6/5/05
Hi from Tapestry,
Today was travel day. We rose at six, were picked up by Triumph's
dinghy at
6:15, caught the bus to Palma at 6:40, and arrived in Plama at about 7:40.
Palma is the king of Megayacht marinas. Spanish buses are no nonsense vehicles.
They are clean, well maintained, sleek, powerful monsters on tiny narrow roads.
The drivers are a special breed. Not only do they weave these powerful beasts
through traffic of lesser horsepower, but they do it safely and fast. When
riders question them about routes or schedules, they reply in French, English,
Spanish or German. Often they discern the dialect of the speaker and amaze him
with his native language. They seem to know everything about where the bus
travels and remember to inform each of us just where we are supposed to get
off.
They are amazing.
Anyway, on this Sunday, we got off at the train station. The train we were
going to take was to Sollier, a port on the other side of the island. We knew
it was a "retro" affair, electric and all, but we had no idea, really.
The train was mahogany. Well, the running gear was iron and very old, but the
coaches were varnished mahogany. Not old mahogany, faded and worn, but sanded
and varnished mahogany, polished and smooth. That was true inside and out. In
our car, the seats were leather, the ceiling was white with bright brass light
fixtures, but the sides were varnished mahogany wood with windows that fit
perfectly and slid up with a pinch of stainless steel releases to let the air
in. It was beautiful! We traveled through the mountains for about an hour to
Sollier. We passed houses with closed shutters and thousands of roses and
flowering plants in their yards; past horses and corals, past olive and fig
and
almond orchards, past mountain scenes to take your breath away. We wove across
trestles and through tunnels, one of which left us for seven minutes in the
dark. This was not your modern railroad. The tracks were not welded, but just
bolted in place. The regular clackity-clack was unnerving, and loud. The
tracks were uneven and the cars bounced and wove, and groaned back and fourth.
An open window made the sound loud, like a radio left on too high. In the
tunnels the smell was dank and musty. Butch Cassidy and Sundance were riding
in
the next car! It was wonderful!
At Sollier, we got off and picked up a street car to the Port city of Sollier.
If I had been in my father's era in the train, imagine the street car. It was
what my parents had talked about as a "summer car" in their youth.
It
used to take them to Celeron Park or Midway. It was a streetcar with no sides,
just wooden benches of varnished wooden slats. It was neat and clean and
magnificent. We rumbled through city streets, past the Cathedral and on down
to
the old port city. When we got there we had breakfast, then, after exploring
the town, we had lunch and headed back toward the City of Sollier. There we
entered the cathedral, watched old folks walk home. We imagined them never
wanting to be a mile from where they were born. We saw their grandchildren play
near the fountain in front of the church, saw them have lunch with their
children. The train took us back to the twentieth century where we found
Tapestry hanging tight to her anchor chain, just as we had left her. After a
brief rest, we took the dinghy back to town where Julie drew an old olive tree,
I finished reading a novel, and we enjoyed cocktails and tapas, (tripe and
sausage with sauce, olives and tomatose, and peanuts) as the sun set over
beautiful Andratix Bay. Life is good on Tapestry.
Hank and Julie