On a previous holiday to the island we stayed in nearby Ca'n Picafort, on account of Gemma's sister Neeley then residing and working at a hotel in even-nearer-by Alcudia. We decided it would be a nice idea to go to a farm nearby to that hotel, the owners of which (Sally, a Bristolian lady, and her Spanish husband) are friends of Neeley's. We figured that Olive would enjoy a little pony riding. Additionally, we could spend some time in the old town, with its pleasant back streets and market.
The market, where in 2003 I sampled perhaps the best orange juice of my life, wasn't on. And as pleasant as the narrow shaded streets were, when we wanted refreshment we found that we were out of luck. Siesta's are an excellent idea, unless you are a hot, tired, thirsty tourist seeking refreshment at three in the afternoon. We eventually found an open cafe, which, I recalled, was one we visited all those eight years ago.
We then drove to Ranxo Ses Roques, were we learned that pony rides only happen in the mornings. As consolation, Sally allowed us into the small farm without charge. The dryness and the heat of the late-summer afternoon, along with the sparse pens and adobe shelters, lent a central-American feel to the place.
The next morning we returned, and Olive was at last able to claim her pony ride. Her horsepower was Drac, a medium-sized black pony with lazy yet vaguely defiant attitude. Olive enjoyed herself for maybe fifteen minutes before becoming bored, a trait which is increasingly manifesting itself as she charges towards threedom.
