Bajo las Palmas

            This weekend we found ourselves relaxing “bajo las palmas”, or “under the palm trees” of a little Spanish island by the name of Palma de Mallorca. I knew that I would love this place as our plane began its descent through the clouds, revealing a little green sliver of land surrounded by the pink reflection of the most beautiful sunrise I have ever witnessed in my entire life. I’m not exaggerating. iPhone pictures do no justice.

It began as a fiery streak dividing the sky and the water, a burning laser beam marking the end of the earth, a bright red light quickly enveloped by brooding clouds concealing everything but a reddish glow on the waters below it. The scene quickly evolved before my eyes, every second a new color was added to the sky, a new cloud configuration, a new reflection in the water. One of God’s masterpieces. What a wonderful Maker.

As we unloaded the plane, we were pleasantly surprised to not feel the winter chill we’ve grown used to in Switzerland. We were greeted by blue skies, swaying palms, friendly locals, and the Mediterranean Sea—an unexpected paradise for a couple of Swiss study abroads to defrost for the weekend. To add to this high, Megan and I made it to our hostel without getting lost, which is breaking record for us!

Upon arriving at Hostal Atlanta, we were very kindly welcomed by the owner who took the time to explain the island maps, give us recommendations, and direct us to our room for the weekend. After settling into our room (and by that I mean dropping our backpacks onto the beds), we headed out to explore the city.

First stop, a cute little restaurant with an ocean view patio with perfect beachy vibes and some strong coffee. Afterwards, we spent hours walking the path along the shore, the sound of the waves pounding on the rocks to our left, and bright little Spanish cottages and restaurants to our right.

It took a while before the drain of a day of travel began to take a toll. By 1 PM, we were miles away from the hostel and running on 3 hours of sleep, 1 cup of coffee, and the urgency to find a bathroom (a constant dilemma in Europe) and lunch for some much-needed nourishment and break for our feet.

  

The pain was well worth it when we were able to sit down for some paella, the most delicious dish on the planet, at a place called Tapas Club. For ten euros each, Megan and I shared a generous amount of paella with a clear ocean view from our table. With our bellies full, feet slightly rested, and hearts content again, we set out towards the hostel.

Megan and I have this tendency to walk really far before we realize that we have to make it back to the starting point somehow. This was no exception. The walk along the coast was beautiful and exciting, but our feet were definitely crying after walking 20 miles that day.

We decided to take it easy the following day by just hanging out at the beach. While the weather there was quite nice compared to Switzerland, Mallorca was experiencing a little cold spell, so Megan and I seemed to be the only souls to brave the beach in bathing suits. We had a blast making music videos and running along the shore, but the beach day didn’t last very long in the windy conditions. Looking for a snack to sustain us until dinner, we befriended the owners of a little restaurant called Del Sol, which we found ourselves visiting quite a few times the rest of the weekend.

Sunday was Valentine’s Day, so Megan and I spent the day biking to the Catedral de Mallorca, eating ice cream, and looking for souvenirs to bring back home. Though the day started off hazy and cold, the sun broke through the clouds as we neared the cathedral, making it a wonderful day for ice cream (even more so than usual, since it's always a great time for ice cream). 

That night, around 4 PM, we were confused as to why a lot of places looked like they were closing. Turns out they were. Turns out that everything closes around that time in Mallorca during the winter. EVEN ON VALENTINE’S DAY. Megan and I tried several places, determined to sit down for a nice Valentine’s dinner.

Finally, we were seated at a fancy table at a restaurant called Varadero Beach. They had begun to close the kitchen (many places close their kitchens a few hours before closing the bars) but there were still plenty of people there, and the owner, Vicente, was kind enough to see what he could do for us.

They served us some grilled fish, potatoes, a salad, and some delicious bread with some equally delicious garlicky spread. It was a GREAT dinner. The owner and all the waiters were extremely friendly and switched back and forth from English to Spanish as they conversed with us. The lovely evening was topped with some exquisite chocolate and coffee ice cream and cheerful “goodbyes” and “come back agains” as we departed back to our hostel.

Megan and I agreed that we’d love to come back to Mallorca. Everything about the island, from the locals to the palms made this experience amazing. Funny how you can visit a place that’s thousands of miles form home, yet still feel as if you could walk a minute’s distance and find yourself wrapped in a familiar embrace, cuddled in your own bed, gathered around the dinner table laughing and reminiscing about the good ol’ days. Mallorca definitely swept me into a sweetly familiar embrace with the people’s unbelievable hospitality, the sound of the waves crashing on the rocks, and the mouth-watering paella I wouldn’t mind eating for the rest of my days.

Hasta luego,

Lisa y Megan

From the Mountain Top

          This weekend was spent walking our feet off, laughing our hearts out, and breathing in some much needed mountain air. Ever since we arrived in Geneva, we’ve felt as if the mountains were just out of reach. Everywhere we look, we can see the mountains peeking out beyond the buildings and busy streets, just far enough to keep us broke college students at bay for the time being. But living in Switzerland, we HAD to go the mountains and resolved to go this past weekend.

           

            We left for Mt. Salève, on the border of France and Switzerland, on Saturday morning with our friends Damaris and Brad. None of us really knew how to get there, so we just took the 14 to the train station and from there, a bus that would take us near the trail. To get to the actual trailhead, we walked through a cute little French town at the foot of the mountain, its quaint streets dressed with colorful window shutters and planters, vines draped over stone walls and arched doorways.

             The hike was wonderfully and painfully steep, the unreal views a distraction from my burning calves and blistering feet. 

          

The path was enchanting, lined with golden fall leaves and rocks covered in vibrant green moss, leading us through tiny storybook towns and overlooking distant mountain ranges the entire way.

           When we reached the top, we found a restaurant called L’Observatoire, if I remember correctly. As we walked through the door we greeted by a warm, inviting room full of tired, muddied hikers sitting back on cozy arm chairs, drinks in hand, dogs resting at their feet, view of the mountains from every angle of the restaurant. Despite the cold, we celebrated our summiting of Mt. Salève with a bowl of delicious French ice cream. T’was a great day.

            Sunday was another wonderful day, beginning with our first visit to an English speaking church in Old Town with Damaris. The service was in an old building packed with people from different ends of the globe, different ages, and different walks of life. After the service, we met a ton of people from the young adults group who kindly welcomed us and invited us to lunch with them.

            The afternoon was spent with plenty of introductions, fun facts about hometowns, funny travel stories, and lots of questions about life in different parts of the world. Afterwards, we headed to an Irish pub where we spent the rest of the afternoon watching a rugby game and continuing some great conversations. We got back to Les Berges so full of the joy these people brought us by welcoming us with open arms.

            Monday began at 5 AM with a journey to Zermatt, home to the Matterhorn. The four-hour train ride was nothing less than amazing as we watched the pink tint of the rising sun reflected on the snowy peaks of the mountains. We passed leafless wintery vineyards, icy rivers, mountainside waterfalls, steep mountains pointing towards heaven.

            As we ascended further into the mountains, the scenery changed from the greens and reds and browns to pure white. Thick snow coated every tree, every rock, every mountain for miles and miles. Our eyes didn’t shift from the window as the train creaked up the mountain through a real-life Narnia.

            Zermatt is a fairytale village, a perpetually sleepy and Christmas-y town characterized by rustic wood cabins, the ringing of bells on horse drawn carriages, snow-clad rooftops lined with icicles and strings of white lights. Looking straight down the main road, there’s a view of the mountains magnificently encompassing the tiny village.

            We spent the day hiking the snowy trail towards the Matterhorn. The way in which the wind blew the snow up off the ground into swirls of white powder reminded me of something that you’d see in a Nat Geo documentary of Antarctica. I felt like a kid waking to snow on Christmas morning. I ran through the snow, face-planted in it, rolled in it, ate it, and bear crawled through it until I thought me fingers might fall off. How I wanted to spend days scaling the snowy mountains before me, reach the top of the Matterhorn and see Zermatt as a little ant town in the distance.

           This trip did little to satisfy my hunger for mountains and fresh air. If anything, it increased it. I can't imagine ever standing so small at the foot of the mountain, realizing the enormity of the world and the One who created it and not being amazed. God sure knew what He was doing when He made the mountains.

            Our day ended with wet, numb fingers and toes, some grocery store pastries, and one last glimpse of the Matterhorn before it disappeared behind a cloud of fog as the sun set. I couldn’t be happier.

Until next time,

Lisa & Megan