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Published: November 18th 2012
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In a fit of desperation after an appaling British summer, it was necessary for both our mental health's sake to book a holiday somewhere sunny and warm. October is risky in the Mediterranean, so MC made the call: off the coast of Southern Morocco deep into the subtropics... the Canary Islands!
With the islands' sterling reputation and our very extreme need for good weather, it is fair to say that we were pretty agitated when we landed in Tenerife and we saw the heavy, looming clouds. There was further agitation when a minor clerical error in our car hire booking cost us 100 euros.
Fortunately our morale improved rapidly and irrevocably the most predictable way: with food! We had installed ourselves in an adorable "casa rural" in Granadilla de Abona in the south and set out in the car with a only a vague idea of where we were going. I forced MC to stop the car suddenly and turn around - we had spotted a van on a lonely knoll just off the highway which had the look of somewhere you want to be. It was - especially if you want to be somewhere with a friendly barman,
an ocean view, cigarettes 1.20 euros per packet and insanely priced beer and sandwiches. Our friendly barman even made our evening perfect by recommending an out of the way and thoroughly excellent restaurant for dinner. Rather than having a menu, you are taken to the fridge to choose the fish and seafood you find most appealing. Prices aren't listed, but it became obvious that nothing is particularly expensive on these islands! We had a feast - and the fish was accompanied by the Canary Islands' most famous food-stuff: wrinkly potatoes! It doesn't sound particularly interesting, but the magic is the the two dipping sauces ("mojo") that are filled with spicy, herbaceous goodness.
Our intention was to "do" Tenerife, so we followed the coast clock-wise. After Tejita (Tenerife's longest beach, which isn't very long) we had to do the difficult part: Playa de Las Americas. This beach (although we never actually found the beach itself) is infamous for being the focal point for the worst type of tourist of all: British tourists. It was a mash of ugly apartment blocks, touristy shacks, strip bars and faux-Irish bars. I am not a judgemental person at all so you, dear reader, will
know that when I say it was "an ugly club" I mean that in the nicest possible way!
The South of the island is barren and arid, and the North is far more lush - cacti give way to bouganvillia and bananas. As we journeyed towards the north, the weather improved as we entered the hilly country. We visited Masca, a spectacularly situated hill village with an uncanny resemblance to Machu Pichu, but without the effort of the Andes climb - or the flight to Peru. We intended to visit the north western tip of the island but were warned off by a couple of extremely large warning signs saying the roads were closed due to rock falls. Strangly, cars did seem to be coming from the opposing direction and MC checked with a local: apparently these warnings can be flagrantly ignored. Obviously then it would have been culturally insensitive for us not to ignore the signs too!
We had to find a place to stay in the merrily-coloured village on the Northern coast, Garachico. Thank God MC is fluent in Espanish, as the only chance we had of finding a bed was word-of-mouth. We gingerly entered a
The top of Spain
Thanks for ruining the photo, a**hole. strange social club and MC asked a man behind a bar. "There is a place with an old couple it's so clean..." and his friend behind him would chime "SO clean!", "and it is very good value!"... "VERY good value..." and so on. Of course I couldn't understand a word of this, and unfortunately after 10 minutes of this MC really had no idea where the place actually was! Eventually after asking a few other locals we knocked on the door of an unmarked house, and were greeted by the old couple, looking rather surprised. The lady explained to MC they don't like to advertise as they only host friends, and friends of friends. Fortunately they liked us - in fact, they liked us so much they wouldn't let us leave the morning after, asking all sort of questions about our lives and home countries, sitting on their sofa, and reporting their own (very long) life stories!
It was on the north side of the island that we discovered our favourite beaches. La Caleta was a small black sand beach frequented by surfers taking videos of each other, with the towering cliffs of Teno on one side and a
golf course on the other (thankfully out of view.) Our favourite beach of all was the delightfully named "Bollullo" (pronounced "Boyuyo"). After driving through banana plantations, this was another black sand beach, more cliffs and this time a single beach bar - whose barman seemed remarkably full of supressed rage for a hippy. This is where we achieved MC's Non-Negotiable Primary Objective (NNPO) of spending an entire day at the beach. We liked it so much we actually spent two days there, and our tans are only now gently fading a month later.
We waited tensely for a day where we could drive up to Teide, the tallest mountain in Spain! Every day started out well, however every afternoon the clouds started rolling in from the Atlantic and things would look pretty bleak up there. One day we got half-way up before MC (quite rightly) pointed out that the weather looked like it was about to go pear-shaped. Finally on the last available day finally there were pristine blue skies and lighter winds. After a long drive up through small villages and forest we got above the tree-line and the terrain became distinctly Martian. After driving through a plateau
of red rock and scrub the volcano proper juts up into the air 3700 or so metres tall with Fuji-esque steepness and symmetry. A cable car takes tourists most of the way up, and then only permit holders are allowed to make the final ascent to the summit - which needless to say was an NNPO for both of us. Most frustrantingly the permits had already sold out a week previously when we were still in England. Instead, at the top of the cable car I orchestrated a dodgy hike up a steep canyon so that we could reach the path to the summit without being seen by the man at the permit office. We had to take the hike up slowly as the air was very thin, and we were suffering from guilt as well, but it was all worth it for the view from the top of Spain: we could see clouds way below plus most of the other Canary islands and a while lot of blue Atlantic.
On the Eastern side of the island we walked through Anaga National Park forest, drove to beaches at the end of the earth and gorged ourselves in a tapas
bar in La Laguna that was so busy I was feeling the signs of an all-out agoraphobia attack.
Rather ambitiously we had always planned to ferry over to another main island, Gran Canaria. By this stage we were happy to trade the quaint hostels for a fairly bling four-star hotel with a buffet breakfast and a roof-top pool. The main city Las Palmas has possibly the finest city beach in Europe, and we made full use of the extensive promenade to show off our perfect October tans!
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anonymous
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You are amazing....
....looking forward to meet you on the skies.............AH AH AH See you soon Maria Stella