Granted – mountains will always be my home turf. I enjoy the multifarious relief forms and the variety and contingency of the terrain – snow, ice, meadows, rock. I also cherish the ethics as much as the esthetics of it. Mountains remind you that you’re small, and offer you their treats only after sore muscles, dusty gear and sweat. I guess they’re a religious schools of sorts, especially for puritan types like me.
But beauty is beauty, and, like in my first trip in the Fall, I found the combination of pine trees, ochre soil and turquoise waters simply stunning and worth slowing down to contemplate.
More so when you get there on foot. Cala Bassa was beautiful, but somehow, too easy to get to. Cala Llentrisca, the day after, proved the perfect B-side spot.
Together with K., my partner in crime and advisor on things beautiful, I set off from the pretty Es Cubells hamlet dressed in running attire. The plan was to mix running and hiking and get a decent workout while visiting this small, intimate cove.
Soon after we started, we spotted a quaint seaside resto, ideal for a post-run beer. The run was a bit of a drag, as most of the way was on overheated tarmac. But finally we got to a beautiful single-track with plentiful views of dream villas, turquoise waters and cliffs.
Let’s get down there, said K. To the water.
Forget about it, I warned her. It’s slippery. You’d need climbing gear or, at least, decent shoes with some grip.
K. didn’t believe me, but luckily soon enough we stumbled upon the first views of Cala Llentrisca, from above. Phew.
The cove was almost empty. We undressed and went in for a quick swim. What else could we do. With no towels ready to hand, we waited long enough for the sun to dry our skin. It felt like the right amount of time.
We didn’t talk much on the way to the car. I was trying to make sense of the beauty of the cove, while K. was busy talking to her mom on her cell phone. Back on the road, the tarmac was hotter than ever.
Let’s run, I suggested.
I don’t think I can, apologized K. It’d damn hot.
Try, at least. Remember – we’re out for a run after all….
(Puritan idiot, she must have thought.)
Ok, she accepted, But beers are on you!
B-Side Travels 