…. Cont’d from Green gills and a body bag …

Sóller Railway Station

The Orange Express arrives, believe me it was like a scene from an Indian railway station crossing, the majority of passengers are un-nimble and aged, me included, my legs have now swollen up like tree trunks and the pain is unbearable, however, we have a border to cross. Now that’s over the platform, after a drop down of eighteen inches, quick-run-dash-across-rock-rail-tracks and then clamber back up another two feet into the train carriage like an old Sumatran Orangutan seeking and pleading for diplomatic immunity in Borneo. We nonchalantly cling to our seats tightly, with one arm out of the open window pretending we had been there for ages, meanwhile the other primates pulled face and offered sugar lollie pops as rewards attempting to beckon their other relatives further down the carriage to come and join them.

This was going to be a tricky ride, the train meandered through the abundant amount of orange and limon groves and olive tree estates as we continued to look down into the beautiful Fornalutx valley and Sóller further below.

Slowly at 15kph we wound our way upwards and through a series of tunnels, we reached our highest peak and then, just like the run-away train that started running down the track, she blew and she blew! This was to include the longest tunnel, blinded by the darkness we began the descent, all five miles of it … Now, this meant that we were all at the disposal to the mysterious Orange Express pervert of his, OR her wandering hands. Obviously it was not sat near to me, (sighs) …. “yet another bitter disappointment”.

Sadly, for those of us who had done our maths, that meant for eight minutes I held onto my own knees tightly for affect, I certainly wasnt going to waste a once in a lifetime experience called the ‘tunnel of love’ for nothing, not even on my own. (GRrrrr)

Trundling down parallel to the main highway into Palma, we could see civilisation on the morning side of the Serra de Tramuntanas and farmland became more arable, but if you call seventeen million hazelnut trees and almost as many almonds, then you had to realise this tiny island sure has some export produce, fortunately the Carob tree wasnt ready for harvesting, as im sure Dina, our guide would have got us out there shaking the trees lose of its ripe fruit.

Finally our terminus was in sight, we didn’t head straight into Palma as it was now rush hour, hard to imagine, all those sleepy siesta heads going back to work until the early evening …

Sad to say my legs were now numb, and being quite concerned I just wanted to get back to the resort, an hour later we were, laid up on bed with a bottle of San Miguel in one hand and TV remote in the other … nothing quite like “are you saying yes to the dress in Spanish”

Perhaps I was being a little obsessive and concerned about the smell of paint cellulose and disinfectant permeating the rooms and corridors, however, seems like the cyclists have been allowed back on level 5, all that fuss and nonsense, after all, it couldn’t have been all that serious …. no sign of those two cyclists though.

“Early dinner Daddy C?”  ….. Sounds like a plan to me, Daddy P.

After shower and spruce up we headed down to the dining room, one woman asked if we had been anywhere nice as we had not been noticed, and also that there had been a suspicious death on level 5, and they were concerned it might even have been one of us … Nosy old trout …

Now im not one really to gossip, and, to be quite honest, If I said I didn’t, then maybe, I might just probably be lying, but as its never ever stopped me before ….. I had to go and find out exactly who.

…… Obviously sworn to secrecy the lot of them !