ONE of our favourite places in the world is the island of Sa Dragonera, so called because its shape resembles a sleeping dragon, off the west coast of Mallorca. It is uninhabited apart from a few national park wardens and a lot more reptiles. These are Lilford’s wall lizards, which are classed as an endangered species having been wiped out on the islands of Mallorca and Menorca. There is, however, no shortage of them on Dragonera. There must be millions.
It was 13 years ago when we first arrived at the island’s tiny harbour having taken a 15-minute boat ride from the former fishing village of Sant Elm, where we had rented an apartment. Ascending the white stone steps from the quayside we immediately saw our first lizard sunning itself on the rocks. They are greenish brown and up to six inches long from nose to tail.
There are two basic paths from the harbour to the pair of lighthouses at either end of the island – we took the shorter one which is about a mile and a half. At one point we came upon a viewing area from which to watch the Eleonora’s falcons which nest on the top of a peak. There are signs all over the island warning not to feed the lizards but we couldn’t resist.
Out came a banana and within moments we were swamped – 50 or 60 of the little chaps climbing our legs and arms, nibbling our ears and battling each other to reach the fruit. To some readers this may sound like hell but to my reptophile wife Margaret it was heaven. The Lilford’s are light as a feather, completely harmless and to our eyes delightful. In this film however, a hamfisted spoof of Jurassic Park, they are described as ‘very annoying tiny lizards’. What do you expect from a pinhead who films himself wearing a covid mask on an open boat?
This little clip is far more satisfactory, as is this and this.
The first sign of life (or death) on Sa Dragonera is a Roman necropolis near the harbour. In the 18th century two watchtowers were built to monitor the nefarious activities of Barbary pirates. The lighthouses began operation in 1910 and became fully automatic by the mid-1970s when the keepers and their families left the island. It was bought from the government by a Spanish company which intended to turn it into a tourist resort with chalets, a hotel and a casino. Thankfully ecologists intervened and after a ten-year legal battle all building on Dragonera was banned.
The Mallorcan administration bought back the island and declared it a natural park. At that time there was a large population of rats, but they were eradicated by a campaign of aerial bombing with rat poison and all was left to the lizards.
Since that first encounter we have visited our little chums more than 20 times and become friends with the boatmen Pepe, Juan and Ramon, who complete half a dozen crossings a day between Sant Elm and Dragonera. After the last trip they make the half-hour journey to Port Andratx, where they moor their boat the Margarita, then drive to their homes in the capital, Palma.
It is our wont of an evening to chug along with them to Port Andratx and have a beer and a bottle of wine at the Central Bar, where we sit under a harbour veranda and feed peanuts to a squadron of mallards who patrol beneath the tables. We then troll around the supermarket and take a taxi back to our apartment.
On our first visit to Sant Elm, we hired a car at the airport. Never again. The 30-mile journey was a nightmare, vehicles whizzing past us on the motorway on both sides. As we tootled slowly to the exit from a roundabout, a car full of kids cut across us and I don’t know to this day how we avoided a crash.
One day we summoned up the courage to drive to the town of Deia, home of the author Robert Graves from 1929 until his death in 1985. We didn’t get far. We found ourselves on a clifftop road with hairpin bends and a 200ft drop to the rocks below. There were no safety barriers. At the earliest opportunity we turned round and headed home, proverbial tails between our legs. The car remained in the garage until the end of our holiday and we just about managed to return it to the rental agency unscathed. Since then it has been buses and taxis for us, along with a splendid ancient wooden train which takes you from Palma to Soller.
Our trips to Sant Elm invariably involve at least two visits to the restaurant Es Moli, where the food is brilliant and from our corner table we can watch bats swooping through the adjoining forest. There is also a traditional harbourside place named Na Caragola where I had the most delicious fish of my life, a huge fillet of John Dory the enjoyment of which was tempered somewhat when we got the bill. Fifty quid, just for the fish.
I have not been abroad since a calamitous trip to Fuerteventura which I described here. However Margaret will be returning to Sant Elm in September with our daughter who, fortunately, also loves reptiles. I dare say bananas will be involved.
Old jokes’ home
I’ve always wanted a personalised number plate, so I’ve changed my name to KS20 OHV.
A PS from PG
In these disturbed days in which we live, it has probably occurred to all thinking men that something drastic ought to be done about aunts. Speaking for myself, I have long felt that stones should be turned and avenues explored with a view to putting a stopper on the relatives in question. If someone were to come to me and say, ‘Wooster, would you be interested in joining a society I am starting whose aim will be the suppression of aunts or at least will see to it that they are kept on a short chain and are not permitted to roam hither and thither at will, scattering desolation on all sides?’, I would reply, ‘Wilbraham,’ if his name was Wilbraham, ‘I am with you heart and soul. Put me down as a foundation member.’
PG Wodehouse: A Few Quick Ones