain €10 and have spent three days splashing around this cove behind the hotel. It´s really amazing, so clean and warm and full of jumping kids, nervous adults and…well…me. I jumped a few times, it´s scary to look down but looking at it from the sea it doesn´t look dangerous at all. Nevertheless, standing up on that cliff, looking down and jumping always provokes a little terror in me. The sea can´t come quick enough.

It´s something everyone should try, really it´s fantastic. Bobbing on the ocean and not moving a muscle, looking down on oblivious silver fish as they flow underneath. I learned the trick of diving down while wearing a snorkel, which was a little daunting at first but basically you just take a deep breath and dive down deep enough to get nervous about your mask cracking and then ascend. Once your pipe is above water, a powerful gust of air up it spits out the water and you´re away. I learned something. Yay!

In other news, I have a colour. Not like my sister, who spent a week in a north Cork field with some girl guides beforehand and now looks distinctly Middle-Eastern in appearance. But I did get a splash of brown on the face and arms, although my chest is still comically white. Ah sure who´s gonna see it? Actually funny I said that because right now I´m considering an offer. A young lady (two years younger ) has casually enquired if I´ll go with her to her debs (prom) cos her original choice fell through. Hmmm. I also get the feeling such a mission might include some of the sex. Typical Joe dilemma to kick off autumn.

Speaking of meat, the best restaurant in the Cala Blanca/Santandria/Sa Caleta area south of Ciutadella is still the same one it was ten years ago when 11 year old Joe was brought by the familia. It´s called Sa Quadra and it´s half in a cave and if you ask for the T-Bone, they´ll give you a piece of meat so incredibly huge your eyes will pop out. Honestly, it´s this big!

*stretches arms very far apart indeed*

Going home tomorrow, it all seems so far away. I´ve been reading a book, “Something For The Weekend” by Pauline McLynn (yes, Ms. Doyle from Father Ted) after finding it lying around the hotel, and despite it being set in Ireland I found myself picturing it all as sunny and warm when of course Ireland is wet and cold, not to mention wind-battered and grey. It was ok, a little racy at times but quite obviously a TV series just waiting to happen. And I got through it, in a Joe-Reads-Entire-Fictional-Book-Of-His-Own-Accord-Shock kinda way. Where was I? Oh yes, so it´s hard to believe it´ll be back to work next Tuesday and no more waking at 11am, buying an English rag/newspaper and munching on cornflakes, bread and jam and a can of San Miguel before lazing by the pool, going for a swim in the sea, going for a swim in the pool (I was always a bit of a water baby), maybe heading into Ciutadella for the evening and chilling before getting a bus back to Cala Blanca and having something with a tasty sauce in a nearby restaurant. Then play pool (I´ve played a LOT of pool on this holiday), drink some more and play more pool with some kids staying there. Yeah, that´s another thing. Sis and me are continually harassed by these kids (although one of their parents used the phrase “idolized”) every night by the pool table. It´s funny to come full circle and realise you´re now the cool big boy who does cool stuff like pull you up by your ears or make funny noises. It´s funny, this kid thing. You never leave that mindset behind really, well I haven´t anyway. I´m finding myself thinking a lot about having my own kids someday. Nella if it´s a girl, Tommy if it´s a boy.

And then there was the “you´ve gotta get out there and find yourself” speech from a man at an adjoining table in the hotel bar last night. I later dreamt I had just arrived in New York and I was with a load of people I went to school with. Before the bus we were waiting on came, they had all left but it didn´t bother me. I got on the bus (on the right-hand side and everything, which was a surprisingly intricate detail for my subconscious to come up with) and soon realised everyone on it was Irish. I´ve never been to America, but I think if I was to go, I´d go to New York. In my opinion, New York is to western civilisation what Rome was to the Romans. The centre of our way of life, the place our culture now comes from. Sure, many Europeans secretly sneered in delight at America getting what they thought it deserved. But I think it makes perfect sense to think of New York as every westerners´ home, and when it was attacked, it was an attack on all of us. I´ve always thought since 11 September that the notion of that attack was to strike Rome, the centre of the western way of life. So as a westerner, maybe someday I should go to Rome.

j