Camping It Up: Alcúdia’s Mile

The Mile has always been camp. Camp in the widest sense of the word. It has an an addictive aura of the naff; Eurovision with karaoke, giggles, lager and shots. Appropriate, therefore, that drag queens came to “Bells Street” on Friday night, and were introduced by a couple who could have passed for Eurovision presenters. Ángel in black suit and Emma in full-length, body-hugging glittery white. She looked a million dollars; Ángel more than just a few bob, too. Ángel did the Spanish intro, Emma the English; also in good Eurovision style, even if Emma’s attempts at whipping up some whooping, everyone-alright reaction did rather fall on not deaf but typically restrained British ears.

There is something gloriously tacky about drag acts. They are an expression of the absurd grotesque, rather like The Mile itself, off which the lights of Bells Street (the Calle Astoria) blazed out in the night-time blackness, and they looked magnificent, the lights, that is, if not necessarily the drags. But the whole event was magnificently silly; just as The Mile should be.

There is an appalling snobbery shown towards The Mile. In some quarters anyway. It is shown by those for whom “Alcúdia” is synonymous with holiday devil’s work and of course with the ridiculously simplistic and unthinking “Blackpool” metaphor. Shown by those who have forgotten that holiday is meant, above all else, to be fun.

There have been calls for years for Bells Street to be closed to traffic and to be pedestrianised. It was closed on Friday night, except for the stage where the entrants in Miss Drag Mallorca 2010 paraded, pouted and posed. They should repeat the exercise at least once a week. Put on an event. Music, laughter, drink, volume and fun.

Everything was there. Groups of Spaniards; legions of tourists, some looking baffled by the whole thing, others clicking away with their digitals and mobiles, having their own photos taken with a drag or several; footy on big screens; the smell of grilling meat and curry; music over a system; gangs of reps out on the lash.

Naff and utterly wonderful.

And after the parade of contestants, came the chance to club the rest of the night away. Club music. Amazing to think that it is twenty years since music was changed for ever. And this was one of the things that did it –
The Future Sound Of London, “Papua New Guinea” feat. Lisa Gerrard (and not the Cocteau Twins’ Elizabeth Fraser as is often mistaken; she appeared on other FSOL stuff):

Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.

Fools Gold: New Alcúdia beginnings and Barça’s cups

April the first fast approaches. Fools’ day. The fool season will start. Easter and then back into hibernation. But so much activity, so many of the “faces” re-emerging. Have I gone back in time? It’s the same. How’s it going to be? Who’s doing what? The same questions every year and the same cleaning up, painting, unwrapping, installing, frantic phoning, not enough-timing. Every year.

On The Mile. Wayne’s putting packs of cardboard into the paper container. Nobby’s shouting something. Linekers is back to just Linekers. No more disco. Twenty-two screens. Lunches at Foxes – Stuart from Goodfellows, Grizz from the hotel. Just how it was. Last year, say. For now. Until it gets really mental, everyone can but hope. Vamps have Finnish karaoke, in abundance, and Vamps TV. The Indian empire’s expanding – another Indian, the same name as the one that opened and then closed and became a steakhouse (Dallas) and now another steakhouse (Texas) in what was Venue 21. On a corner of The Mile, there is a piece of Alcúdia that will always be Indian or Texan. From nothing, new places spring up. That old shop – three days time it will be serving tandoori. Away from Alcúdia, in Son Serra, the big ranch. One day nothing at all, not even a shell. By 1 April, a new shop, so it’s hoped. There was a dirty great crane blocking the entrance, adding Restaurant Grill to the sign.

All of a sudden, things happen. Not enough-timing, but somehow it gets done – in no time. On fools’ day, the fool season begins. Here’s hoping.

Barça in Santa Margalida
It was the spring fair in Santa Margalida at the weekend. Food, feathers and farming. They held a procession – a job lot of a procession against corruption, for Haiti and Chile, and some old-time religion as well. Made them feel good, one supposes. There was an unusual exhibition at the fair – cups won by Barcelona football club in the past year. A show of the “blaugrana”. Their cups runneth over. In the blue and red of the Catalan club. Note, though, that it was Barça. It wasn’t Real Mallorca. Not that they’ve any cups to display. No, not the island’s team, but Barcelona. They wonder why hardly anyone bothers watching Real Mallorca. In Santa Margalida, you got your answer. Poor old Real Mallorca – a club that doesn’t deserve its own team. Fourth in La Liga and still a basket case. Heading for the Champions’ League. Perhaps. Assuming the club manages to keep going, the club that doesn’t deserve the team that has performed so admirably. The team that the island doesn’t deserve, because they’d rather go and gawp at Barça’s cups on the day that Barça were playing in Palma. Says it all.

Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.