Chapter 10
Juan greets me from the back of the jeep. Hola, mi media naranja!
I look over my shoulder, brow furrowed, to see his sparkling, bright blue eyes looking back at me. Did he just call me half an orange? And not just half an orange, but his half an orange?
Mia rolls her eyes as she restarts the car. You’re getting ahead of yourself there, Don Juan, my cousin banters, her rust bucket choking back into action. Thank goodness the roads are still dead this early in the day.
I shoot Mia a puzzled look and she shakes her head gently.
Mi media naranja means ‘my other half’, she explains.
I turn back to Juan with an exasperated look and see him wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. This guy doesn’t waste any time, does he?
Impatiently, I tap the toes of my hiking boots against the floorboard.
Our plan for the day is a hike to the highest spot in Ibiza: Sant Josep de Sa Talaia.
I’ve heard the view from the mountaintop is incredible.
Since the temperature around noon tends to reach about 35 degrees Celsius—and none of us were in the mood to end up alongside the dried starfish at a souvenir shop—we decided on an early-morning hike.
I bet you enjoy a good hike. Juan says as he folds his arms along the back of my chair and leans in. His warm breath brushes my ear and I start to get a bit uncomfortable. Those legs were obviously built for climbing.
Perplexed, I stare down at my calves. I guess they might be a bit sturdier than average and no doubt running around the restaurant these past few days has toned my leg muscles even more.
I cross my legs at the ankles and pull them back.
When I can’t think of an appropriate reply, I just stare out the window instead.
Cactuses flash by, as well as fields of reddish dirt that provide fertile soil for all of the island’s olive trees.
I even spot an orange tree or two, although the unripe oranges are still a greeny-orange colour.
Fields of Mediterranean fruit are alternated with patches of dark green pine trees.
Juan has finally dropped his horndog act and switched to softly singing a Spanish song I’m not familiar with, but he keeps repeating the line si tu quiere que te coma toda.
Felix and Mia are wrapped up in a debate about which superpowers they’d want to get if they were ever bitten by a radioactive flea.
Finally, Mia parks the car at the side of a road that, according to one of the signs, leads to a dead end. When she gets out of the car, Felix rustles his big hand through her dark hair. She’s wearing a colourful headband and has her hair pulled up into a big, messy bun.
Okay, you win, Felix concedes as he swings his backpack onto his back. Mia pumps her fist in triumph. I don’t think you’d be able to jump any higher than ten feet, max, though.
May I carry your backpack for you? Juan offers in a chivalrous tone while holding out his hand.
No, that’s okay. I follow Felix’s lead, flipping the pack onto my back and tightening the strap that wraps around my torso. It might be a gracious offer, but I don’t want to have to beg Juan for my water bottle every time I want a drink.
Just give me a shout if it gets too heavy for you, Juan follows up with a wink. If it comes to it, I’ll just carry you and your bag straight to the top, no sweat. He flexes a bicep to demonstrate his point.
I blink a few times. His flirtation skills could definitely use some finessing.
Cut it out, Don, Mia says with a stern look. You’ll have to try a more subtle approach to get on Eva’s good side.
Um, excuse me. I’m standing right here, I scold with a shake of my head.
Felix turns out to be a walking, talking encyclopedia, which comes as a bit of a surprise.
He lays out the detailed life story of every pebble in sight and when we come across a lizard, he gets so excited he can barely contain himself.
Apparently it’s not just a lizard, but a super rarely seen black Ibiza wall lizard that skitters away between the dry, sand-coloured pebbles outlining the trail.
Felix’s urge to share every little piece of trivia with the rest of us, does slow us down a bit, but most of it is actually really interesting.
Juan and Mia hike up ahead of us, obviously less intrigued by Felix’s fun facts.
The higher we climb, the more stunning and wider the view.
The wooded mountainside is softly sloped and sprinkled with picturesque white houses with red roofs.
There’s an unobstructed view of the clear sea water off in the distance.
We take the occasional quick break for Juan, who apparently forgot to bring along his own climbing legs for the journey.
Trying and failing to save face, he mutters something under his breath along the lines of not enough sleep and too much to drink last night.
Mia and I exchange knowing glances before turning our attention back to the pebbled path ahead of us.
When we finally reach the summit, Juan collapses onto a little wall and chugs his entire bottle in big, thirsty gulps. I bite my lip to keep myself from laughing as he lays there, completely spent. Looks like cardio isn’t this muscular dude’s strong suit.
The 360-degree view of the island is phenomenal and we take a moment to soak in the sights. The ragged coastline is easy to trace from here and I spot a pairing of a large rock and a small one sticking up from the water.
Felix informs me that that’s Es Vedra. And that little rock off to the side is Es Vedranell.
It has the third strongest magnetic field on earth.
It’s like the Bermuda Triangle, but smaller.
He points toward the iconic rocks that appear on pretty much every postcard sent from Ibiza.
There are 166 different plant species on that little island and many of them are endangered. Until 2016, it had mountain goats, too.
I give him an amazed look. Mountain goats? I ask with a chuckle.
Yep. They got removed when it turned out they were eating all the endangered plants and scaring away the breeding birds.
Enyclopedia Felix has flipped to the letter E section and is happily letting fact after fact about Es Vedra pour out of his brain.
Even though this information is all fascinating, I can’t help but think about Elias.
Of course I would never admit it out loud, but he had me absolutely hooked with his collection of myths about the magical island.
Our hike down is weirdly a lot more difficult than it felt on the way up.
Firmly planting my feet sideways, I move as carefully as I can, trying not to slip.
Felix walks next to me, occasionally offering me his hand to help me steady myself on the steeper sections of the trail.
His big hands are tanned and his long fingers feel slightly calloused.
Not surprising, knowing that he spends his days building furniture and creating wood carvings for the business he recently launched with Juan.
His short brown hair has been carefully styled, and his kind brown eyes project encouragement as I make my way down the mountain, one step at a time, slower than the average turtle.
Halfway through our descent, my ears pick up a quiet squeak coming from the rocks and pebbles along the trail. I stop abruptly.
What was that? I ask. I study the area the sound was coming from.
The squeak returns, slightly louder than before.
I crouch down and shuffle closer to the sound that now seems like more of a soft meow.
Peering through a little gap in a pile of rocks, I lock eyes with a black kitten.
It has green eyes with enormous pupils and releases a big, whiny meow from its tiny mouth.
It’s a kitty! My voice trembles a little and I feel my tender heart squeeze while I keep staring between the rocks at the kitten’s terrified little face.
It takes Felix all of two seconds to get over to me and help me carefully lift away the rocks. The kitten squints and shrinks away at the bright sunlight flooding his tiny prison.
I comfort the little guy with a hey and reach out my hand for a smell.
After a sniffing session so thorough that the kitten probably detected traces of the chocolate bar I devoured last night, he gently rubs his little head against me and lets out a raspy meow.
Who knows how long he’s been stuck there, but it seems like any longer would have been too long.
I reach into my bag and squeeze some water from my bottle into my other hand, shaping it into a little well.
As the kitten licks up every last drop, Mia crouches down next to me.
What a cutie, she says, petting his tiny head with two fingers.
Juan watches from a distance, seemingly afraid to come any closer. I’m allergic to cats, he states matter-of-factly, then blasts out a sneeze to solidify his claim.
I guess that’s another great reason to bring you home with me, I whisper to the kitten as he guzzles his second round of water from my hand.