A cathedral, a palace and a hip that has opinions

6:30am. The sun isn’t even fully committed to the day yet, and here I am, wide awake, having just staged an involuntary all-night wrestling match between my hip joint and every available sleeping position. Spoiler: the hip won. On points, in every round.
Turns out my body had also quietly decided to run a little overnight experiment in hypoglycaemia, because why have one uncomfortable mystery when you can have two working in tandem? Mystery solved, mostly — low blood sugar has a way of explaining an awful lot in hindsight, including why 3am felt like a personal betrayal.

Too early to actually do anything about any of this, so I did what any reasonable person does at this hour: lay very still and planned the day like a tiny general plotting a very low-stakes campaign.

Here’s where the troops are headed this morning (only theoratical at this point):
• La Seu — the cathedral, because you can’t come to Palma and not gawk at the big Gothic showstopper on the seafront
• Almudaina Palace — royal digs right next door, presumably with better climate control than my hotel room
• Parc de la Mar — a stroll by the water to let the cathedral views sink in properly
• The old town — no fixed route, just vibes and alleyways
Lunch is intentionally undefined. Bars and restaurants will be discovered the old-fashioned way — by wandering until something smells irresistible.

Hip status: grudgingly cooperative. Blood sugar: presumably relieved to have made the news. Plan: loose, sensible, and entirely subject to change the moment a pastry gets involved. More after breakfast.

A Cathedral, a Cardio Workout, and a Cocktail Called Consequences

Of course it didn’t turn out quite like the plan. Plans, we’re discovering on this trip, are merely polite suggestions that the day nods at before doing exactly as it pleases.
We set off through the Parc de la Mar towards the cathedral, arriving with the sort of punctuality that deserved a medal but instead earned us twenty minutes standing about waiting for the doors to open. Not wasted minutes, mind you — enterprising as ever, we used the time to buy our entrance tickets online, thereby queuing twice for the privilege of going in once. Once inside, though, all was forgiven. It really is an extraordinary building, the sort of place that makes you crane your neck and forget you were mildly grumbling about it ten minutes earlier.

Back out into the sunshine, we wound through the old town’s narrow streets on the hunt for a bistro — coffee for the caffeine, cold water for the dignity. It didn’t take long to find one, and thus began pit stop number one of what would prove to be a day built almost entirely around pit stops.

The Great Tapas Expedition That Wasn’t

The plan — there’s that word again — was to stroll gently down to the marina and find a charming little tapas bar for lunch. What followed was less a gentle stroll and more an expedition. Several kilometres later, having seen approximately no bars and no restaurants matching the ones so vividly imagined in our heads, we finally stumbled upon somewhere that would do.

Two large beers arrived and vanished with alarming speed and even more alarming satisfaction. Sitting down had never felt like such an achievement.
By early afternoon, defeated but rehydrated, we decided the sensible move was to retreat to the hotel and let the rooftop pool and basement sauna do the heavy lifting instead.

Reservations, Recliners, and a Small Tactical Victory

En route, we popped into the Cuba Sky Bar to book a table for the evening’s aperitif — a small errand that turned out to be the single wisest decision of the day. Back at the hotel, every pool lounger had been claimed with the sort of territorial confidence usually reserved for flag-planting explorers, so we settled instead into the plush armchairs by the bar, ordered drinks and sandwiches, and called it a win.

An hour of blazing sun later, we retired downstairs to the wellness area — blissfully crowd-free and thoroughly relaxing. Verdict: to be repeated, ideally with headphones and a playlist built for serious, committed chilling out.

Cocktails with a View (and a Price Tag to Match)

A short nap back in the room recharged us for round two. The walk to the Sky Bar took a mere ten minutes, and the place was heaving — but for very good reason. The views over the marina and the cathedral were genuinely stunning, and the cocktail prices, it must be said, were equally spectacular in their own way. We spent a couple of happy hours taking it all in and loosely sketching plans for tomorrow, fully aware of how much stock to put in those.

Back to the hotel for a nightcap and an early night, legs tired, wallet lighter, spirits thoroughly high.

All in all: a good holiday day. Plan be damned.

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