The pulse of the city

Life in Palma cannot be perceived or explained without Paseo del Borne simply because Paseo del Borne IS Palma. The artery that makes the pulse of the city beat, its most emblematic, most beautiful space. Our little Champs Elysees, our miniature Barcelona-style Rambla, our Roman via veneto, a hop and a skip away from the sea. A familiar space for everyone - for old ladies, for kids on skateboards, for tourists, for the nostalgic, for new lovers. Strolling over its shaded tiles, it is difficult to imagine how, many centuries ago, Borne as it is today did not exist: it was a narrow cove where the Riera torrent flowed into the sea. Until the year 1403, in the Christian age, a terrible flood occurred which has gone down in history as “el Diluvio”, causing 5,000 deaths and destroying 1,500 homes, a genuine catastrophe if we bear in mind that at the time, the population of the city would have been no more than 25,000 people. Two centuries later (they used to take their time over things back in those days) the course of the Riera was diverted to its present-day route, and in the year 1613 the Borne became a space for all kinds of celebrations and recreational activities, such as medieval tournaments (the word “Borne” refers to a jousting contest between two knights).

Mallorcan artists, writers and creators from all the ages have drawn inspiration from the Borne as a central space within the city. Of all the descriptions of the avenue that have been published, the most enlightening one is that of Mario Verdaguer in his indispensable “La ciudad desvanecida” (1953), in which the writer nostalgically recalls the Borne of the early twentieth century: “Ladies with enormous hats full of birds, gentlemen in long black frock coats and bowler hats, little girls wearing rigid corsets and shiny ankle boots, little boys dressed in extravagant red-and-white-striped sailor suits and big felt hats with a long silk ribbon hanging from the back; dandies with long patent leather shoes like feluccas and big cravats that made their necks stand up stiffly. Greetings, doffing of hats, smiles, wittiness... All of Palma’s distinguished society, decorative, spectacular, reminiscent of the old Parisian costumes, circulated before me, going round and round, as though in a big parade (...)”.

The Borne as a public window display and a bonfire of the vanities; the Borne as a small village square and a butcher’s shop of reputations. Verdaguer writes of how interesting it would be to interview one “of those old iron seats” in Paseo del Borne, that have witnessed and listened to so many things, as accomplices. “They have overheard the provincial gossip for nearly a century, and they would be our best narrators, with that sentimental little story of the Borne, of its concerns in the famous carnivals of the early (twentieth) century, its enthusiasm when the little metallic spidery bodies were used as rattles in patriotic demonstrations and its gentle sarcasm when, side by side, the lovers of bygone times have had to hold on to their capes, when young girls were never allowed out alone and one could still see the odd sour face of a watchful chaperone (...)”. What would those same “watchful chaperones” think today if they saw how young teenagers of either sex, showing off their belly buttons and half their backside, shamelessly kiss and grope each other on the same benches described by Verdaguer!...

Another great chronicler of Palma, José Carlos Llop refers to the Paseo del Borne from the midtwentieth century on (precisely where Verdaguer leaves off, convinced that “the spectacle” we referred to earlier “is now over and forgotten and only the seats remain”) in some passages of his work “En la ciudad sumergida” (2010). Llop evokes the age and atmosphere of the grand cafés of Plaza de la Reina beside the Borne, the Bar Alhambra, the Mundial, Café Riskal and the literary circle of the great writer Llorenç Villalonga, and writes of “the best newspaper kiosk in the town”, set alongside “a sphinx with opulent bare breasts”, where one can find “backdated copies of French and British newspapers, something that does not usually occur in other Spanish cities”; Llop speaks of the Teatro Lírico, where he saw a film for the very first time, and the Cine Born picture house, where years later he saw Doctor Zhivago.

None of what Llop describes exists now, and the author evokes this. He witnessed the demolition “of my own particular Moulin Rouge elephant” in person, in 1967. The year when the Riskal, the hotel Alhambra and the Teatro Lírico changed the nature of the Borne forever.

Today the Borne is surrounded by businesses and shops selling big international fashion brands and the Casal Solleric, an architectural jewel that also acts as the regular venue for interesting art exhibitions. And even though it may [...]

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