A month ago this Thursday, I nailed bureaucratic complications and left New York on a Madrid-bound flight with a final destination in Palma, Mallorca. As I travel more, the rate at which time flies by never ceases to amaze me. Immediately when I landed, I spent a very jet lagged afternoon jetting around the Mediterranean city on the back of my Spanish friend’s BMW motorcycle. After four nights bunked up in a hostel catching up on sleep, I found roommates, an apartment, a cell phone, a grocery store, and registered with the police to become a legal resident in Spain. The following Monday, I started teaching at a high school across the island. Unsurprisingly, the first week was a whirlwind of paperwork, getting lost, and struggling through sub-par Spanish.
After nearly four weeks in Palma, I no longer need a map, I walk everywhere, and was even able to give directions to a German tourist the other day—a true sign, for me, that I’m rooting down. So far, so good. The weather is completely opposite than the arctic Minnesota and New York I’ve known. It’s October, almost November, and I’m still swimming in the Mediterranean, wearing shorts, and running in a tank top. We figured out the train and bus system, and I finally got my dose of the woods this weekend. We camped (illegally, we discovered) near Soller in the mountains. Stories about all of this to come, and until then, here’s a photo preview of my tropical new home. Visitors welcome.