The ants are negotiating terms.
We’re up earlier than usual again today to get the 9.55 am bus to Cuitadella. Cuitadella is at the far western end of the island and is the old capital city. As Menorca is quite a small island, nothing is that far away and before we knew it we were there, pulling into an old shed which turned out to be the bus station. Getting off the bus we weren’t sure in which direction to walk but it was all right because we just followed the rest of the passengers who didn’t know in which direction to walk either. Cuitadella is a lovely old town, much nicer than the current capital Mahon. We wandered around taking it all in and do you know what? Every other shop seemed to be selling those damn sandals that I had so much trouble tracking down in Alaior. It was becoming obvious that Alaior, the place renowned for making them just delivered them everywhere else on the island and denied all knowledge of them to their own tourist visitors.
Why? Was it a bit like gun running? Were the Alaior residents being paid enormous sums of money to manufacture this product so it could be secretly shipped across the rest of the island for enormous profit? Surely not. What’s the point? Who’s the Mr. Big behind the racket? Is there a mysterious fat man in dark glasses known only as Sam “The Sandal” Sepperelli who spends his time sitting in barber’s chairs and eating in restaurants with his back to the wall surrounded at all times by his sandal men who are always seen wearing the sharpest suits and the latest in fully adjustable sandal technology?
I doubt it because everywhere I’ve been since I bought those sandals in Alaior has been selling them bloody cheaper than when I bought them. So that’s blown that theory to bits hasn’t it?
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