Towards the end of May, we booked a spur of the moment (stupid cheap) Ryan Air flight to Mallorca, Spain. I told Chris that it would be a delayed present for his 28th birthday; but let's be honest, it was more of an excuse to escape a miserably long Belgian cold spell. Spain had also claimed a special place in our hearts and a prominent spot on our travel calendar after a trip to Barcelona (If you're interested, find some of our Barcelona info here, and here).
I think there was still snow on the ground as we boarded a flight bound for Spain's largest island. I had heard about the neighboring party island (Ibiza), but the only reason we chose Mallorca was because there was a direct flight from Brussels to Mallorca for less than an Italian dinner for two (Italian is about the cheapest sit down dinner option you'll find in Europe). My type A-must-research-every-detail-of-a-trip-to-a-new-city-personality sort of took a vacation, and I threw planning out the window! I mean, how hard could it be for us to get down to a beach, lay out our towels, and relax on the warm sand?!
I learned my lesson (again), because what we wanted and what we walked into were so completely far off from each other!
At the airport, we caught the local bus #21, and within ten minutes we were walking into the lobby of Java Hotel. Our accommodation was right in the middle of Playa de Palma, and while the hotel itself was newly remodeled and reasonably priced, the long stretch of beach outside of the hotel was less than relaxing! What we had wanted was a slow couple of days sprawled out on the sand followed by seafood dinners at beach front restaurants. What we actually got was this: