The wind was a perfect cool. Not the kind of cold that leads to angst, or the warmth or springtime, but cool enough to be uncomfortable without a sweater and perfect with one. I had the flu and my body was too tired and feverish to ferry across to Ibiza. Saturdays, however, deserve more adventure than sitting before a laptop or t.v. or lounging in bed, so I showered, dressed and left to make use of my day. I found myself 70 something kilometers north at the top of the island, in Port de Pollença.
It was my first time having the initiative to venture there and seeing about 10 or 11 kilometers of beach reminded me of the south of Spain: quiet, unreserved, and a wetsuit away from kite surfing the distance. The waves were long and shadow. Each time one would slide onto the next a layer of white foam separated the old wave from the new and, divided the blues. The water was magician's blue, like mixing and stirring crystal and clouds, into the depth of the sky, tossing in buckets of glaze and sifting kool-packets over the sea.
Had the flu not taken such hold over my body I would have rented a suit and surfed until my muscles were numb. It hurt a bit to breathe and so, I wouldn't be able to manage.
The bus left from Alcudia to to Formentor and since I'd never been there, I decided I would leave and go there when this view became familiar.
Pollença's beach was something out of the NYTimes travel section, the Cappucino billboards, and the dreams I had of a Eurotrip which, at that moment, was happening. It looked like Tenerife and it made me happy. Despite the wind, beams from the Sun were streaming down one after the next and it was a good day for swimming. The kites were all over the shoreline, stripes and stars, bright colors here and there. The sun shone through their sails, dyed the rich colors they dawned and deposited the rainbow against my cheeks.
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