Tuesday 23 April 2002 (written on Wednesday)
Always a day late writing up, the trouble is, we never stop. Today we realise just how fortunate we have been staying in Puerto de la Cruz rather than the more popular resorts on the south or west coasts. We went to the west coast yesterday and found it crowded and unpleasant with a searing heat, airless, and the landscape down at sea level just dry and arid, looking like an enormous building site. This is in part natural, but it is also because it actually is an enormous building site. Anywhere along the coast that it is possible to place blocks of flats they have done so, and are continuing at a great pace. That is not to say that the buildings are not well constructed and finished, attractive even, and offering quality accommodation.
In the morning we left Puerto and followed the coast road toward the west, turning inland and fiercely uphill near Icod, following a twisting but reasonably wide and well surfaced road through little villages to Santiago del Teidi with views of the snow covered mountain behind. Here we parked beneath the fruiting orange trees lining the street and bought fig bread with sliced bananas and a couple of bottles of water. Until now the scenery had been interesting but not outstanding and there had been plenty of vegetation. Form here on however we found ourselves in the malpais or badlands of Teidi again. We appeared to be driving through the results of fairly recent volcanic activity from Teidi that had flowed so far and stopped, leaving not a speck of vegetation, just stark, black lava. This proved to be from the last eruption from Teidi in 1909 and gradually, it seemed, nature was starting to fight back, a straggling cactus here, a scrubby bush there. As the road descended it was clear that man had tried to help the process with tiny palm trees pathetically lining the roadside; otherwise there was no obvious human or animal activity. Below, as we continued our descent, we could see the south coast and the flatter plain running its length. Here speculative development vied with banana plantations for space. From our aerial view we could see acre upon acre of white plastic sheeting which, we later learned, covered banana plantations, fitted in where there was space, to protect the plants from the strong winds and bring them on to ripen quickly. On the northern side of the island we had not seen the practice of covering the whole plantation; instead hands of bananas are sometimes enclosed in plastic bags while hanging on the trees to ripen.
Our reason for taking the route we did was because Ian wanted to see a particular fortified house, the former home of Tenerife brigands who carried on an illegal trade with America, dealing in sugar and slaves. They were apparently aided by Devon sea dog John Hawkins, hence Ian's interest as a local historian. It added a purpose to our trip and the little town of Adeje with its superb Barranco del Inferno (Gorge of Hell) sounded well worth visiting. However we were both shocked to discover how large the town has grown since our guidebook was written. Huge apartment blocks in gleaming pale colours stretch up the slopes on all sides of the old town. The main street is said to be lovely with a beautiful church at the top. In the event we parked at the top in the searing heat of the afternoon sun, overlooking a building site with all the attendant dust and rubble. The church was shut, as was the house Ian wished to see. Indeed it was fast becoming dilapidated from neglect and lack of interest.
The barranco was impossible to visit in the heat which, we were warned, gathered in the gorge which was in full sunlight with no shade, but well worth a visit in more suitable weather and later in the day. The main street was pleasant but occupied all of five minutes to walk its length. We were hot, sticky and uncomfortable,so in the end joined the other tourists, some fit, sunburned but weary, having just braved the heat of the gorge, others more sedate visitors out from Playa de los Americas, seduced like us by the guidebook's outdated and over-enthusiastic eulogies about the town's attractions. We found a shady table at a street-side restaurant beneath the Indian laurels lining the main street and enjoyed a mixed salad and water. Rather than icing the drink they freeze the glasses here - strange and less effective, but better than tepid water.
Refreshed, we thought we would descend to Los Americas but decided against it when we saw the volume of traffic with queues in the heat at all the roundabouts. Nothing we saw attracted us to wish to stay, so we headed northward along the coast on the busy main road toward Los Gigantes.
I was deeply upset when a kamikazi cat suddenly shot across the road in an impossible bid to reach the other side amid the endless stream of fast-flowing traffic. It had no chance and we felt it hit the front nearside of the car. We managed to pull off the road to look for it. Rather to our relief, I admit, there was no sign, either on the road or the car, that we had hit it. The cat was nowhere to be seen, so I suppose I couldn't have killed it outright, but I hope it didn't limp away to die in pain. That rather dampened the rest of the day. We had hardly seen any animals at all on the island, certainly very few cats, so I may have wiped out a major part of the island's feline population.
Los Gigantes is an impressive cliff of sheer vertical lava, descending some 500 meters straight into the sea. It is one of the few remaining bastions of nature against the invading tourist industry along the west coast of the island. They are most impressive, but impossible to see in their entirety unless you are out to sea, so closely has the newly constructed town encroached upon them.
We continued back up into the hills, returning to Santiago del Teidi before turning left and descending the breathtaking narrow, twisting, helter-skelter ride with its numerous miradors down into the Barranco de Masca. The miradors are vital to the driver as the only thing to be seen otherwise is the few feet of road immediately ahead before it disappears round a vertical rock face with drops to the gorge below if you misjudge. It is always unclear what might be around the bend and you frequently encounter a driver struggling up, likewise praying not to find a vehicle emerging round the rock face. At last we had found a road approaching the general standard of the little roads on Corsica. Even here though, the roads were better serviced with more passing spaces and at least safety barriers most of the way. It reminded me of our descent into Porto with the Calanches all around. Here though it was the twisted, contorted volcanic range of the Teno mountains. The barranco is so beautiful from above. Tiny village houses cling to its near vertical sides with palm trees, cactusess and flowering shrubs luxuriating in the hot sheltered climate, so near to the sea's edge, the only visible wildlife the thousands of lizards which dart from beneath your feet, only just in time.
We stopped at Buenavista, a little town seemingly unaffected by tourism. It was paseo time, around seven in the evening, and the streets and squares were thronging with local people. Children played while mothers stood chatting in groups and the men sat outside the bars.
Down on the coast there were the usual banana plantations. Folk here seem to grow them on allotments as we would grow parsnips or carrots. Building development was taking place; the lure of tourist money is likely soon to spoil the natural atmosphere of this little town.
Then home through Los Silos which, despite its name, proved to be a lovely little town, again busy with local residents enjoying themselves, full of interesting little side streets, houses with wooden balconies, a central square with a bandstand crowded with local folk. Nearby was a huge white wedding cake of a church that we did not find very attractive, over-ornate with an attempt to weld a Gothic style onto a Renaissance church. As it was now dusk, we returned to Puerto, parked, washed off the sticky sweat of the day and found a restaurant for supper.
Wednesday 24 April 2002 (continued)
It is now evening, and we are back in our apartment after another busy day away from the tourist resorts. We got going around 11 a.m. after breakfast on our balcony, watched over by a very watery sun. In fact it stayed discreetly hidden for most of the day, which meant a far better temperature for us as we travelled around all day. [...]On our way through town we investigated the palm trees more closely and discovered that the fruits I had wondered about are in fact dates. We found some which had fallen from the tree, about the size of olives but the flesh was sweet and sticky - definitely dates. We saw some palms trees yesterday in Los Gigantes with large, thick, green fruits and wonder if they could be coconuts, they do grow in the Canary Islands.
We left Puerto by the motorway which we followed as far as Tacoronte, where we turned off toward Esperanza. Ian discovered a short cut via Agua Garcia. Unfortunately it was a vertical road up through the little town involving changes into first gear.
Eventually we reached our goal, the white domes of the two observatories appeared on the crest of the mountainside opposite Mount Teidi, the Observatoria de Izañia. One observatory is devoted to meteorology and the other to astrophysics. Our friend Ray Wilson, an expert on telescope optics described attending a conference there. [A bit of name dropping: he is the only one of our friends to have an asteroid named after him - and was joint winner of the prestigious Kavli Prize in 2010.] But it was all deserted. We would have loved to have visited but there were no entry signs and visits had to be booked in advance.
Realising it was now 3 p.m., we decided to continue to join up with our route from last Sunday and stop in the cafe at the entrance to the lunar landscape of the high lands of Teidi. So we sat amid the rocks eating rolls and drinking coffee while blue finches ate the crumbs at our feet. The desire to see again the strange landscape of Teidi overcame us so we continued across the caldera of Teidi, the Cañadas, which certainly merited a second visit.
Today it was almost deserted, a contrast to last Sunday. It is even more awe-inspiring and strange when seen without cars or people. We parked and walked up between the weird rock formations with the caldera walls looming 500 meters above us, at a height of 2,100 meters.
It was cold, with a chill wind and a pale watery sun. Teidi showed white against the pale sky, and the landscape was a riot of colour, from purple through, red, orange and pink to yellow, brown and even green and black. Much of it looked like gigantic pieces of clinker from some titanic furnace.
We continued the seventeen kilometers across the level caldera of the volcano - one of the largest in the world. Gradually we started to descend the far side down a twisting, deserted road until we entered the seemingly endless pine forest again. We turned off at Vilafor, at 1,400 meters above sea level.the highest town in Tenerife, a pretty little place, full of wild flowers, with little houses, a pleasant paved square with a fountain surrounded by terraces supporting vines. The gardens are full of orange and lemon trees supporting glorious fruits of enormous size, and almond trees line the roadside.There is a long, lemon rendered church of very simple external design with a low roof of red tiles and a convent behind. The church is dedicated to Hermano Pedro (Brother Peter), who must have been a missionary to Guatemala, as the republic had erected a statue to him in the village square. Almost all the houses in the older upper part of the town bore enamel plaques outside in recognition of the work of Hermano Pedro and flags and banners to him hung from the lamp posts and the cafe. Obviously they were extremely proud of him.
Below the town we were intrigued to find many terraces that had only recently been completed and were not yet used for anything. Water had been laid on for each one with pipes running between them all. A well-surfaced road had been marked out with white paint extending across the hillside to note changes in its alignment, the obvious intention being to cut out bends and widen the road to make access to Vilaflor easier. We presume it is all being funded with EU money, and it looks as if the intention is to reinstate the vines to bring employment to the town. The surface of the terraces was covered in white pumice, presumably to control weeds and conserve moisture. The whole development is on a massive scale but it was strange that so many new terraces are being constructed when there are hundreds of older ones here, abandoned and covered in weeds, flowering plants and shrubs, almond trees orange, yellow and red poppies, and huge Teidi viper's bugloss up to five feet high, somewhat larger than in our garden back home.
We did see several wind farms, which stuck us as a brilliant use of the landscape. Winds can be pretty powerful off the Atlantic and with the amount of arid, otherwise useless land available it ought to be possible to generate all the energy requirements of the whole island and more, the main problem being what to do with the excess. The windmills certainly improved the landscape, providing the eye with a focal point of interest. The four lane motorway around the capital Santa Cruz in the rush hour is not for the fainthearted, but we had no choice. Fortunately our entire experience of drivers here has been pleasant. They are courteous, don't carve you up, obey speed limits, let you in and are generally excellent. We eventually linked up with the northern motorway beyond Santa Cruz, which is only two lanes wide and very easy driving. We reached Puerto, turned seaward and arrived at our usual parking place with no difficulty.
We decided not to eat out tonight, instead we bought pizza and some wine and have spent the evening writing up this diary so that we can make an early start tomorrow as we have to return the car by 3.30 p.m.
Thursday 25 April 2002
We were up and away by 9 a.m. of this our last full day, driving along the north coast toward the Punto de Teno on the far north-west corner of the island. It is supposed to be very lovely but dangerous landslips beyond Buenavista have caused indefinite road closures, something we discovered only when we reached the barrier blocking our route through the privately owned banana plantations which stretched up the hillside toward the black ash of the last lava flows in 1706. Cloud was rising above the mountain tops and there was a haze over the sea beyond the plantations to our seaward side.
Disappointed, we turned back through Buenavista and along the coast to Garachico and parked on the seafront. This is a truly delightful little town, as yet quite unspoiled by tourism. It has suffered more than its fair share of disasters in its history, with a good two thirds of the town being swallowed by the lava flows of the 1706 eruption, which destroyed the harbour and much of the town. Until then it had been one of the main ports of Tenerife. The black ash still looms over the town on the lower slopes of the volcano, and it doesn't look as if it would take much to cause it to slip. It looks rather like an enormous Welsh coal tip at the base of the Volcano de Arenas Negras.
From the roof of the fort on the seaward side of the road it is obvious how the lava flow swept down to engulf parts of the town. Then in 1987 the place was hit by an enormous tidal wave some ten meters high, causing serious damage all along the seafront.
Back inside what was once the fortified town stands the tree-lined central square with the usual bandstand, cafeteria and pretty fountain. The plaza is edged by old buildings with their high wooden doors. Here too is a beautiful wooden-roofed town church with its usual dressed statues, but generally much nicer and more muted than in other churches. Ian again could not resist feeding God's candle meter and got three to light at one go.
We bought coffee and omelette tortillas at a little cafe on the seafront, asking for a jug of hot water to dilute the strong black coffee. I got confused and asked for "water" in Spanish and "hot" in Italian (acqua calda instead of agua caliente). General amusement was caused but we did get what we wanted. We visited the old fort on the seafront, the wall alive with huge blue-brown lizards about a foot in length.
The old port was destroyed but has been transformed into beautiful gardens filled with fragrant flowering shrubs, shady corners with fountains, and lizards sunning themselves on the black lava stone walls. Up the cobbled street we arrived at the big main square, devoid of traffic with beautifully maintained properties surrounding all sides - colour-rendered huge old buildings: the church, a hotel, a restaurant, the town hall, a former convent, now used as a cultural and exhibition centre. We entered this and found ourselves in the most beautiful pair of courtyards with cool archways leading off into displays of daily life, photographs, and an exhibition illustrating the work of the meteorological society of the Canaries.
We left the very grubby car n the forecourt and walked down the tree-lined road past the high, gleaming tourist flats, each with its little balcony to the seafront overlooking its wonderful gardens of cactuses, pines, palms and scented flowering shrubs, alive with hundreds of happy, colourful lizards, the whole against the backdrop of the Atlantic with its white-capped breakers rushing in toward the black, sandy beaches. Brave and obviously experienced surfers rode the waves in spectacular style. There was no wind however, and the air was warm but not unbearable. We sat at a shady table with a beer and excellent hot fresh pizza watching holidaymakers enjoying the gardens, then walked back along the front to our hotel for a wash and to sort out our arrangements for getting back to the airport tomorrow. Tha, as my thoughts were turning to the joy of a swim in the hotel pool, Ian decided we would visit the casino above the town for a nice view. I suspect that he was hoping that the views would have been of Miss Puerto de la Cruz 1956 in colourful black and white, bt reluctantly gave up the idea of a swim to accompany him. After all, I can swim at home, but I couldn't see views of Tenerife there.
So we struggled up countless flights of steps cutting up the hillside above the town. The steps were lined on both sides by pretty gardens and little fountains. They were actually quite cool and shady and as we climbed we picked dates from the trees and ate them. Actually they were too small to enjoy, but it is not often that you can go date scrumping.
From the casino we certainly did have a good view down onto the town though, as Ian said, not quite like the view from the Sacré Coeur in Paris. Apparently Agatha Christie used to stay at the casino here. She must have been pretty rich as we realised rather quickly that prices up here are much higher than down in the town. The doors of the casino were closed with nobody around except for a few tourists looking rather chic, some taxi drivers, joggers and a few chickens. These were scratching away in the beautiful flower beds in front of the casino, laying their eggs amid the cactuses and generally mystifying us by their presence. Views down presented an endless vista of hotels, brightly rendered and offset by plenty of plants and palms. The sea was the backdrop,and there were glimpses of bright blue swimming pools on the roofs of apartment blocks. It was very pleasant wandering through these Jardines de Taoro with the sound of the water from the artificially created waterfall and the many fountains. The slightest of breezes ensured that the sunshine was bearable, the views were lovely and the plants superb. There were so many different cactuses, many with bright flowers, plenty of different sort of palms, some with fruits other than dates, trees and shrubs with gaudy trumpet flowers, and geraniums and petunias nestled among the uneven lumps of dark volcanic stone rockeries. We found a water garden with pools and aquatic plants. Peacocks were on a lawn green enough for England. We sat near a tiled fountain on the lawn surrounded by hibiscus blossom, syringa and brightly flowering oleanders, sipping mango juice to the twitter of birdsong. Blue morning glory creeper cascaded from the walls of the little garden restaurant and mauve flowering trees added splashes of colour to this idyllic place.
Ian caused total consternation when he decided to purchase a history of the island and its people up to the time of the conquest. The poor man had no idea how much it cost. Eventually he found a price - in pesetas, so we all had to work out the equivalent in euros. Then he had to find the keys to the till and sort out change. Anyway it was worth it, as Ian is delighted with his purchase and it made it all worth while keeping the museum open until 9 p.m. The locals are very proud of it, and there is an exhibition of how it came to occupy the pleasant premises it does after years of mouldering neglect.
Finally we returned to our room for a last glass of Canary wine on the balcony before going to eat at a little restaurant we had seen earlier in the less frequented fishing port area of the town, a few pedestrianised blocks from our hotel. We opted for the menu del dia at 6.50 Euros, which included more wine, a lovely local soup with meat vegetables and lentils followed by pork chop and salad, garnished, of course, with bananas.
Friday 26 April 2002
We are now flying along the coast of Portugal, passing near Lisbon on our way home to Exeter. We were picked up from our hotel at 8.30 this morning and driven by coach along the ring road to the airport where huge crowds of people were slowly checked in before we boarded the plane for the three hour flight home. We are due in Exeter at 3.45 p.m. Our pilot has just pointed out that we are flying over the city of Porto in Portugal and will soon be entering the airspace of mainland Spain. The view is clear from the window beside me, down onto the top of the brown mountains of the Iberian peninsula. The pilot has also mentioned that he is "pedalling as fast as he can" to try to get us back to Exeter a few minutes early. He obviously has a sense of humor!
And so we end a very pleasant, unexpected holiday in the Canaries. We had never thought of such a holiday but being prepared to experiment with a new experience offered on our doorstep has really paid off. The people were all helpful and friendly, the accommodation of a good standard in a pleasant location and we have been able to avoid the crowds and really explore the island to discover its geology, beautiful and spectacular scenery and little villages. It is too overcrowded around the southern edge with too much building and too many cars, but inland there is little possibility of locals making a living. We have seen very few domesticated animals except for goats and chickens and although we have seen maize growing on terraces we have seen no sign of cereal crops. I don't think I would like to go later in the year - too hot and too many visitors.
Editorial note
This account has been transcribed virtually unchanged from Jill's original manuscript travel journal, industriously written up each evening or early the following day. It has been matched with Ian's photographs, digitised from colour prints made in the days before digital cameras were widespread, so they are often lacking sharpness, and after twenty years it has proved difficult to match them all with the precise locations where they were taken. With landscapes this does not matter so much but the image below totally defeated me. It is from somewhere in the north west of the island. Any suggestions? A Google image search was unsuccessful. At least identification will prove that someone has stuck with this account to the end.
This is the latest in a series of island-hopping travels made before the acquisition of our beloved camper van Modestine in 2005. They are a series of memory recovery exercises which started with Corsica in 1999. Crete and Majorca - and perhaps others - remain to be done, if time and strength are granted to us.
Ian Maxted (ianmaxted @ hotmail.co.uk)
November 2022
