After we moved into Campo de Rosas, my dad was locked in a never-ending war with the architect, Bordoi—still spending a fortune trying to fix the disaster that was our “new” home. Meanwhile, Brionie, our beloved family yacht, had returned to her home berth in Cannes, France.
But the cash flow was drying up.
Without income from Stella Nova and now living off capital, my dad decided it was time to sell Brionie. He drove his red BMW sports onto the ferry and made his way to Cannes to meet the potential buyer. While he was there negotiating the sale, his car—parked on the quay—got nicked. Then used in a diamond heist. Then chased by the cops. And finally, it burst into flames.
So that was the end of the BMW, and shortly after, the end of Brionie for us.
My dad came back—probably via Denmark or Germany—with a new car, an Audi. It wasn’t the BMW, but it was still classy. What we didn’t have anymore, though, was a boat.
Enter Serena. A modest little cabin cruiser berthed at Club Náutico. She had a single inboard engine and topped out at a spirited seven knots. We’d use her for gentle cruises up to Aranal or down to Portals Vells, but it was clear to everyone—especially Briony and me—that we needed something with a bit more grunt.
And that’s when we met Bag of Trix.
A 35-foot Kris Kraft cabin cruiser, owned by an American guy who’d packed it full of little gadgets and toys. Hence the name. Unfortunately, the signwriter blessed us with a typo, and so the back of the boat forever read: Bag Off Trix.
That boat became our summer home.
We kept her moored at Santa Ponça, a dreamy little harbour town with a natural bay and a yacht club that felt lifted from a postcard. At the entrance to the marina was a 10–15 meter cliff, and one of my favourite rituals was diving from the boat, climbing up the rocks, and jumping off it, until I was shivering with exhaustion.
Most summer days, we’d pack the car, head down to Santa Ponça, and spend hours cruising Mallorca’s South-Western coastline. To the east was Portals Vells. To the west: Paguera, Camp de Mar, Andratx. But the crown jewel was a place we called Hole in the Wall—a tiny natural harbour carved into the cliffs.
Getting in required precision. I’d stand on the bow, peering into the clear blue depths, guiding my dad past the shallower bits. Inside, there was a villa, accessible only by dirt road, which would later feature in the Agatha Christie film Evil Under the Sun. (It’s a nature reserve now, but back then, it felt like a secret only we knew.)
One day at Hole in the Wall, I was off snorkeling with my speargun. I loved free diving and hunting octopus, which my mom would turn into a killer Mauritian curry. But on this particular day, nature called—and fast. My dad had a strict rule: No one shits on the boat. He hated unblocking the toilet, usually while elbow-deep in whatever someone else had left behind.
So, out of respect (and fear), I made my way ashore into the pine forest.
As I was settling in for the world's most scenic dump, something caught my eye. Just protruding from the loose sandstone in front of me: a fossil. A perfect ammonite, the size of a dinner plate, gleaming as if it had been waiting millions of years just for me.
I pried it loose, brought it back to the boat—triumphant and slightly less dignified—and kept it for years. Proof that sometimes, good things really do come from shit situations.
Those boat days were magic. I became a serious free diver, dropping 20 or 30 meters on a single breath, using the anchor chain as my depth marker. I was maybe 10 or 11 years old at the time. There wasn’t much fish life left in Mallorca’s waters back then, but the octopus were fair game—and if you killed something, the rule was: you ate it.
(Of course, since watching My Octopus Teacher, I now carry the appropriate guilt.)
On the way home, we’d often stop in Son Rapinya and treat ourselves to Eskimo Pies. My dad would spend most of his day scanning beaches with binoculars, pretending to be interested in the landscape, while actually ogling topless sunbathers. At the time, I didn’t really get it. Later… I very much did.