A Break In Mallorca

What better way to get over the broken arm blues than a holiday to Mallorca right?

Since I broke my arms in December it has been a fairly testing time. I am aware it is not a life changing injury, but faced with potentially not being on a bike again until next year hasn’t made me the happiest person in the world (James can probably clarify this!). I ride bikes for work, I ride bikes to work, I ride bikes outside of work, so it has been a bit of a hard hitter.

It was decided a holiday to Mallorca in April would be a great idea for a bit of rest and recovery and to take my mind off bikes. My shoulder had been given the all clear and my elbow was semi functional, so I could at least go swimming. Over the last 2 years I have had two holidays booked and paid for but never actually made it on them, so this holiday had to live up to a lot of expectations! I have also never been on a ‘holiday’ as an adult. The only reasons I have ever been abroad are to work or to climb some mountains, no resting allowed.

I packed six bikinis, 4 dresses, a skirt and some walking clothes, fully anticipating I would be embracing the Pinterest lifestyle and spend all my time leaning nonchalantly against conveniently placed giant plant pots and palm trees. I like to think I know my self pretty well, so am not sure how I got that idea so wrong. I spent 95% of the holiday in my trainers and the one set of walking clothes I had packed – on the first day of the holiday I informed James we were walking 11 miles along the North East coast line. I did soon begin to realise relaxing on holiday was a viable option, so began researching beaches away from the main tourist spots (it just so happened most of these beaches involved at least a 30 minute walk from the road to get to them).

We then spent the rest of the holiday visiting secret beaches away from the Easter holiday traffic of tourists and stumbled across a beach that has earned a spot on my list of top 5 favourite beaches. Earlier on in the holiday I mentioned to James that I would probably end up seeing someone I know whilst in Mallorca as it always seems to happen when I’m away – Previously I was on a hostel rooftop in Marrakesh and bumped into someone else from North Devon with whom I shared many mutual friends. That same holiday I sat down at one of the food stalls in Jemaa el Fna square, an old man promptly turned around and asked if I was from Devon, stating he could recognise a Devonian voice anywhere.

The last day was coming up and we decided to spend it at the previously mentioned beach with a massive picnic. That evening to my surprise I had a message from my friend Kat asking if I was in Mallorca, as it just so happened she was as well and only a short distance from where we were. We informed her of our plans and decided to meet at Port D’Alcudia Lidl so we could buy picnic supplies and head to to the beach together! An excellent way to finish a holiday.

Armed with French stick, cheese, crisps and other picnic essentials we parked the car and began the descent to the beach. It’s a fairly hard beach to find, as the path winds its way down the side of steep hill and is surrounded by steep cliffs. We stumbled across a German couple who had given up hope of finding the beach after an hours search and set up their beach chairs in the middle of the path, knowing the way we said they could follow us down.

April 2017. Mallorca.

As you can imagine Mallorca is pretty dry, the path was dusty and littered with small rocks, as well as being quite steep. Knowing the coveted route down and wearing my walking clothes I felt pretty proud of myself so took a short cut. A shortcut that didn’t favour me well. I slipped on some loose rocks and put my arms out to stop my fall. Saving face in front of the trusting Germans I swiftly stood up, brushed myself off and continued to the beach.

James was giving me that look. The look where he knows I’ve hurt myself but I’m not going to admit it, especially not over such an undramatic fall. My arm was sore, but I kept telling myself it was probably just bruised and didn’t want the last day overshadowed by my elbow. So I ignored it and spent the day eating too much bread and cheese, jumping off rocks in to the sea and posing next to undersized rocks with Kat.

I went to sleep that night with a bit of a stiff elbow and woke up with an elbow that wouldn’t move. It had swollen so much it barely resembled an elbow and the swelling was preventing any movement. We were flying home that morning so made the decision to head straight to Exeter A&E when we landed see what state my arm was in this time.

A bad one apparently. I was sent through to X-ray where I went through the normal routine of the radiographer looking confused by the extra lumps on my elbow and me explaining that’s normal. The first thing the A&E doctor said was ‘well that’s a bit of a mess’ before continuing on to say that she had never seen an elbow as bad as mine in someone so young. Some really helpful comments right there! As expected she also informed me that my elbow was broken again and handed me a sling and said I had to go to the fracture clinic as a new patient as it was a new injury. And so that is how I broke my arm for the 3rd time in 4 months.

I learnt two lessons on holiday

  1. Don’t go to Mallorca to avoid bikes, there are roadies everywhere
  2. I might as well do stupid sports if I break my arm walking

All in all though a 10/10 holiday.

 

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