La Riba, Palma's lost promenade where Mallorcans used to go "sunbathing"

PalmWith all the nuances you wish, it's little more than if the Born were demolished in Palma today. The difference is that perhaps this is no longer so much a promenade as it once was, but rather a place of transit and bar terraces for tourists. Sixty years ago, in 1965, work began on demolishing La Riba in the Ciutat de la Frontera port, which had been an emblematic promenade for Mallorcans—opposite the current fishermen's wharf—and where, according to Santiago Rusiñol, they used to go on evening meals to sunbathe under the moon.

From an illustration in Màrius Verdaguer's book The Faded CityThe reader can contemplate an old image of La Riba, which was "one of the most popular places for the noble sport of the Sunday stroll," says the author. The photograph shows women wearing hats and boys dressed as sailors, and above all, the promenade looks packed with people. I wish there weren't so many tourists in Palma back then, because otherwise it would look exactly like Carrer de Sant Miquel or the Seu area today—oh, no, sorry, these are just the residents' impressions.

La Riba, in fact, consisted of two banks: the lower Riba and the upper Riba, divided by a breakwater. It had been built in the last third of the 19th century, during the endless renovations that, in just a century and a half, multiplied the surface area of Palma's port fivefold.

The Riba promenade, which ended at the lighthouse of the same name, had the unique feature that pedestrians could enjoy the spectacle of the sea on both sides. Railings were installed on each side after several accidents, perhaps caused by overenthusiastic spectators—like these who now risk their lives to take a selfie. Just as the promenade disappeared in the 1960s, the lighthouse was saved, thanks to being dismantled stone by stone and relocated to another part of the port.

For decades, La Riba was a recreational and meeting place for the citizens of Palma. To stretch your legs, sit on the benches, have a drink at the Miramar kiosk, chat, and, above all, to indulge in one of Mallorca's favorite pastimes: watching the ships arrive or depart. The sea was no longer a danger, as it had been for centuries.

'Earning the peseta'

The traveler Gaston Vuillier had already observed, at the end of the 19th century, that watching ships arrive was "one of the great distractions of the inhabitants" of Palma, before the invention of the internet, mobile phones, or social media. Meeting a relative or friend at the port—"waiting for the steamer"—was also an event in itself. Groups would travel in a horse-drawn carriage to the docking pier, right in front of the Riba. They would wait for the arrival announcement: "There's a signal!" And, after picking up the traveler, they would begin their return journey. Upon arriving home, they would celebrate the happy conclusion of the adventure with a snack of hot chocolate and ensaimadas.

The construction of the new breakwater, around 1875, was another port diversion for Mallorcans. Nearly twenty years passed until that magnificent work was completed, and during all this time, the citizens of Palma watched as the pieces were transported from the Portopí quarry to their new location, like a kind of inspector of those tasks.

People who are now older remember how, as children, they would go to La Riba with their parents or godparents for a walk. Someone learned to swim. Fishing was also practiced. The favorite pastime of the little ones was to climb the small wall and walk across it, acting as tightrope walkers.

In La Riba, the expression "going to the lighthouse to earn the peseta" was coined. This consisted of reaching the end of the promenade, a feat equivalent at that time to earning a peseta. Because they were pesetas before 1965, which means they were no small feat.

In his legendary book The island of calmSantiago Rusiñol devotes an entire chapter to describing this part of the city, the Paseo de la Riba, which he describes as "beautiful." Back then, during the day, it was a rather deserted place. However, at dusk, it was filled with a crowd who came... not to sunbathe, of course, but to bask in the moonlight.

Of the spectacle that followed, the Catalan writer reiterated that it was "beautiful." First: the calm was absolute, and that quality, calm, is what Mallorcans love most in this world—although I don't know if it would be like that now, or if it was never like that, or if perhaps it was an invention of theirs. Second: both to the right and to the left, the lapping of the sea could be heard, with an infallibly relaxing effect. Even more calm. To this we must add the brilliance of the little green lights of the port, of which Rusiñol notes "are a gift from the king," although it would be much more accurate to say that they were a gift from the taxpayer, who was—then as now—the one who paid for it. The appearance of the satellite in the firmament achieved a miraculous feat: everyone present fell silent, admiring "Her," "the yellow odalisque."

Afterwards, everyone would pack up camp... Except for couples in love, for whom that space, with the sea on both sides and under the moonlight, was the most romantic place imaginable for their little flowers. Rusiñol calculated that, since the promenade had been established, the number of marriages in Palma had surely increased: it was a space that invited couples. Anyone who didn't bring their wife or their promise wasn't "worthy of being young." It's more than likely that the godfathers and godfathers of today's Mallorcans began their relationship in that setting, which now only exists in memories.

A very characteristic element of the Paseo de la Riba was the Miramar kiosk and picnic area, which offered a spectacular view of the Seu and the port. According to Luis Fábregas in his memoirs, it stood on the site of an old street lamp. He was a student with his friends, and the usual thing was to argue with the owner over the price of the drink, which he describes as "armed robbery."

In addition to being a bar, the Miramar was also a tobacco shop. When it was time to go to the dock each day to post the mail, the owner did a brisk business selling stamps. And, as he himself would seize the letters and postcards, Fábregas recounts, "he would be exhausted and completely lose his saliva from using his sponge-like tongue so much."

The food and drink offerings must not have been anything special. Just the occasional sandwich and soft drink. Since there was no icebox, beers were served at room temperature... in a corner bathed in sunlight all day long. This must have changed over time, because in a 1913 photo, we can read, on a sign attached to the kiosk:Cool Beer. Frisches Bier', that is, 'cold beer', in English and German. And also 'Exchange of Money', "currency exchange." That in 1913 there were already enough English- and German-speaking tourists in Mallorca to justify this sign is curious.

La Riba served as a place for endless gatherings for Fábregas and his gang of friends, who enjoyed unforgettable moments, reciting poetry—one of the most skilled in this practice would end up as a Jesuit—and discussing their vocations, like "my miseries," whether their vocations, whether their vocations, waves—of owning a small boat, or emigrating to the Americas. They had the good taste to leave the couples they met in the area, engaged in moongazing, alone. "Nine o'clock here," they had been told at home. But, of course, they always arrived half an hour late, with the corresponding sermon from their parents.

60 years ago

In 1965, 60 years ago, the demolition of the Riba began, a long process that culminated in 1969. Thus disappeared what had been a popular promenade for Mallorcans and visitors alike. Now, with an unparalleled sensitivity to heritage, there would probably be a big fuss, but that was the era of Franco's unbridled development, and dissent wasn't exactly well-regarded. That same year, 1969, the motorway to the airport was opened, separating the city from the sea for the first time. And there are still those who think those were good times.

A curious fact: what I mentioned at the beginning, about dismantling the Paseo del Born as we have always known it, was proposed in 1889 to the weekly magazine The Roqueta Miquel dels Sants Oliver, in many ways a visionary and enthusiastic advocate of progress. Although he did it on December 28th, April Fool's Day, it wasn't entirely clear whether he was serious. The proposal was to turn it into a boulevard, leaving the central space for traffic. Fortunately, this idea of his was one that didn't come to fruition.

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Information compiled from texts by Luis Fábregas, Mario Verdaguer, Miguel Rayó, Luis Ripoll, Santiago Rusiñol, Valentín Puig, José Carlos Lobo, Gaston Vuillier, Miguel de los Santos Oliver, Rafael Soler, Javier del Hoyo, Arnau Company, and the Old Photos of Mallorca collective.