The pleasure trade, in danger of extinction

PalmSunday, Plaza de Sa Pobla. It's seven in the morning and Maria Serra Miquel, a 61-year-old woman from Murcia, has been up for almost two hours. With her husband, she's already set up the stall with a generous array of tomatoes, radishes, onions, leeks, chard, lettuce, eggplant, beans, melons... She's surrounded by about fifteen other pleasures. She's one of the oldest. She's secured a shady spot to spend the morning. "I," she says, "just want to retire. I've been saying it for three years, but customers keep asking me to hang on a little longer. Pleasure is very cruel, especially in summer and winter, when you have to suffer through the hot, cold, and rainy days."

Serra shows her calloused hands. She's learned the trade since she was a child. "My parents were able to earn a living as farmhands. I always accompanied them everywhere. At first, they took their produce to a warehouse and paid a bargain price. However, I told my mother we had to get smart. I convinced her to give up her driver's license so we could later buy a fur. When her mother retired as a farmer, Serra was the only one of the three daughters to take over. Then, at 26, she took over some land on the family estate in Muro. She was never tempted by the job opportunities in the tourism world. "The countryside has been my life and my great passion since I stopped studying at 13 and started working on farms. I don't know how to do anything else! Since I don't have many expenses, it's gone well so far. I always end up selling everything I've planted."

"This is no life!"

To be able to sell at the market, you need a food handler's license, a city license, a waste fee, and insurance. "If, for example, someone falls at our table, someone has to take responsibility." As a self-employed person, Serra has no idea what vacation is like. "Even on Sunday afternoons, I go weeding and planting. This isn't life!" The few times she's been sick, it's all nerves. "When I had COVID in August, I had to stay locked up at home for a week. I was dying just thinking about having vegetables without watering them and that they could be ruined by the heat."

After having broken the Part Forana for many years, today this market woman only goes to two markets: on Fridays in Maria de la Salut and on Sundays in Sa Pobla. Her stall amusees tourists, who keep taking photos, as if she were an extra in an exotic postcard. During the week, when everyone is working, she only sells to older people. The rules of the game dictate that they address her with the respectful title of "madò" (the "owner" for male vendors). "I love dealing with people. We always start talking about anything and everything. Sometimes I've even acted as a confessor. Many of my clients' children, however, are already slacking off on coming."

Serra still operates in the old way. "I get paid in cash, I don't have any card payments. I'm not into these modern things." The coexistence with the other pleasures is very good. "Here we are all colleagues, there is no rivalry between us." Although there is no regret about the sales, the change in consumer habits is more than evident. "People like to have fresh farm products, but there are those who, to avoid the cold or heat, prefer to go shopping at a supermarket, where they can find plastic-wrapped fruit bowls, which catches my attention." The difference is marked by more affordable prices. "I have radishes for 1.20 euros, practically half of what they sell in supermarkets. On a Sunday, I've sold up to 180 bunches of radishes."

Neither of Serra's two daughters is considering taking over. "Young people no longer want to have anything to do with work as hard as ours. We are an endangered species. We farmers are martyrs. Politicians make our lives miserable. We should be able to retire before 60, without being so physically damaged, and with better economic conditions. I'll end up earning a pittance." The contradictions of modern life are striking. "They look down on us, but our role in society is essential, because people need the countryside to eat. No one feeds themselves on paper or injections. This was especially evident during the months of the 2020 pandemic. When everyone was locked down, we continued selling on the square."

The threat of scalpers

Toni Feliu Pou, 57, from Sant Jordi, is the son of farmers who also worked in the market. He spent his childhood at Palma's Santa Catalina market. When he grew up, he didn't hesitate to continue the trade. However, two years ago, he left to dedicate himself body and soul to the PEM (Ecological Farmers of Mallorca) cooperative. "Now," he laments, "there are practically no farmers making a market with their own products. Most are resellers, professionals who buy their produce mainly from Mercapalma, which also buys a large part of its stock from the Peninsula [the major wholesale agri-food marketing and distribution center in the Balearic Islands was founded in 1973]. There are already resellers. Once made, they sell the most expensive products. In tourist markets like Sineu, they make a lot of profit."

The Santa Catalina market, built in 1920, is the oldest in the city. It has little to do with what Feliu de Nin knew. It has become completely depersonalized, serving tourists seeking 'experiences'. The same has happened to the Olivar restaurant, opened in 1951. More popular is Pere Garau, which opened its doors in 1942. "However," insists the PEM partner, "with the emergence of resellers, the family relationship with the farmer, who was previously willing to give to the customer, has been broken."

Feliu is tired of fighting with the government. "Sometimes we're accused of wasting too much water. But people forget that we transform water into watermelons or melons. Likewise, all those who are happy to see a good crop forget that it's so well cared for, thanks to a farmer." When it comes to analyzing the future, pessimism prevails. "Young people no longer want to know anything about jobs that involve sacrifice and little profit. They prefer to be civil servants working eight hours a day and sitting in front of a computer. The peasantry is dying. During Covid, there were campaigns to promote local products, but after the pandemic, they were no longer viable." There's also no shortage of criticism in the IB3 program. Whew, how are we doing?, dedicated to the field. "It is one reality show that exploits folklore. You see it and it seems that we peasants only dedicate ourselves to snacking."

Philosophy of life

The exception to Feliu's bad omens is Omar Jover García, a 31-year-old from Alcudia. As a child, he loved visiting his uncle's farm. After finishing high school, he chose to study Agricultural Engineering at the UIB (University of the Balearic Islands). However, he soon dropped out, disillusioned with the apprenticeship system. He then became a cook while also beginning music studies at the Palma Conservatory. His first job opportunity in the countryside came in 2020. It was through Apaema (the Association of Organic Agriculture Producers of Mallorca). "A friend told me that some foreigners were looking for someone to manage their four-hectare farm in Binissalem. Thanks to a grant, I implemented an agricultural project. After a while, however, I dropped out due to disagreements with the owners."

As luck would have it, Jover didn't abandon his vocation. "My girlfriend's young godfather is a farmer from Sa Pobla. At that point, he'd decided to retire and suggested I take over his land. That way, I was able to continue farming. Now one of my main points of sale is the organic market in Palma's Plaça de los Patins. I go there on Saturday mornings." This market, which also takes place on Tuesdays, was founded in 2010 at the initiative of the Association of Local Varieties and Apaema. It was the first of its kind (with almost no resellers) to operate in a provincial capital.

The young pleasure eschews any romanticization of the trade. "It's the hardest part of working in the fields. You have to get up quickly to load all the produce into the van and head off to the market. However, once you have a market, a very special atmosphere is created with the customers. They are mostly women, which shows that they are still the ones who shoulder many of the family responsibilities." Jover, however, is confident that in a few years he'll be able to stop selling in the market and dedicate himself exclusively to the cooperative he just created in Sa Pobla with his partner. "We're aware that we're a rare breed of grandparents within my generation. However, we are an example that one can live, or at least survive, in the countryside. My work is a philosophy of life, a way of rebelling against the ferocious capitalism we have."