INPORT PALMA

Editor’s Note: I am so totally alienated from the political follies abroad in the land that I was almost successfully drawn into the fray this morning. I wavered all day about it- I was quite agitated- and decided to keep all that emotion bottled up. We have had such a marvelous time talking to people On the Road, and recounting the marvelous life of a dear friend, I decided to stay safely in the past, where things may be just memory, but things have the distinct advantage of being safe. Return with us now to those thrilling days of yesteryear…and the marvelous Spanish port of Palma, in the Ballearic Islands….

Vic

INPORT PALMA

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09 DEC 1989:

Spain. The island of Palma Mallorca in the Ballearic Isles…

Dropped the hook at 0800. This is no Naples Harbor. We are far out beyond the breakwater; it is breathtakingly beautiful. The15th century Cathedral dominates the northern end of the Island. Looks a bit like Honolulu, with the town dominated by green heights. There are sheer cliffs to the north, rocky islets to the south.

A wonderful picaresque old castle sits on the green hill that rises behind the Spanish Navy base. We have a Staff meeting at 1100 to ensure no one gets the wrong idea about this. All business. We cover a multitude of topics, notably the arrival of the New Porkchop, the supply officer, who we immediately and creatively dub “New Chop.” He is an impossibly young fellow named ENS Bill Ruth.

Bill is a NUPOC washout who went to Supply School after dropping out of the Nuclear Power Officer Candidate Program. Smart guy, who graduated near the top of his class at Athens. He is a real ENS, fresh and new and generally clueless. I view him with a certain amount of interest, as he will be my roommate for the next five months.

Naturally one of the major topics of the meeting is Alcohol Aboard Ship; that is, no sane man would have any, but the point being that there is absolutely no way CAG will be able to defend anyone in a booze-related incident should one come down (again). So the thrust is this: Should we hear or see or feel a rumble that anyone is having a party, we should immediately go to DCAG and try to correct the discrepancy before it gets to more “official” notice. I wonder what “Baby” Ruth thinks about all this.

“Gee, I thought you couldn’t drink on ships…”

The Birddog affair about the party the Fighter guys had and the relief-for- cause of a perfectly fine Skipper continues to echo through the passageways.

Old Chop has got the good deal of a lifetime and got the opportunity to skip this little 48hrs of hell and proceed straight to Palma to establish the Admin. What we don’t know is where the hotel was located. I kinda expected him to pop in to see us on the first boat returning from shore, but no dice.

After the staff meeting the logical thing seemed to be to take a nap, which is what I was doing when his Chopness arrived ready to start turnover operations with Bill. He handed off the key and some general directions and it seemed to me to be the ideal time to get off the boat. Liberty call had been going for some hours. We were way behind the power curve on this one.

I went and woke up Lutt-man and told him to get his ass in gear. It was time to get ashore.

Naturally there was the disorganization attendant to coordinating schedules of more than one individual. We were waiting for Doc Flynn, who in turn was waiting for Doc McKenna and it finally got too hard and we finally blew everybody off and went for the crew’s boat off the fantail.

Again a stark contrast to Naples. Boating was flawless. We were the last two onto the white launch and got right up on the bow. It was sunny and crisp. Chop recommended shirtsleeves in the day and sweater at night. The sea air was a half-degree north of discomfort, and it did get downright chilly when we took a good wave over the bow.

We had a short San Miguel beer for the half-hour ride and generally felt great. The harbor was clean and · there were thousands of private yachts off in the distance. The apartment towers gleamed and the place just seemed to radiate pleasant vibrations.

Lutt-man and I encabbed immediately for an 800 peseta ride up the coast to Calle Mayor where the posh Santa Ana Hotel is located. It is a small and funny world. Lutt-man was reminiscing about his honeymoon in Mallorca and the little bistros and it turns out the Admin is next door to where he and his new bride had stayed!

Palma is, thankfully, a place to be, vice a place to do things.

It was exactly the program we had in mind. We snuck into the hotel and ambled up to the room. Tile floor, brown leather chairs. It is a suite-style arrangement, with a little antechamber with a low bed and two racks in the main room. There is a small balcony with a breathtaking view of the ocean and the rugged coast looking right at the sunset.

Fantastic!

Chop had set up a little bar and had a case of beer on ice. We sat down to enjoy the view, have a beer and plan the next move. I was hot to get out and walk around, see the sights and start touring. Didn’t quite get to that. The Doctors showed up about an hour later just as the sun was disappearing. We got them a drink and then went out and wandered around. A pitcher of sangria later, I decided to keep wandering.

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Most of the town was just coming alive. About half the bars and restaurants were open. I walked past some big disco emporia with some spectacular snapshots out front of summertime amateur topless contests. In the season, the place must be completely insane.

The Staff as a whole arrived, fashionably, at about 2000. We strolled down the street outside the Hotel en masse, and stopped at a pleasant little place which looked like it could accommodate the throng. The mass dinner was, despite my apprehension, quite
good…and featured a mixed paella, mussels with octopus wrapped around, shrimp. Wonderful white wine.

The owner was having a testimonial dinner, which Lutt-man joined as guest MC. Good service, good time.

We were almost on the way back to the ship when CAG roared up in his Citroen and says: “Who’s going to Magaluf? Most of the guys demurred, pleading fatigue and important business afloat. “I’m in!” I shout and jump in the back as we roar off into the darkness, Old Chop riding shotgun. We had a pleasant, fast drive on a deserted highway.

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Nothing happening at Magaluf, but we do see the famed Daiquiri Palace (unfortunately closed for the season) and CAG tells us tales of wonder of this place when the weather is warm and the crowds are big and the clothes revealing. After a tour of the area we roar back to the Admin.

Stopping back at the room, I note that the little bed in the sitting room looks so comfortable…

10 DEC:

I awake at 0830 with my sneakers still on. A fresh breeze is blowing in through the window. It is a cloudy Sunday in Spain. I get up and splash water on my face and check out who is in the other room. It appears to be Lutt-man based on the hairline. He is dead to the world, so I cruise out to see if I can find a Herald-Tribune and act like a human being for a change.

The streets are quiet except for one bar which features an armadillo on the door still playing loud music as they try to get a couple hard-charging sailors out the door. I find a little newsstand and the best they can do is the Palma Daily Bulletin in English. That will have to do, so I trundle back to the room. No cafes open yet, mores the pity as I crave a cafe con leche. I finish the paper and start on a novel while I wait for Lutt-man to wake up and get with the program. I get my first total immersion with the locals when the maid comes in and wants to know why the key is under the palm tree out in the hall. I explain “Para mes amigos,” I say and she seems to think I am insane.

The commotion wakes Lutt-man and we are in a sidewalk cafe up the street fifteen minutes later, drinking hot cafe with leeches and mineral water. Life is wonderful. With the blood coming back into his brain Lutt-man decides a shower is in order and he drops me off at a little open-air beer stand at the stroke of noon.

I make all kinds of new friends and attract two other majors from World Famous Air Wing SIX. We start to get on the step for the afternoon. We spend the remainder bouncing up the street from cafe to cafe, watching the people and eventually stopping by the restaurant where we had such fun the night before. We manage to ascertain that no permanent damage had been to international relations (the owner was Danish, of all things) and we wonder back to the hotel for a little siesta before the evening festivities.

CAG and CAGMO showed up at 1800 with one of the best ideas yet. Spain’s phone company is state owned, and consequently all overseas calls are staggeringly expensive. The Staff ran up a phone bill of $12,000 in two days when they were in port Valencia. So, the drill went like this : CAGMO called home and passed the hotel phone number to his wife. She called right back and talked at the considerably lower AT&T rates. When they were done, she called Cag’s wife and she called and then in turn she called my wife and she called Lutt-Man’s spouse. So everybody got to talk and it wasn’t in a payphone and the boys are fine ….except the older one has to have his tonsils out in January and I can’t be there. I remember my own operation and how hard that was, particularly when I remembered the part about hemorrhaging the stitches while we were watching the “Red Skelton Show,” and Dad driving like a madman to get me backto the hospital and I couldn’t eat the free ice cream they kept talking about.

The younger boy sounds so spunky and I just get overcome thinking about them. We have dinner at the same old place, already in a rut, but with all-new discussion topics featuring the Lutt-man. This one was the nature of the True Religion. Always good for low-intensity discussion. We have free floorshows with all our dinners!

After the coffee, we repair to the outdoor bar to settle some significant issues about the fighter community. Little Mac is there, Top Gun grad, and he and Lutt dive into Squadron Politics. It is great to hear Fighter talk again.

I really would like to go back to the ship but that little bed still looks kinda comfortable…The room sleeps five that night; one snoring Doctor, one Toad, one Moose, one Lutt-man and the Spy. Last giggle and pillow fight about 0300.

11 DEC:

I’m awake and feeling my headache at 0830. Duty calls. I have to get back to the ship and start winding up for the next line period. Fun was fun, but a day and a half is about all I can manage. It was wonderful to spend two consecutive nights without bells, reveille, sweepers or the stark announcement on the 1MC: “Men Aloft Do Not Rotate or Radiate from any antenna on the mast!”

I look in the front room and there is nothing short of a frag grenade that is going to wake the lads. I will not get caught up in trying to organize a parade back to the ship, so I shave, pack my bag and walk out in to the brilliant sunlit streets and leave the boys to dreamland.

It is beautiful beyond words. It is crisp and dry like San Diego; perfect sweater weather. Nice gentle pastel colors. It is Monday morning, so lots of people out blasting around. I decide to walk downtown, about four miles away and savor the morning before I return to the steel cloister. My hip hurts like a son-of-a-gun. That troubles me, but I forge ahead anyway. Down through Calle Mayor, past bizarre architectural extravagances and construction. Past the Navy Base and the yacht basin with all the working boats and the big trans-Atlantic yachts. I love the boats and the fresh breeze. Eventually I arrive at the Officer ‘s Landing.

First boat is the Barge. Mel-the-OHO is there; he doesn’t recognize me in my low-visibility costume. (In fact, nobody does! This is great!).

I always have a hard time talking to Mel because of the condition of his nose. He has about 25 long hairs which grow out from the tip and sweep back rakishly toward his eyebrows. It is most disconcerting. Chatting with the CO, CAG and Admiral Sweetpea! What a crowd to meet with a good-sized San Miguel headache! I become official photographer to the Official Party.

After the Official Party departs, I ride with Mel to Fleet Landing to catch a ferry and back to Duty. All is well but it is time to be back to wrap up a few loose ends. DCAG is working on my Fitness Report so it is indeed fortuitous that I am bustling around with obvious energy and enthusiasm.

After an afternoon spent simulating constructive labor, I go back ashore with Doc Flynn to do some critical last minute shopping and pre-position the cars for Chop’s Farewell dinner.

The story of how we met CAG and lost the Deputy’ s car is still too painful to discuss.

We have the farewell dinner across the street from the Usual Place at the Pizzeria; the Lutt-man floor show again (football this evening’s topic of conversation). The food is wonderful; asparagus for salad with Spaghetti Pesto for entree and gallons of that wonderful white wine. The bread is fresh from the oven and worth the price of admission all by itself.

Then back to the Admin for the Chop’s Farewell and plaque presentation.

Doc drives the party to the Fleet landing. We stop at a bar enroute, go through a power failure and I am almost overcome by the inclination to go back to the Admin with Doc to see Chop off in fine style. Good sense takes possession of me and I ride the officer boat with Lutt-man back to the ship.

Palma, I love you. What an island!

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Copyright 2016 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com

Written by Vic Socotra

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