In 1983 or 1984, package holidays were not yet common, and Mallorca was in transition—neither fully developed nor unspoilt. Zoe Williams, then aged nine, her 11-year-old sister, and their 46-year-old mother were early adopters of the all-inclusive getaway, though their mother arrived with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. She disliked small talk, buffets, boisterous fathers, nuclear families, and even other single-parent families. She hated sitting by the pool, drinking piña coladas, group activities, quizzes, and forced fun—which she used as cover for her distaste for many other kinds of fun. In contrast, Zoe and her sister loved forced fun; they would get excited over a cocktail umbrella.
Arrival at Alcúdia
They arrived at a hotel in Alcúdia, part of a giant complex of identical hotels offering constant entertainment in exquisite temperatures—if you were a lizard. They spent perhaps one morning in the pool and one lunch sampling the not-at-all Spanish delights, where the question wasn't whether chips but how many and of which style. Then their mother decided this was for losers and wanted to discover the 'real' Mallorca.
Without a car, they set off on foot, all in sandals, only Zoe wearing a hat. Sunscreen wasn't common yet. Zoe carried a little red clutch, hoping to chance upon a charming craft shop. Looking at the photo now, she feels that disappointed hope like an ache in her throat.
The Hike Through Building Sites
The only road had no pavement and led to other hotels, so they scrambled, clinging to small rocks as hot as a pizza oven, around the back of an unfinished building with anti-vandal infrastructure that made it look forbidding. 'Tsk,' Mum said, 'no wonder we felt like prisoners!' Zoe had not felt like a prisoner; she had felt great. There was an amazing kids' club with a zip wire, which she could have happily explored all day, or she would have been happy reading a book in the sun.
They walked for hours over building sites, changing direction at every 'keep out' sign. They encountered no real Mallorca and no real Mallorcans, as builders knew better than to be out in that heat. Their mother hated drinking water, so they were very thirsty. The landscape was parched and barren, with unattended diggers and girders breaking up a beige post-apocalyptic scene. Their toes were caked in dust, so they could only perceive sunburn by the pain.
A Desperate Attempt at Cheer
Trying to cheer everyone up, their mother described a radio play about a care home that turns out to be purgatory. Her narration went on much longer than the play itself. They finally got back to a hotel that wasn't theirs, but the staff gave them a lift because they looked dusty and crazed. From the salvation of the minivan, they probed for some sign that their mother realised this hadn't been a good day. 'Tomorrow,' she said, 'we should definitely wear socks.'
