There are lots of places I would die to go back to. Other places have quite the opposite effect. They make me wanna die.

Last year I made my way from Mallorca’s capital Palma to Mallorca’s booze and party capital Magaluf. They’re only thirty minutes apart in distance, but a world apart in content. You start noticing the tell tale signs on the bus ride along the coast. The buildings get taller, the beaches more packed and the shops are covered in neon coloured beach towels, inflatable mattresses and skimpy party clothes. Not my cuppa.

refined is not a word much used in magaluf

Once in Magaluf, it’s plain to see that it isn’t its location that has placed it on the tourist map. The place is ugly. A miserable blast from the seventies with concrete tower blocks, pubs and loud adverts. Happy hour is in your face, wherever you turn. So are the burnt Brits. Then there is the beach. The Mediterranean shore with its gentle breeze and tempting sandy appearance. It could have been paradisical. Shame about the stag parties all kitted out as Borats, police officers or super heroes. The hens are not so inventive. They stick to their bunny rabbit or nurse outfits in the hope that it’ll turn heads. Enough said.

Heaven on Earth or not

Hot or not?

In your face

Writing about it puts me in a bad mood. Why did I go? To interview newly graduated bartenders whom are planning on making a career out of summer indulgence. Needless to say, I did not spend the night. The newspaper who ordered the interview would’ve had to pay me tenfolds to spend the night amongst the tack and the puke.  Magaluf, I shall never ever EVER return.

spotted on a restaurant table

Merry Scandinavians bring out their inner Viking in the quest to get as plastered as possible before sunrise

Becoming a bartender involves practice behind and in front of the bar

This post is part of the Travel Blog Carnival hosted by Jennifer over at

Check out the whole REGRETTABLE TRIPS carnival to make sure you don’t step in unfortunate footsteps!

The Blogsherpa Carnivals are made by the team of Lonely Planet bloggers.

9 comments on “Magaluf…Shagaluf…Stagaluf

  1. Pingback: How to become a travel journalist – 2 | Photito's Blog – a travel journalist's confessions

  2. Hi,

    I linked from Jennifer’s Blog. As a Brit, I am totally ashamed of my fellow countrymen. They seem to lose all their inhibition and sense when they get to Mallorca / Ibiza etc. It is just downright tacky and shameful! A few years ago, ITV made a series called “Ibiza Uncovered”. I vowed never to go there after seeing that!!!!
    I prefer to travel to places with a bit more class!
    Thanks for your candid blog!
    Keep up the good work!

  3. Hi Yellow Flower (sounds a lot nicer than yellow fever!). I saw Ibiza uncovered, and was disgusted. Not shocked, not entertained, not excited – just downright put off like yourself. You’ve done well to stick to your vow. As far as Magaluf is concerned, you havent missed a thing!
    Scandinavians and Brits seem to have the same blood when they come to places like these… I wasn’t too proud of being Scandinavian in Magaluf either.
    Thanks for your reply, it’s nice to know I’m not the only one!

  4. Its not just in Spain, but its all other ‘cheap resorts’ Turkey, Tunisia, Cyprus etc that the tacky Brits give us a bad reputation!
    Since I linked from Jennifers blog, I’ve spent hours reading through yours! Your photos are amazing! You’re very talented!
    I’m going to add you to my RSS feed / blog register!

  5. Pingback: Secret Palma – Santa Catalina « Photito's Blog – a travel journalist confesses

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