A Nostalgic Return
Revisiting old haunts before heading to Mallorca
My new book ‘North to Norway’ is out in paperback and e-book. It's a story as much about the joy of travel as about motorcycling. As one of the reviews on Amazon puts it:
“A wonderful read. I know nothing about motorcycling and have never visited either Spain or Norway yet this book had my attention from the start. Well written, amusing and full of descriptive narrative Stephen takes the reader on his journey with him making you long to explore many of the places visited. Highly recommended.”
Recent excerpts might give you a flavour of my writing and the adventures I recount in the book. I hope that you’ll want to buy the full version, available now on Amazon and in selected branches of Waterstones.
In last week’s extract Spaghetti Western I’d visited Tabernas, where – years ago – I’d made a TV commercial for Shredded Wheat. Later that evening in Jávea I’d been out on the town.
The next morning my chest wasn’t the only thing that ached again. My overnight revelling made a strong café solo a morning necessity and I knew where to find one. I had some free time before I was due to board the Baleària ferry at nearby Dénia to Ibiza, then on to Palma de Mallorca.
My coffee stop was some way up a winding road in the Montgó Natural Park hills on the way to Dénia. It felt like a lifetime since my first visit on a family holiday almost thirty years ago. Yet, the bar-restaurant, Amanacer, stood almost unchanged, with its refreshing pool, bright dining room, and ice cream kiosk.
My waitress brought me coffee and a croissant. Her hair was brown, her lipstick red. She smelled like flowers. Her dress had the restaurant's logo. She smiled and seemed to enjoy her work despite the heat. Something about the place—ancient memories—made me want to tell her how happy we’d been here.
‘We loved coming here with our kids when we were on holiday nearby,’ I told her, nostalgically. ‘This was always our go-to spot. They'd get ice cream, then we’d swim in the pool. That was many years ago. The kids are grown up now and have their own families.’
If I closed my eyes I could still see my kids as small girls, splashing in the pool.
She laughed. ‘Well, it’s nice to have you back at last.’
Then, pointing to the pool steps, ‘You're welcome to use it, if you like.’
‘Perhaps another time,’ I replied.
I lingered, lost in memories. Where had those years gone? They say you should never go back... maybe true in some cases, but here, surrounded by echoes of happy family moments, nostalgia washed over me. I ordered another coffee. She brought it minutes later, along with an ice cream from the kiosk of my memories. On the house.
This leg of the journey was almost complete, and the promise of a hot Mallorcan summer filled my thoughts. The restaurant had reminded me that the kids and grandkids would be arriving there soon, ready for poolside fun and family time. But first I had a crossing to make, long planned, from Dénia.
I settled into my cosy seat and fell into a deep sleep. The night on the town was taking its toll on me, reminding me that I couldn’t do late hours like I used to. Or booze.
The ferry to Palma had another trick in store. I’d been nursing my ribs carefully which were still feeling tender despite the steady stream of painkillers. In the evening I stood on the stern of the ship, watching the white propeller wash disappear into the golden sea when the boat lurched. I stumbled, whacking my chest on the metal flagpole. It hurt. A lot.
It's only a short distance, half an hour or so, from the port of Palma to our apartment in the southwest of Mallorca but by the time I disembarked it was almost midnight. It had been a very long day and I was knackered.
Nobody was there. No flags flying or welcoming party. I was on my own. Judith was flying in tomorrow. I left the heavily laden bike in my parking space. Unpacking could wait. I walked away and then turned around, the bike visible in the glow of the streetlight. A wave of gratitude washed over me, an odd kinship with this inanimate machine. Sure, it was merely a collection of metal, plastic, rubber and liquids, yet it had carried me on this long journey. Every twist and bump of the road, every adventure and yes, even the mishaps, had brought me closer to experiencing the real Spain. I felt I knew both the country and myself more than before I set off.
This route through the Iberian Peninsula had shown me an extraordinary diversity of landscapes, the country’s rich and varied history and people who were helpful and engaging. I’d realised that travelling alone brought special opportunities for discovery and adventure, but also that I missed companionship, especially when times had been tough. But I had enjoyed the journey immensely, and although I needed a rest now I was already looking forward to the next one later this summer.
‘Gracias, amigo,’ I murmured to the Honda, giving its saddle a goodnight pat.
© 2025 Stephen Oliver
If you’ve enjoyed this excerpt you can find the complete story in paperback and Kindle format on Amazon.
So many wonderful memories, Dad. :)