Thursday

As we wandered through Cala Millor on Tuesday evening in search of cheap piss and food, we saw a shop advertising segway tours. We asked about it and it turned out they went to Punta de n’Amer, a little sort of nature area jutting out into the sea not far from where we were staying in Sa Coma. We’d wanted to to explore the area but I was meant to be resting my inflamed heel and distances greater than from the hotel to the bar would probably not be conducive to this so we’d talked about a guided horse ride. Segway, however, sounded way more fun, plus neither of us had ever been on a segway and we fancied having a bash at it.

Obviously we were a bit nervous, they don’t look like the most stable of devices, so the chap in charge of the store let us have a go at riding up and down to see how we felt and yeah, it felt okay, I think I’d be used to it after a short while and anyway, he assured us that you couldn’t crash one of these bad boys and they’d never had an accident. We signed up, paid up, then on Thursday morning we reported for segway duty.

There were six of us on the day; Laura the tour leader, us two, and three other tourists. Laura got us acquainted with the two wheeled devices that would be getting us around Sa Coma. They’re pretty simple to use; you lean forward to go forward, lean back to brake, and move the handlebars from side to side to turn. Piece of piss, right? Right. Off we fucked. It was pretty good fun but I had difficulty turning on account of the fact my brain wanted it to corner like a motorcycle and it very much does not do that. We all got plenty of practice before we went off-road though and Laura was great at identifying any potential problems and keeping said problems close to her. Yeah that’d be me and my inability to turn properly then.

We entered Punta de n’Amer and Laura warned us that it would be a bit bumpy but just to follow her exactly and we’d be fine. It wasn’t too bad, we had to stop a couple of times to wait for other tourists to move because we needed the momentum to get up the hills and ideally we didn’t want to have to stop for swathes of humans. It was a busy morning, it was quite cool weather, perfect for going for a little walk without all of your internal organs liquefying. We made it to the Castell which is a little, like, fort I guess? You can climb up it and have a look around, or buy some terrifyingly expensive food and drink at the café next to it. We had a little break here and so fucking much for resting my heel, it does actually hurt your feet a little bit, standing on a segway.

We got back onto the machines and shuffled the order around because I’d gained a lot of confidence and wanted other people to have some good photos too. So Laura was at the front, the lone German guy was next, then it was me, Tarrant, then the older German couple at the back. So basically I have no idea how Tarrant’s segway ended up in the bushes with her on the floor in absolute agony. She’s not too sure either, she doesn’t know if she just overcompensated for the segway lurching to one side or what but she does know she heard the crack which, it turned out, was her bones breaking.

Oh fuck. Oh Jesus fuck. She was in so much pain, I didn’t know what to do. Laura called an ambulance for her and I did the only thing I know how to do and arranged shit. I got onto the insurance straight away and they were great. I don’t remember a lot of the conversation, they said we’d either be taken to a private or public hospital, if we could get a temporary something something number the NHS would cover it if it was a public hospital and Axa would deal with it if it was private and they would sort out any hotel extensions and new flights and what the fuck how had this not even occurred to me?? We were meant to be flying home on Sunday, would that even happen now? I think at this stage I still hoped we could.

The police showed up first and they were massive cunts. They grilled Laura about how long she’d been doing this, was it a proper tour company and all that which is fair enough, but then they asked Tarrant if she had her passport on her. Why would she have her fucking passport on her, you utter melt? He was adamant he wanted some ID though so she wrestled her driver’s licence out from the pocket she was lying on, nearly crying with pain. The police offered exactly zero help. Fuckers. I hope you eat too many olives and burst out of your ridiculously tight uniform, you unsympathetic tit.

The ambulance eventually showed up and loaded her into the back, I rode shotgun and asked where we were going. Porto Cristo, I was told. The same Porto Cristo where we’d both said we wouldn’t mind spending a couple of nights so I feel like some manner of malignant genie is cackling manically somewhere because Tarrant at the very least would be spending a few nights there. I think the enormity of what she’d done finally hit me when, after the x-rays, they said she needed surgery which would happen the following day as long as the insurance agreed to cover it. We weren’t going home on Sunday now, that much was apparent. Again, the insurance were great. I chased them up a couple of times because the hospital, which was private, were anxious to get guarantee of payment before slicing her open, then someone from Axa called me the following day and asked if she was wearing a helmet. Well yes, yes she was. We all were, I could even prove it if necessary because Laura was taking photos. Proof wasn’t asked for though, guarantee of payment was sent and Tarrant was scheduled to have chunks of mental permanently embedded into her fractured bone.

The Rest Of It

Surgery went well thank fuck, but she’s not allowed to put any weight on it for six weeks which is fair enough. She’d fractured her tibial plateau in several places and bits of bone were floating about in there hence the surgery, and she’d got a clean break on her fibula. Ah, falling over in your forties. Gone are the days of just your pride being a little bit bruised which is easily remedied with a Jägerbomb and the insistence that you styled it out. You’re talking morphine and hospital food, which was actually fucking appalling considering it was a private hospital. Vegetables boiled to within an inch of their lives, greasy but somehow tasteless soups, unidentified reconstituted meat stuffs, little bread rolls that were so fucking stale you could build houses with them. I started taking her a serrano baguette, an ensaïmada (which is an insanely delicious, fluffy pastry liberally sprinkled with so much icing sugar you end up looking like you’ve faceplanted a pile of cocaine) and a coffee from a lovely little bakery in Porto Cristo that tolerated my awful Spanish with a smile.

She was meant to be discharged on the Tuesday but they wouldn’t let her out because her haemoglobin levels were too low. Unsurprising really after surgery but it was still a blow to morale. They finally discharged her on Thursday, a bit of back and forth with the insurance made it apparent that they’d not received the Fit to Fly certificate so I went back and got that. Then they wanted her haemoglobin results from the day of discharge so I had to go and get them because they weren’t having any joy from the hospital. Then they said their medical team thought her levels were still too low and what the fuck?! She has a Fit to Fly certificate signed off by an actual doctor. What more do they want?? We just wanted to go home. I never thought I’d rather be in Huddersfield over Spain but we both just wanted to get back to the UK so she could start the recovery process properly.

So what did I do in between visiting Tarrant? Mostly just applied things to my facehole to be honest. One of my favourite things about being overseas is local food so I just scoffed as much of that as I could to try and keep my own spirits up because it turns out being trapped at a holiday destination isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, especially when you have no control over anything that’s happening and you’re relying on the insurance to keep you housed and they only book you two nights at a time. I had to move out of Mar Blau on the Sunday as they had no availability and Axa were meant to book me similar accommodation which was 4* self catering. I was given a choice of three and the first night I was in the outstanding Marina Drach in Porto Cristo, but they only had availability for one night. After that I moved to a 2* hotel in S’Illot which I decided on because it was closer to the hospital than the 4* choices. It’s much more my style. There’s no AC, just a fan, and the first room I was in had a toilet that sounded like three velociraptors were fighting in the cistern when I flushed it. Yeah, this is definitely more familiar territory.

To be fair, 4* isn’t really us anyway. Package holidays aren’t really us. We just decided to treat ourselves this time and see how we liked it and whilst we appreciated the nice balconies and the air conditioning we really didn’t use any of the other 4* hotel facilities. We didn’t use the indoor pool. We sat by the outdoor pool for about twenty minutes before they decided to organise a water polo match and we didn’t fancy the risk of taking an errant water polo ball to the face. We didn’t use the bar or restaurant because it had no vibe and it was cheaper and more fun to go out. I don’t even know where the spa was. We only spoke to the Jet2 Customer Helper to arrange the refund for the taxi from the airport, we didn’t get her to book us on any trips because we can do all of that shit ourselves. Apparently you can book the backpacker into a 4* package holiday but she’s still going to wash her knickers in the sink if that’s what she’s used to. I think going forward we’ll only book a package if the prices are better for something we’d do anyway, and we really don’t need any of this multiple star shenanigans.

The bar across the road from where I ended up staying in S’Illot was very much our kind of place though. Tatty looking, outdoor only seating on cheap plastic chairs and tables, and rock bottom prices. €1.80 for a glass of wine? Yes please. I’m not saying it’s good wine (because it’s not) but our budget was being battered by this extended stay so I’ll take it. I decided to go out and have a few drinks one evening and got chatting to a lovely German couple, Vasco and Sonja. We hung out until the bar closed, drinking sangria, which not a single one of my brain cells thanked me for the following morning. They invited me out for dinner the next evening and we went and had paella at a fantastic restaurant near Algaida. I’d been gagging for a paella but you can only really get them for two or more people and Tarrant won’t eat seafood. Of course you can get meaty paella but for me it’s not paella unless half the ingredients are looking at you funny. Vasco and Sonja been to Mallorca a few times and just rent a car and explore so they’re pretty clued up on what’s what. They kept me sane over those few days whilst we were waiting for Tarrant to get out of hospital.

It was Saturday when the insurance finally decided they were going to let her fly. The repatriation team were great to be fair. They sorted us out taxis at both ends, three seats on the plane for Tarrant, and special assistance at the airport which kind of makes you feel a little bit like royalty. Of course the flight was delayed by a couple of hours but what else would you expect given the run of luck we’d had these last couple of weeks? We’re back home now anyway and I’m back at work but fortunately we have amazing friends who are helping out with practical things and her sanity. She’s pretty much house bound for now and I’m worried if mine is the only face she sees she’ll get pretty fucking fed up of it.

Jump to “Useful shit to know…”

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Cala Millor, Sant Llorenç des Cardassar // Porto Cristo, Manacor // S’Illot, Sant Llorenç des Cardassar, Mallorca, Balearic Islands, Spain

Stayed at:
Aparthotel Marina Drach, Porto Cristo
Bei Juan Hostal, S’Illot (it didn’t have a lift so the manager kindly moved me to their sister hotel, Playa Blanca, ready for when Tarrant was to be discharged)
BJ Playa Blanca, S’Illot
Tarrant stayed at: Hospital Parque Llevant, Porto Cristo

Useful shit to know…

• We did the segway tour with Crazy Segway in Cala Millor. It cost €59 each, cash only. It’s a German run company and they run the tour in German and English. It was actually really good fun before the accident too. Just make sure your insurance covers you for it!
• The Hospital Parque Llevant is a private hospital so you’ll need insurance if you’re going there. The food is fucking awful though so be prepared to have a friend or partner bring you food from outside. The staff are lovely though.
• We used Jet2 Insurance, their Super Plus option. We never travel without insurance and after experiencing their service through Axa we would definitely buy this insurance again.

Catching Buses In Mallorca

Buses here are an absolute delight. Run by Transports de les Illes Balears (TIB), they’re clean, air conditioned, and very tourist-friendly. A screen tells you what the next stop is and you just have to press the button to let the driver know you want to stop. If you don’t press the button though, the bus won’t stop and you’ll have to wait until the next stop. Ooh, also, you won’t be allowed to board if you’re just in your swimwear. Put some proper clothes on!

Paying is easy. You can pay cash if you like but it’s cheaper to tap your contactless bank card when you get on and tap it again when you get off. You can pay for up to five people on one card and it gets cheaper per person the more people you tap on for. You just have to remember to tap out the same amount of times as you tapped on.

All the routes are on Google so you can use that to find out timetable information and the exact location of bus stops. I will admit, there were a couple of occasions where the bus was full and didn’t stop to let us on but they will absolutely cram you on to capacity so it’ll be rare that you can’t get on. If for some reason you can’t get a bus, taxis are a good albeit more costly option. You can pay by card (only one guy didn’t want us to but grudgingly let us when we said we’d just take another taxi) and they’re all metered.