Some experiences are so over the top, the thing that surprises you most is that you manage to stay your regular self right in the midst of them. My weekend in Mallorca was like that -- at times so postcard perfect, I had the surreal feeling on more than one occasion that I might be on a Hollywood sound stage, instead of out in the real world. When we weren’t driving through hillside farm towns that looked like Napa, or strolling down cobblestone streets among medieval cathedrals and ancient Roman ruins, we were boating – better yet -- swimming in the clear, blue Mediterranean, drinking cava and eating sweet peaches with sea-rinsed salty skin. Ridiculous.
Thanks to the adorable drunk guy who wouldn’t stop talking to us in unintelligible Spanish as we sat in Placa Mayor drinking Pellegrino and waiting for the sun to come up, we made it to bed before 6 on Saturday morning and didn’t sleep through a glorious afternoon. Thanks to the perfectly executed American diner owned and run by Amanda’s friend Heather (originally from Texas), burgers and nachos warded off our hangovers, which I thought might be inevitable. Thanks to the hospitality of Amanda’s friend Joan (pronounced Joe-awn), who invited us to his family beach house for the weekend, I happily lost a bet over who could be the first to hook us up with a boating connection. I think it may have been fixed, but who cares? At any cost, the trip was priceless.
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