Menorca, Balearic Islands of Spain
The colors of sunrise dominate crescent-shaped Menorca. But here and there, a fragment of Mediterranean blue is cast upon the land, creeping over rocky walls that have stood the test of time. The purple morning glory (Ipomoea sp) is not a violet shade but a real true, deep blue like the sea we travel on.
We sit on the pontoons of the Zodiac and stare deep into the waters, quietly waiting for the world to awaken. As the egg-shaped sun rises behind the town of Cuitadella it paints the sky in all warm hues from yellow to terra cotta. The pigments spill into the narrow winding streets of town creating a kaleidoscope of colors. Outside of town, white predominates. Modern man-made structures and "donkey-backed" stone walls, ancient partitions modified during British occupation, glow bright. Even the land on the southern half of the island is pale; dry exposed limestone, flat, pockmarked, eroded into canyons and caves.
The island can't quite seem to figure out who it is. It is like a croissant split in half along the longest axis. The north is hilly, not quite mountainous but Monte Toro probably deserves that designation (357 meters). Lush trees try to hide the red clay soil with their forest green. The south is where the wind will blow over the flat plateau grasping any woody plant, pruning it permanently asymmetrical. Even the language is confused. Cuidadela or Cuitadella, Mahon or Mao, two towns, two names each depending on the dialect selected. Some words are Spanish, some Arabic and some a combination. Atalaya is a hill. The suffix -ot means older, more important. Together, atalaya-ot becomes a talayot. Did this new word describe a watch-tower or a temple?
Waves of mankind have sailed up to these shores. Layer upon layer clues from the past six thousand years or more have piled upon each other. Subtle things like the tools they used or remnants of their meals take some ferreting about to discover. Other signs are overwhelming in their scale but no less mystifying. Bronze Age talayots stand upon hill tops. Taulas, megalithic tables, are encircled in shrine-like settings. The engineering method has been deciphered but what they meant to those who struggled to emplace them is still and may forever be unknown. Fifteen thousand kilometers of dry stone walls meander about the island. Did the Arabs place them there or were they here much longer?
In Mahon, today's world is much in evidence. Sailboats, yachts, and ferries busily stream in and out of the harbor. Sidewalk cafés are filled with tourists adorned with Menorcan leatherwear and consuming local cheeses. We test the wares briefly but the deep blue Mediterranean beckons, and we sail away to puzzle over the mysteries of this Balearic Island.
The colors of sunrise dominate crescent-shaped Menorca. But here and there, a fragment of Mediterranean blue is cast upon the land, creeping over rocky walls that have stood the test of time. The purple morning glory (Ipomoea sp) is not a violet shade but a real true, deep blue like the sea we travel on.
We sit on the pontoons of the Zodiac and stare deep into the waters, quietly waiting for the world to awaken. As the egg-shaped sun rises behind the town of Cuitadella it paints the sky in all warm hues from yellow to terra cotta. The pigments spill into the narrow winding streets of town creating a kaleidoscope of colors. Outside of town, white predominates. Modern man-made structures and "donkey-backed" stone walls, ancient partitions modified during British occupation, glow bright. Even the land on the southern half of the island is pale; dry exposed limestone, flat, pockmarked, eroded into canyons and caves.
The island can't quite seem to figure out who it is. It is like a croissant split in half along the longest axis. The north is hilly, not quite mountainous but Monte Toro probably deserves that designation (357 meters). Lush trees try to hide the red clay soil with their forest green. The south is where the wind will blow over the flat plateau grasping any woody plant, pruning it permanently asymmetrical. Even the language is confused. Cuidadela or Cuitadella, Mahon or Mao, two towns, two names each depending on the dialect selected. Some words are Spanish, some Arabic and some a combination. Atalaya is a hill. The suffix -ot means older, more important. Together, atalaya-ot becomes a talayot. Did this new word describe a watch-tower or a temple?
Waves of mankind have sailed up to these shores. Layer upon layer clues from the past six thousand years or more have piled upon each other. Subtle things like the tools they used or remnants of their meals take some ferreting about to discover. Other signs are overwhelming in their scale but no less mystifying. Bronze Age talayots stand upon hill tops. Taulas, megalithic tables, are encircled in shrine-like settings. The engineering method has been deciphered but what they meant to those who struggled to emplace them is still and may forever be unknown. Fifteen thousand kilometers of dry stone walls meander about the island. Did the Arabs place them there or were they here much longer?
In Mahon, today's world is much in evidence. Sailboats, yachts, and ferries busily stream in and out of the harbor. Sidewalk cafés are filled with tourists adorned with Menorcan leatherwear and consuming local cheeses. We test the wares briefly but the deep blue Mediterranean beckons, and we sail away to puzzle over the mysteries of this Balearic Island.
