Why I Like El Médano So Much

Some far-flung friends express curiosity about where life’s journey has landed me at the moment, and so, for them, this.

Sometimes I wonder why I am so attracted to this town I’m living in.  I lived here once before, about six years ago, but my ever-itchy feet propelled me to wander off for a while, and when I returned, a bit disoriented, as you are when you come back from travels, I drifted elsewhere.  It felt as much like home as anywhere does to me these days when I came back this February. Odd, in a way, that, because all the friends I had here back then have moved on too, which means making an effort to get together with folk.  Maybe that’s a good thing though….except for the drink/driving thing!

I can’t say that El Médano has any of the bucolic cottages, grand modern architecture or restored buildings I am attracted to in other towns, and the streets of what must have been the original village are narrow, not really meant for modern traffic.  That’s part of the charm though, you wander down what looks like a perfectly bland, uninteresting, little thoroughfare and come across a little shop or bakery or bar, just quietly waiting to be found.  Chasing along the back streets on Saturday to snap the triathlon, it amused me to realize how much I liked it – how different from the well-planned city grids of the new world, which I also love.  Variety is the spice of life!

Old, squat cottages have mostly been replaced by small apartment blocks, and every now and then you find a site which is ripe for development.  Someone is biding their time, waiting for prices to go up.  That’s a game that’s always been played here, not just now on account of the recession.  It doesn’t make for pretty to be honest.

We do now boast a European Union Blue Flag, which waves proudly at either end of the main beach.  As you can see from the photo, there are still places in the area running along the beach, which will be developed sooner rather than later, I imagine, when the recession lifts.  The last development was carried out with the minimum of disruption, I have to say.  Hoardings were erected, and mess kept to the least possible.  It was quite impressive.

This area is most certainly blessed with beaches, and it’s easy to see why this one earned the blue flag.  The main beach is always immaculate. It was upgraded a few years back, and now you can walk its length on boardwalks reminiscent of California, which also provide wheelchair access to the beach itself. Protección Civil are responsible for beach security, do an excellent job, have bang up-to-date facilities, and well, all I can say is – David Hasselhoff  eat your heart out!  It’s one of the few beaches I know which is used equally by locals and tourists.  You don’t see many locals on the shores of Playa de las Americas, Fañabe or even Los Cristianos, these days, and not many tourists wander down to the little villages like Tajao or Poris de Abona.

boardwalk down which you can get a wheelchair or pushchair to the beach.

El Médano has the best of it in almost any weather it seems.  A strong breeze keeps us cool almost all the time, except when it blows hot, straight from the Sahara, and we bake like turkeys in an oven.  The breeze is kind of the lifeblood and the salvation of the town.  Firstly it keeps away that kind of tourist who is picky and moany – much too windy for them, thank god.  Secondly, it attracts windsurfers and kite surfers (and I suppose the girls who fancy them), which keeps the place young and vibrant.  They lend their energy to the general atmosphere, sporty, competitive and vital.  Maybe it’s because they are up with the dawn, waiting for the right conditions, that the nightlife here is quite subdued compared to our noisier neighbours up the coast (again I say, thank god).

Not that the local bars are quiet.  It takes me about three minutes to get to the town center, and walking down there the other night, the little bars and restaurants I passed hummed with life.  All along the seafront wall the local hippies had spread their wares on pareos and towels, mostly handmade jewellery and leather goods, not imported from China or Africa, but made by themselves.

And there you have it – this unique mix of types which makes this place so different – wind and kite surfers, hippies, ordinary local folk celebrating the end of the working week, and the tourists who are in seek of something a bit less cookie cutter than the famous resorts.

oh, and did I mention the shops here, which offer things just that bit different?  This is one of my favorites.  Beach stuff, yes, but not mass produced, cool cottons from Thailand and India, sold by a French lady on a Spanish beach in a shop with an English name :=)

On the days the wind drops the beaches are flooded with families, which the tide forces back to the boardwalk as it comes in, until the pocket of sand remaining looks like an ant colony.  It might be my imagination, but there still seems to be a vitality, which is missing from the big resorts, where the day’s exercise consists of turning over every half hour to baste the other flank.  People here are swimming, playing ball, walking or running.  For me, I like it better when it’s windy, it feels more select………like you’re making a statement by being here.

Now, I have to say, that if I had my druthers I would very likely buy one of these properties.  Modern, light and spacious inside (peeked in when they were being built) they sit almost on the beach.

So far there is no McDonalds or Burger King.  Maybe the resort is too small for them.  It’s to be hoped that if they ever do give us a look over they are forced to keep their exteriors in keeping with….. well, exactly with what I can’t say, like I said, it’s not as if the place has a particular kind of architecture or anything!  Don’t get me wrong, I like a Big Mac from time to time, but look at just a few of the alternatives we have here.

Beach bars, and this is the best, Flashpoint, where they do the most wonderful breakfasts amongst other things.

Café La Bohême, which is famous locally for its delicious salads but mostly for its mouth-watering crêpes.  Did I ever mention crêpe with chestnut cream and vanilla ice cream???

Up market Italian, right on the beachfront.

More usual local bars, front and back views.  These are the properties threatened with demolition, which are alongside the El Médano Hotel which I mentioned before.  You can sit on their terraces and feel the spray – and I don’t jest.  They serve the sort of local tapas and seafoods you would expect in Tenerife.

Believer in variety that I am, I’d rather leave the Big Macs for the right place and the right time!

Even the Saturday market seems a much more authentic and interesting experience than ones in other towns, even though the majority of the traders hawk their wares in those other venues too.  It might be the hippie element again, which hugs the market’s edges (they are harassed by the police from time to time, but not on a very enthusiastic basis) , or it may be the buskers and other street performers who give it a different sort of vibe.  The guy below I saw, just sitting on the street today.  I asked him if I could take his photo, and afterwards approached him to offer him money, but I couldn’t see anywhere to put it.  He just smiled and said it wasn’t necessary.  I fancy he was a friend of one of the bar or shop owners around there, and that’s the norm.  Siesta-ing  on the beach one afternoon I woke to a haunting sound which had been drifting through my dreams for a few minutes.  My friend and I sat up and  looked around to see what it was, and spotted a guy sitting on the wall playing a didjeridu – not the way you expect to be woken from a slumber on the beach, and there we go again – variety, suprising, stimulating variety.

As well as variety, I like balance, which may, or may not, be the same thing, depending on how your mind works, so I was trying to think of the negative things.

Well, now, yes the wind can get a bit too much from time to time, but pluses far outweigh the minuses there, so that doesn’t count.

Outside of the main part of town, i.e. around where I am living, the streets could definitely be cleaner – not because of any lack of effort on the part of the authorities so far as the actual cleaning goes, but because of the laziness of residents.  Dog pooh  abounds.  Needless to say, Trixy and I always clean up after us, but in six months I’ve only seen one, other person do it.  Our habitual walks are littered with cans, plastic bags and bottles, old mattresses, bits of furniture and the odd dead bird (don’t ask, but someone suggested voodoo to me!)  The beach of El Cabezo, which is where I live, was only cleaned up for the second time in said six months because it hosted the National Windsurf Championships a couple of weeks back.  The first time was to clear it of debris about three months after the winter storms.  I don’t remember it being this bad when I lived here before, so what changed?  Well, just population growth, like every place, I guess.

On the odd occasion it irritates that small shops and businesses close from 2 to 5 for siesta.  Even though supermarkets and seafront business are open, a stillness manages to permeate the afternoon air, but to be honest, it’s just another part of what makes the place what it is.  What it isn’t, is the big city.

End of the day I couldn’t really think of anything which didn’t also apply to the island in general……and that’s another story.

Er…..Trying toThink of a New Way of Saying Cultural Variety!

Trying to think of a new way of saying it because it happened again. This weekend the choices were excruciating, and a bit of bad luck (or was it bad planning?) didn’t really help.  Imagine this:

Friday night? Well, the choice was going to Santa Cruz to watch the beginning of the re-enactment of the Battle of Santa Cruz, music in a local bar or going to see The Moscow City Ballet performing “Swan Lake”. Of course “Swan Lake” won. I was going to say, “because I’ve seen the re-enactment before”, but then I haven’t seen it nearly as many times as I’ve seen “Swan Lake”!! The exciting thing about this, particular performance was that it was in the South of Tenerife, in the aforementioned Magma Center, so it was also being a small part of a little bit of local history.  The South of the island has always felt like something of a Cultural desert.  Oh, sure there has been the odd oasis, and I emphasize I speak of Culture with a capital C, (of culture with a small C there has always been an abundance) so it’s the first time I didn’t face an hour’s drive after an event.

The Culture

I’d never entered Magma through the huge, front entrance before, and pretty impressive it looked as we approached, pretty lights – and a stage hand spray painting props (now, that didn’t give us a smile when we saw them on stage!) Amusing variety of dress, one or two looking as if they were going to the beach (which is pretty standard attire for just about anything here), and one or two looking as if they were expecting to bump into the King and Queen i.e. dressed up to the nines – which is not normal for the South of the island. Still, I wasn’t there to conduct a fashion survey!

I’d intended to have a siesta to ready myself for the late start (10pm) but the screeching from the pool, almost below my window, reached epic levels Friday afternoon, and sleep was impossible , so I read through the little program which came with the tickets.  Anticipation shivered down my spine a little as I recalled the story, and remembered the video I used to have of Fonteyn and Nureyev performing this ballet, so I set off in good mood and refreshed in any event.

The production was excellent, if a little theatrical sometimes – “Ah”, you say, “but it is theater!”……good point! The sets and the costumes were both stunning. The Corps du Ballet was absolutely superb, in fact, though it’s a very long time (12 years, in fact) since I saw classic ballet I don’t think I’ve ever seen better. The leads were very good, Odette/Odile especially, and despite it being a version unfamiliar to me I settled down to it quite nicely very quickly. 9 out of 10 for the production definitely. That said, I will make the effort to go up to the theater in the North next time. Impressive though Magma is, it isn’t a theater. The seating was, basically, office chairs…..and remember this is long ballet….so there was a lot of squirming going on at the end, and because it isn’t a theater the floor wasn’t on a gradient, so even though we were quite close to the front, there were several people spoiling my view. In fact, for a lot of the time, I couldn’t see center stage at all. The acoustics, however, were a marvel, given the circumstances. The salon was huge and high ceilinged, but the music filled it with passion and grace, not a note was lost. So, overall verdict on the night will only rate a 6/10 from me. I know that sounds picky, but this isn’t a theater review either, and the performance made it more than worthwhile for me, but because of the discomfort I couldn’t surrender myself to the story the way I wanted to.    It’s just a word of advice – the next time Magma offer theater – make the effort to go to Teatro Leal, Teatro Guimerá or the Auditorio if whatever is playing there too.

So taken with the magic of it was I, though, that I couldn’t sleep when I got home, which didn’t signal well for the next day, when I woke to strains of Tchaikovsky flitting through my head.

The Sport

The choice for Saturday was a no brainer, because Austin was participating in the local triathlon, here in El Médano, so I passed on the chance to go to the World Music Event in Santa Cruz, and the main day of the re-enactment, amongst other things. I thought I might make the World Music Concert in the evening though, and if I didn’t, I had an invite to join some friends on a “tapas crawl”, so all looked rosy.

The triathlon is annual, well-organized and looks both fun and serious at the same time. Last year they had to battle fierce winds, and the day dawned that way this year too, but calmed down in time for the 4.30 start. The town was fit to burst, so I guess it is also good for stimulating business, and, of course, motherly pride beating intensely I was there to take snaps.

Other than the London Marathon, which I didn’t really get snaps of due to the circumstances and the way it’s organized, this was the first time I’ve ever really tried to photograph a sports event….and it ain’t easy! I knew it wouldn’t be, but I was ok with the results for a first timer. I thought it didn’t interest me as a genre, but could be wrong there, although I think I’ll always prefer landscapes.  I did discover a new talent, though, …. I can dig an elbow as well as the next person, duck under official tape which is there to stop me, and squeeze in between people to get where I want to be.  Now, that might all sound quite normal to you, and you can blame my mom for bringing me up right, but I’ve always been too darned polite -so this is a new me!  ’bout time some pals will say.

Scene in the town square just before the start

Waiting for the start

Entering choppy water

And coming out of the water.  That’s Austin in the middle in the black suit with white stripe on the arms, and the white goggles on his head.

My favorite snap of the day.  He was going very, very fast at this point, so I am really happy with it, even though I missed out the bottom of one of the wheels!

And the home stretch.  He has about five minutes left to run here, of an event which took him 1 hour 17 minutes, which knocked 8 minutes off his previous time for this event.

I arrived home pleasantly sun-kissed, but not burned, footsore (“Wow”, my friend said, “Who’s running this race, you or him?!”) from running from one vantage point to another to try to catch him as he passed, and tired in that tired but happy way.  Reluctantly,  I decided to give the concert a miss. I was on a high from the afternoon, but I didn’t trust myself to drive home after midnight, so I opted for the tapas crawl, intending to just have a couple and then call it an early night.

The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men

La Ruta de Tapas is something I only discovered a couple of years ago, and I don’t think it goes back much further back than that, at least in the South.  Local restaurants in a town are invited to join in providing patrons who are walking the route with a tapa and a drink (wine, beer or water usually, although sodas are offered in La Laguna) for €3 (in La Laguna €2.50) for the period of the event.  If you want to join the route you can get a map of participating establishments from the internet or the local town hall.  Just in case anyone doesn’t know a tapa is, it’s  a small portion of food, a snack or a taster might be a good translation.  In big cities like Madrid or Barcelona great nights are to be had, walking from bar to bar and sampling the local brew and a tapa or two in each, but it’s not so much of a tradition here.

My last experience in Los Cristianos had been really good, so I showered and changed eagerly, and wasn’t more than five minutes late to meet my friends.  The first place we tried, in fact, ended up being so enjoyable that we didn’t move!!  Given that we had a small child and a little dog with us, it was probably a wise choice, it isn’t always that easy to accommodate either, though children are accepted almost everywhere here at just about any time of day or night, and Leo is a stunningly well-behaved one year old :=)

One of the ideas of this promotion, other than stimulating business, is to promote local products, everything used in the making of the tapas has to be of local origin.   We began with a mousse of sea bass drizzled with a mustardy mayonnaise, and I mean, drizzled, so it complimented the fish, didn’t drown it, and served with gofio crisps.  Then,  two tapas of tuna and vegetables bound into a rough kind of paté and drizzled with a maracuya coulis. All washed down with local wines.

By then, we were cozy under a canopy of bamboo, on a balmy evening, child and dog happily comfortable, the urge to move on deserted us, and we ordered more food.  That might have been a mistake, depends on which way you look at it.  For some reason I never fathomed there was a long, long delay in bringing the main course.  On the one hand, the conversation was great, varied, funny and intelligent, so it wasn’t that important, but it put an end to my intention to have an early night.   I have to say it was worth it, though.  The fresh goats’ cheese salad I ordered was out-of-this-world, and well worth the wait.  Shame that driving meant I couldn’t have another glass of that lovely wine, but you can’t have it all ways, as we English say.   It was a mellow, relaxing night, but way later than I intended!

One of the delights of living here is the standard and diversity of restaurants, and within that a further delight is how you find a little place like this, very unpretentious and welcoming, but serving food as good as you can get anywhere.

If you’re holidaying in Tenerife in July check out which towns are offering la Ruta de Tapas.  We were in Costa del Silencio last night, but as well as there and Los Cristianos it happens in Valle San Lorenzo and Las Galletas too, that I know of.  It’s a fun and sociable way to try new foods, and you will also feel more in tune with the locals  as you wend your way around.  If you’re staying in Los Cristianos then no worries on the drink driving thing either!   although you’ll meet mainly other visitors.  What I really want to do is try the route in La Laguna if I can make it this year.

So, to today.  Today, the choice was going to the Lido in Santa Cruz, where I heard they have a Dixieland jazz band in the restaurant on a Sunday, taking in the British “surrender” at the Battle of Santa Cruz, and a movie about the Japanese invasion of China (yes, I know that might sound boring, but I know nothing about that bit of history, and I want to know, and it’s won awards), or all three, or any one or two plus a visit to the Sunday street market.  Which one do you think I chose?  I hit the alarm, turned over and had a rare lie in.  Bad decisions maybe, but, like I said, there is just so much going on here, you just cannot do it all!

Chain emails, Aging and My Retort

I haven’t the slightest doubt that everyone of my girlfriends who is online (yep – there are still a few who are holding out, and it ain’t nothing to with age, btw), and “of a certain age” have received the chain email below at some stage over the last couple of years. It’s been appearing regularly in my inbox for ages, and this week it cropped up again.  I know that the sender is ok with me saying what I am about to say, btw.  We’ve been friends since junior school, and she is also defying the years, as I see in her photo.

The first time I read it, I smiled and nodded, “knowing how you feel, sister”, but as the years have passed, and, of course, I am getting older, I find myself agreeing less and less with some of it.  Granted it’s the less important stuff which irritates me, the message – Live life to the full, whilst you still can – of course is a no-brainer.

When I began to get serious with this blog, just a little while back,  I had two aims really (yep, like everyone, it began as “a way to keep in touch with far-flung friends”), and I wrote and I reposted stuff, as and when the whim took me, for a couple of years, often missing the interesting stuff, because, heck I was doing it, not writing about it.  The happy difference is that I now have the time too.

My first aim was to set up something which would develop into a travel blog once I had the wherewithal to set out again.  That’s not going to happen for some months yet, at least not on a major scale, and in the meantime events last year had conspired to hammer home to me the reality of life being the journey and not the destination, and that, in turn, brought new appreciation of the world around me.  How would I look at this island if I was passing through?

My second aim was to prove that reaching one’s 60^th birthday isn’t an instant reason to sit back and sink into inertia for the rest of one’s life.  Strangely, people younger than I rarely make me feel that way, working in emergency response, hauling bales of blankets, pulling all-nighters, no-one ever mentioned age, nor said “Here, let me do that”.  They don’t seem to treat me any differently than if I were their age, whereas, my own generation seems bent on making me feel as if I should be put out to pasture, not remember my own name and hobble about with a cane.  There are exceptions in both cases, of course.

So, these are my responses to this chain email- the parts in italics are the original, and normal type is my response:

I  would never trade my amazing friends, my  wonderful  life, my loving  family for less gray hair or a flatter belly.  As  I’ve aged, I’ve become  kinder to myself, and less critical of   myself. I’ve become my own  friend. I don’t chide myself for eating   that extra cookie, or for not  making my bed, or for buying that silly  cement gecko that I didn’t need, but looks so avante garde on my  patio.  I am entitled to a treat, to be   messy, to be  extravagant.

Agreed –  so far as,no way would I trade the family, friends or the bit of wisdom I’ve gained to be young again.  Agreed – on the extra cookie, and the unmade bed,  and the gecko (but haven’t I always done those things?). But I feel better with the grey colored out (tried it, going grey, that is, didn’t work for me, I really wanted it to because it was going to save me a ton of money, but having seen a photo of myself a few weeks ago, when it was pretty much grown out, I decided no, and haven’t regreted it, despite the fact I absolutely loathe doing it! My self image didn’t change with my defiance of the convention that one shouldn’t go grey.  It just wasn’t a color which suited me), and the belly?  That has nothing to do with age.  It has to do with over-eating, and being unfit, which is bad at any age.  It’s stupid to say “I’m older so I will learn to love my fat belly, when it’s going to kill you at worst and at best slow you down”. Don’t get me wrong – the belly is there alright!  But I’m fighting it all the way!  It definitely is a factor in how “old” one feels.

I  have seen too many dear friends leave this world too soon;  before they  understood the great freedom that comes with  aging.

Agreed.

Whose  business is it if I choose to read or play on the  computer until 4 AM and  sleep until noon? I will dance with myself to  those wonderful tunes of the 60  &70′s, and if I, at the same time,  wish  to weep over a lost love  ….. I will.

Nobody’s business, but it never was.  And the dancing is fine but dance to the music of the 80s and 90s and 2s as well!  Don’t get stuck reliving the past.  That is the fastest way to aging I know!  And weeping over a lost love? Well, depends on how he was lost.  If he died that’s one thing, but if he left you for any reason, best celebrate and not weep.  He made you stronger, and he made you what you are today.

I  will walk the beach in a swim suit that  is stretched over a bulging body, and  will dive into the waves  with  abandon if I choose to, despite the  pitying glances from the  jet set.  They, too, will get  old.

Of course they will, and who ever gave a flying f*** what they thought anyway????  See above for thoughts on bulges!  They don’t look nice on the young, and even worse if you are “ a certain age”….plus they slow you down!

I  know I am sometimes forgetful.   But there again, some of life is just as well forgotten. And I   eventually remember the important  things.

Mostly, people use age as an excuse, when they mean they are too lazy to remember stuff, especially once they stop working for their living.  Sure we lose brain cells as we age, but we have so many of the things we really shouldn’t miss a few!  However, it is true that our brains learn to prioritize and weed out the trivia, so depends on what you are forgetting.  If anyone, ever, says to me again, “That was a senior moment”, you will hear the scream at both Poles!

Sure, over the years my heart has been broken.  How can your heart not   break when you lose a loved one, or when a child suffers, or even when somebody’s beloved pet gets hit by a car?   But broken hearts are what give us strength and understanding and compassion.   A heart never broken is pristine and sterile and will never know the joy of being imperfect.

TOTALLY AGREED FOR ONCE!  Having known heartbreak makes you more open to others, so long as you don’t dwell on it for the rest of your life of course.  It increases you ability to empathize with others, and help them.

I am so blessed to have lived long enough to have my hair turning gray, and to have my youthful laughs be forever etched into deep grooves on my face. So  many  have never laughed, and so many have died before their hair could turn   silver.

AGREED AGAIN!  whilst I will color my hair, I won’t worry about the lines and hollows and wrinkles.  Even if I was rich I wouldn’t.  I’d just have them fixed and get on with it!!  But since I’m not, I’ll just  get on with it anyway.  One of the biggest things life has taught me is not to fret over the things we can’t change, lots of things we can change, but some we can’t, but we can often find ways around them.

As  you get older, it is easier to be positive.  You care less about   what other people think..  I don’t question myself anymore.   I’ve even earned the right to be wrong.

You really should never have cared that much what people think, we all, always, have the right to be wrong, that’s how we learn.  Ask any of the successful people who write books and blogs about their lives – learning how to deal with the failures was instrumental in their success and they all repeat that.

So, to answer your question, I like being old.  It has set me free.   I like the person I have become.  I am not going to live forever, but while I am still here, I will not    waste time lamenting what could have been, or worrying about what will be.  And I shall eat dessert every single day (if I feel like it).

I like being the age I am now.  It’s not old.  I’m not the person I want to be, but I am still working on that. There is still so much to learn – about the world, about others and about myelf.   Definitely never worth crying over spilt milk, or things you can’t do anything about.  Eat dessert, just run another block.

As one of my friends says “The journey continues.”

Save Hotel El Médano

I’ve lived in El Médano now for six months this time.  I lived here back in 2003/4, and close by, in Sotovento, at times in between.   There is something about the place which sets it apart from other coastal towns.  It’s a resort, but not brash or greedy like Playa de las Americas or Los Cristianos, the main tourist resorts.  It’s a fishing village which really isn’t a fishing village any longer, not like Los Abrigos or Las Galletas, where families still cling to their traditional way of making a living.  It’s a “local” place but not as undeveloped as Tajao or Abades, which are villages further along the coast.  It attracts windsurfers, families and hippies to equal degrees, and all mix with an easy familiarity.  The name means sandune, and people I’ve met who came here back in the 60s remember when there weren’t really any seafront streets, just paths of sand.  From its tip at the foot of Montaña Roja the beach meanders along the coast, changing from yellow and rocky, to pristine tourist in the town centre, and then to dunes which are home to juniper, grasses and plants.

The main beach was recently awarded the European blue flag for excellence, and in these summer months there is a huge variety of events going on in the two main squares of the town, the coming weekend sees the annual triathalon; last week a documentary film festival was slated, but was abandoned, on the Friday at least, owing to high winds; last weekend was the National Windsurf Championships, and next month sees  International Kitesurfing Championships; there are folklore concerts and art exhibitions,  markets and concerts, and tons and tons of events for children, the list is almost endless.  You can swim, windsurf, kitesurf, dive or just laze on the beach if you come to holiday or for a day, and it’s all just ten minutes from the Southern Airport.

In other words, it has a lot to offer, and this, I must be honest, without much of the attractive architecture I so like to harp on about, neither modern nor historic.  Much of what is today’s Médano was built in recent years, and is comprised of not very attractive apartment blocks.  Well, I said “much”, I didn’t say there was nothing.  Prominently sheltering the main beach is the Hotel Médano, built in the 60s but with a kind of art deco feel to it.  That, I guess, is because its terrace, built out over the sea, reminds me of seaside piers back home in England.

If you follow the road down the side of the hotel, you wind down a narrow walkway, flanked, on your left, by some colorful shops selling surf gear, trinkets and glorious cotton clothes made in all the rainbow colors of Asia, lots of stuff you don’t see in the bigger resorts, and then there are the  tasty eateries, including the yummy creperia La Boheme.  On your right, there are old bars and fish restaurants where you can sit on terraces whilst the waves lap the walls (or even come over on a rough day!).  My guess is that these were fishermens’ cottages originally. The walkway leads to the old harbor, where boats are pulled up onto the rocks, and the old boys sit around having a fine old time most days.

It’s not a long walk, less than five minutes if you walk quickly, but most people stroll. These buildings, these surroundings are a big part of what gives this little town its unique atmosphere.  So, what does the government want to do?  It wants to demolish the buildings on the oceanfront side.

There is a law which states, basically, that coastal areas are in the public domain, and cannot be built on.  Its full title, in its most recent incarnation  is Ley 22/1988, de 28 de julio, de Costas.  You can see where this is going, can’t you?  Yep, that hotel terrace, which juts into the ocean is illegally constructed, and is under threat of demolition, or maybe even the entire hotel is under threat, it’s all a bit confused at this time.  When I talked with staff in the hotel this week they told me that the entire block, including the old bars which you see in the photo below are scheduled for demolition.

Now, there is not the slightest doubt that, not only in Tenerife, but throughout Spain, this law has been abused, both in its current form and previously, and only last week Greenpeace Spain produced a devastating report on the state of Spanish coastal areas.  The site is in Spanish, but that a look at their short video on the subject http://www.greenpeace.org/espana/.

So, here I am, unusually in  opposition to Greenpeace.  Well, not to anything they say in their report, nor the need for control – if it isn’t too late, of course, but it does seem to me that this little town is far better off with this hotel in tact and the cottages left in situ.  Without a doubt, the zone has character, which it will lose if anything on it is demolished.  Further it will expose those shops and cafés on the other side of the walkway to chilling winter winds – and they can cause a fair amount of havoc in summer too…..why do they think windsurfing is the Nº 1 sport around here?  Next question is what would replace them?  Presumably, since the intent is that the area should be a public one, then it would mean creating an extension to the beach.  Now, the tide comes all the way in here, witness the small amount of space left on the main beach the other evening.

So, then, if sand is imported, or dredged up to create a new beach on top of the rubble of condemned buildings, what’s to stop it washing away in no time at all?  And just how much will it be enjoyed when the tide comes in so far?   It’s not as if there isn’t enough beach – see the first picture.   There is a suggestion that only that pier of a terrace will be destroyed, but, honestly, without that terrace, isn’t the hotel pretty much just another block of concrete, a bit more elegant than many maybe?  Sure, there are worse, but it’s the terrace that gives it character.

And – yep – I know that there shouldn’t be exceptions to a law – or should there?  Shouldn’t each case be taken on its own merit, because this hotel has stood there now for over 40 years, and the cottages longer, and then there is the loss of jobs at the hotel, especially at a time when jobs are hard enough to find.  I shudder to even think about compensations. I really have no idea what is offered in that direction.  What’s more, there are only two hotels in the town (plus one a short drive along the coast), so how much more would the local economy suffer without that business?  Would people still be attracted to the place if they couldn’t enjoy their evening aperitif watching the glow of the sunset along the coast, as it highlights Montaña Roja?

Depite all the modern concrete around here I really like El Médano.  Some planning permissions have gotten through in the recent past for some god-awful buildings, including the one in which I currently reside, so just on the basis of making up for that can’t we get a break here?

This week I called into the hotel to sign the petition they are organizing against changes to its structure (to take the widest meaning of the threat).  So, to anyone in Tenerife who likes El Médano as it is, please call in and add your signature, and I know some of you have holidayed here and feel the same, if you want to make your voice heard I will pop back and ask them if there is any way it could be done online, which I stupidly omitted to do the other day.

Just An Average Saturday night in South Tenerife

It’s an odd thing.  I go to an Indian festival last weekend an end up with photos of a Canarian folk group, and this week I go to a local village for their folklore festival and end up with snaps of a troupe from Costa Rica.  That is, most definitely, typical of life here in the south of the island.  It’s a cultural melting pot.

And what a melting pot!  Saturday night offered three cultual experiences any one of which would have been worth writing up here.

I’m going to kind of work backwards for mysterious reasons of my own, and the pictures here won’t be great because we were sitting quite a long way back for this one, and it wasn’t really prudent to spoil people’s enjoyment of the performance by moving around.

Event Three, then,  was the annual folklore festival in Las Galletas, a small village, a cultural melting pots in its own way, but still at heart the fishing village it was until very recently.  In the last few years it’s had a makeover and now sports a very attractive, new harbor, and many more leisure boats than of yore as a consequence.  Still, on my own, personal rating it scores much higher than most.  It’s attractive and doesn’t detract from its former incarnation.

We arrived a little late, having been delayed a bit by the previous event, and as we passed the fairground melodic Canarian folk music wafted down the street on the back of an excellent sound system (if that’s the right expression).  A male group of singers and musicians occupied the stage, dressed in traditional Canarian costume, above, Los Amigos de Punta Rasca.  The nearest comparison I could make from personal experience is a Welsh male choir, which British friends will “get” but I don’t know if anyone else will.  Although local music often features female soloists, the musical group is generally made up of men, all of whom seem to be in possession of fine tenor voices.  They didn’t stick just to Canarian music, though, they presented us with music from South American countries too.  It was typical of what I had expected to hear.  There has been a great revival of interest in traditional music in recent years, and like the young men in Chirche last weekend, it was great to see that the traditions are in safe hands.

Next up was a small band and dance troupe from Costa Rica, Turichiqui,  who were wonderfully colorful and flamboyant.  I could have watched them all night as the girls swirled their enormously full skirts, like peacocks strutting the stage and showing off for the men (yep I do know that peacocks are male, but nature doesn’t provide many, if any, similies which spring readily to mind, where the females are the more glamorous!)  Not, mind you, that the men were any slouches in the glam department either, with their bright, silky shirts and white stetsons, but my goodness those swirly skirts were what little girls’ dreams are made of, and they looked like so much fun!

By the time they had finished,  it was close to midnight, and a group of local folk dancers took to the stage.  We were plum tuckered out by then though.  We had a small child in our party who had been bopping away with the dancing to an amazing beat of his own, but by then had fallen asleep, and so we wound our ways home.  It would have been nice to see the night out, but I still had 20 minutes or so to drive, and didn’t trust myself not to fall asleep!

It’s not an easy thing to get used to this nightlife, and I’m not talking about wild nightlife and discos, just the simple sitting in street cafés, especially at this time of year, including children of all ages, at that time of night.  OK the fair was in town, but still, at this time on an average summer Saturday there would have been lots of people on the street.  To live this way, to eat at 9 or 10, and then go out for a stroll and a drink, to meet up with neighbors and friends makes a siesta a necessity, and although I do it at times I’ve never been able to make it a habit.  It’s the most wonderfully friendly and relaxed way to live, though.  It’s part of what makes summer what it is here.  It’s all lived outdoors.

Second treat of the night was entirely different (and, yes,  I admit that contrast and diversity turn me on).  Every summer for (if I remember correctly) the last 18 years, the University of La Laguna has held a Summer School which takes place in Adeje.  Adeje is the municipality probably most-visited in Tenerife – the majority of Playa de las Americas lies within it boundaries, and the newer, posher resort areas of Costa Adeje and Playa de Fañabe, but its heart is in the village of Adeje about 10 minutes into the hills, and one of the original Guanche menceys, or kingdoms.

So, Friday lunchtime I got a text message from Cristina to say that the keynote speaker at the inauguration of the summer school was to be Baltasar Garzón (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baltasar_Garzón).  To anyone who doesn’t recognize the name, the English press often refers to him as “Spain’s crusading judge” (although the word crusade might be inadvisable these days!).  He it was who almost succeeded in getting Pinochet extradicted to Spain to answer for his crimes.  He has also had no fear in issuing warrants for drug barons, terrorists (famously Bin Laden), and politicians of both right and left, all of which has made him a very controvesial figure, with both friends and enemies on both sides of the political fence.  Currently he is suspended pending investigations into his attempts to discover the truth about  burial sites from Spain’s bitter civil war.  It wasn’t that long ago, of course, certainly within my parents’ lifetimes, and feelings still run high, partly because there are so many unanswered questions, but I don’t mean to get embroiled in that very complex subject here.  Garzón is a fighter for justice, regardless of politics.  He had a brief foray into the profession, but it didn’t last long.  Everything he said, and the way he said it, Saturday night confirmed to me my own impression which was that he was disappointed that politics didn’t give him a platform to fight injustice, which is clearly his passion.

He spoke for over an hour without notes or teleprompter, partly because no-one had informed him what the theme of the summer school was!  So he used his experiences and beliefs to link to the theme of biodiversity (an irony given the recataloguing of species the autonomous government has set in place in order to be able to build a huge, industrial port in an area where there were protected species).  That in itself was a feat to be admired.

I don’t know about you, but every now and then I am awed to be in the presence of some great person, be it a musician, a politican (rarely but has happened), an author, or a crusader, like Garzón.  I felt like this when a watched a debate which involved Federico Mayor Zaragoza (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Federico_Mayor_Zaragoza) and Sami Nair ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sami_Nair) a couple of years back, I felt the same when I saw Eric Clapton and when I saw Youssou N’Dour, and there have been a couple of authors I was positively shaking when I met.  It kind of reaffirms your faith in the world when you have been wallowing in a sea of mediocrity for a while!  It might be their talent or their ethics, as in this case, which knocks you sideways, but it’s a reminder that there is hope and decency, and something above the average if only we seek it out.  For m,e the added delight was that he came across as thoroughly nice too.   I hadn’t been expecting that.  On tv he always seems quite austere, but he was friendly and afterwards signed books for people and happily posed for photos.  That would have made me happy for the night even without the rest of it!

The first of the treats was entirely unexpected, and every bit as awe-inspiring in its own way.  We arrived a little early at the cultural center in Adeje to find out just where it was and whether we could go, and we intended to then go and have a drink in one of the atmospheric street cafés which line the village’s main street.  However, we were just bowled over by what we saw when we arrived, which was an exhibition of “street art” by local sculptor Julio Nieto (http://www.julionieto.com/).  These pieces, most of which are shown below, are made entirely from metal, and I understand that each one took a year to complete.  There are seven in the series so seven years’ work adorning the streets of Adeje. Previously they have appeared in Santa Cruz and Los Realejos.

This was my favorite – Icarus, as we  know from Greek legend, flew too close to the sun, causing his wings to melt and his fall to earth.  As you can see, depicted with almost all of the feathers gone from his wings, and about to tumble to his fate.

It was hard to choose a favorite between Icarus and this one, though, which is entitled La Llamada, which translates, really as The Call, which doesn’t impart nearly so much longing into the title as it does in Spanish.  No wonder sailors fell for the charms of sirens if they looked like this.  And, can anyone tell me, just how it is possible to make pieces of metal resemble the charms and the muscles of an elegant human body this way?!

This island is dotted with several striking and beautiful sculptures of various styles, and at first glance the one above seemed to represent a typical villager, on closer inspection, however, we could see that the figure depicted was comprised entirely of “fish”, even up to the squid “hat”.  Very, very clever, and lots of fun…….. look at the sculptor’s website if you want to see the detail.

The remaining two are entitled The Voyager and And Alice?  Despite being very modern works of art, they are not at all obscure, and I didn’t need to think over much to work out the meanings.  One of the negatives about street art is that the background doesn’t always lend itself to a decent photo, so I deleted the rest.  If you like them, really, take a look on the website, because photographed in good light and background they look even more impressive.

I think I ran out of words now.  Three really different events on one, ordinary July night…………it isn’t always true, but there have been times when I wouldn’t be anywhere else on earth!  What I didn’t mention was the balmy air on my skin, the sharp smell of good coffee as we passed the street cafés in Adeje, or the hum of excitment around the travelling fair in Las Galletas, even without the events taking place, any of those things would have stirred the imagination and the heart.

A Ton of Questions About Computers

Can someone, some fellow blogger or some technical friend advise me on something, please?

My poor computer is finding it really hard going these days, now that it’s in use every day, and is having to store lots more files, especially photos.  It’s getting to be so slow that I’ve been seriously tempted to throw it across the room at times (as in at least once a day), and last week it was recalcitrant enough to show me a blue screen.  I’ve been told that’s a sign that it’s in its death throws?

So my question is this – what to buy next?  I need to have Plan A, in place and ready to go, because of course I can’t live without a computer now any more than I could live without chocolate or Chardonnay, well, actually, it would be far easier to give up either of those!  The plan was to get a desktop and a netbook.  This laptop is on the heavy side for travelling and my back ain’t what it used to be, so hence the netbook, and a nice, sturdy desktop for every day use.

Now, however, things are changing.  Within a year or so now,  I should be able to travel a lot more, so is there any point in buying a desktop?  My stuff may go into storage, so it wouldn’t be like I would just let myself in a begin to use it on my return, not to mention that, even if it isn’t in storage, the ADSL will have been cancelled for the duration.

I’m pretty sure I need to go with a notebook for travelling, but how about a good, reliable laptop?  Is there such a thing?  How much more expensive than a desktop would it be?  I want a Spanish keyboard, but Windows in English, so do I buy here or in UK or US?  Where are they cheaper?  What about service?  Truly, I’ve never had a lot of problems, either my computers have worked or they have died, not much in between.  Over the years family and friends have recommended Dell, but of late I’ve been hearing bad stuff.  And the big question is to Mac or not to Mac?  How irritating would a changeover be to someone who’s always used a PC?  Are they really that much better for photos?

Wow!  I know that’s a lot of questions, but any advice will be fully digested, considered and appreciated.

Architecturally Speaking, Modern Can Be Good Too

Next week I’ve allowed myself a treat. The Moscow City Ballet comes to Tenerife, and I haven’t been to the ballet in about 12 or 13 years, the last winter I spent in England. Since the Auditorio in Santa Cruz opened in 2003 there has been the odd classical ballet performance, but, frustratingly, never at a time when I could go. So, that this is being performed not only in the culturally more sophisticated north, but also for one performance in the south is big news for lovers of classical ballet. For a very, very brief period in my childhood I dreamed of being a ballerina, but even at the tender age I was, it didn’t take much for me to realize that, even had my father agreed to the lessons for which I begged, there was a distinct lack of talent, not to mention grace. Still, for years I enjoyed watching other people perform. Of all ballets, they have chosen Swan Lake for this historic event, and I can’t even remember the last time I saw that, still, more about the ballet next week, after I’ve seen it.

The other day I went to collect the tickets, and took the opportunity to walk around the Magma Center, where it’s being performed. I attended a weekend workshop with La Cruz Roja there a couple of years ago, and it was only looking at the snaps we’d taken of the weekend afterwards, that I realized what a good-looking building it was. Normally, here you’ll find me singing the praises of tumble-down or renovated old buildings, and sighing over “what character they have”, but just for a change I offer you some snaps of the Magma Center, which is bang up-to-date modern design in a town which offers very little (if anything else) in the way of attractive architecture.

The Center, designed by a team of three architects Fernando Martin Menis, Felipe Artengo Rufino and José Maria Rodriguez Pastrana, was finished in 2005, to far less fanfare than the famous Opera House of Santa Cruz. Walking around, I found it easy to fall into sympathy with their vision. Unlike the stunning Auditorio, which looks like a giant wave cascading over a harbour wall, this building echoes not only the ocean, which lies like sparkling sapphire, visible from the front terrace, but also the rough and evocative, volcanic landscape which comprises much of the island. It is made mainly from concrete, but mirrors south Tenerife perfectly, that contrast between earth and ocean which lends such drama to the island.

Including the aforementioned workshop, this was only the second time I’d visited the building, and really I only took a couple of steps inside to pay for the tickets. The thing I remember vividly from my first visit was the way interior walls can be moved around to create spaces suited to the client’s needs, because it is what is described online as a multi-functional building, not only theater, but conference center, sports venue, exhibition center and more. I’m no way knowledgeable about architecture, and that concept was new and novel to me. Our needs that weekend were for conference rooms, space for practical activities, and a formal lunch, which I remember being extremely well-catered (not a big fan of en masse catering here!). Clearly, the ballet will require a theater, and it will be interesting to see how the space has been adapted. Watch this space – but in the meantime I am reminded that it isn’t only the old architecture which makes this island appealing.

The Friendliness of Chirche Lightyears from the Coastal Grumps

Chirche is a tiny village, about five or ten minutes directly vertical from Guia de Isora in the South of Tenerife.  I’ve only ever been here for this, particular festival, El Día de las Tradiciónes (The Day of Traditions), so I don’t know what it’s like on an average, working day.  I must rectify that soon, but I imagine it’s quiet.  It clings for dear life to the hillside, and these twisting, narrow streets were never made for motor cars.  The last time I came, my car overheated (OK, it’s not the most modern car in the world, but it is sturdy and reliable usually).

Happily, for Sunday’s fiesta the local town hall had provided transport so neither the overheating nor parking were problems.  A mini bus did the circuit from, what we would probably call the county seat, Guia de Isora, below up to the village, and we were there in time for the first trip before it got too hot.   A vast improvement on my last visit, what with the overheated car and no space to park it!

This year’s festival had to battle for attention not only with the World Cup Final, but also 46º heat ….. and it came out a winner, although it seemed to be a bit less well-attended than the last time I went.  This was the tenth year that the village had turned out to produce what is something like a living museum or even a theatrical production which one can walk through.  The entire village goes about its business as it would have done somewhere between 100 and 50 years ago.

Here candles are being made the old way, from beeswax.  The finished product on the right, and those in progress on the left of the picture.  The hot wax is spooned over the thread time and time again, each layer is cooled and then doused again, until the required thickness is reached.  Can you imagine the time it takes?  Can you imagine spending days and days doing this, just so that you can have light after sundown?

Although Guanche artifacts have been  found in Chirche, this festival portrays life as it was around a hundred to fifty years ago.  It really isn’t that long.  It was my grandparents, my parents time, and even my own infancy.  The scales in the recreation of the local “corner shop”, the flyspray cannister lying atop a wardrobe, some of the products on display in the shop reminded me of my own childhood, so even then, things were somewhat “globally available”.  Since I was brought up in a fairly countryfied area, and my crumbling home had once been a farmhouse, it was easy to identify with much of what I saw around me.  It felt as much like going back in time as witnessing the past of this island.

Life wasn’t that easy for my family when I was little, and yet we did buy our flour from the corner shop, we didn’t have to produce it ourselves.  The lady in the picture above is toasting seeds to make gofio, which was a huge part of the staple diet of Tenerife, and remains popular.  Cereals would have grown on the hillsides surrounding the village, and be brought home for toasting, but apparently sometimes the rhizomes of ferns were also used in the distant past.  The tradition probably was brought to the islands by the Guanches who, it is now widely thought,  came from North African Berber tribes, who also made a similar kind of meal.

This lady is carrying out the next step, grinding the toasted seeds by hand.  A heavy grindstone is pulled around and around, as you can see, until the  seeds become flourlike.  This is how it was done in this, small village.  In other areas huge grindstones were pulled by donkeys, horses and even camels.  Gofio can still be bought in the island’s supermarkets, and to be honest it’s an acquired taste.  Austin has learned to mix it with honey and almonds to make a delicious dessert, and it is used to thicken soups and stews, and to make a really healthy porridge-style breakfast – very high in fibre, people!

Walking around the village, despite the intense heat, was a treat.  Two things struck me hard.  The first was how the whole village seems to join in wholeheartedly.  Every age group takes part, from grannies (and how they manage daily life on a sheer hillside I will never understand!  Seems to me, given a diet of gofio and that kind of exercise each day, they must be incredibly healthy!) to babes in arms.

Above is the old schoolroom, complete with blackboard and children who don’t seem to mind being dressed in costume!  I didn’t see one sulky face all morning – not even from the class’s naughty boy, whom you can spot kneeling in the corner.  I’m sorry about the quality of this photo.  The schoolroom was dark, I’m thinking probably even in the fifties there was no electricity, plus the old houses were designed to keep as cool as possible in summer, which usually meant having only small windows, and thick, thick walls, which kept out the summer swelter and kept in the warmth in winter.  Also, there were so many people vying for space to observe or snap, and I was too polite to hog the vantage point I had …….. another lesson learned – must be bolder!  There were children helping the maypole dancers, playing games in the street or helping with chores, just as they would have been doing a hundred years ago, and every one of them with a smile on their face.

It goes without saying that a hundred or even fifty years ago, there were no video games, no television, no fast food, so children had to make their own amusements.  Below is a selection of the types of homemade instruments which they used to make.

Maybe there is some special karma attached to living in this village, because I rarely remember a time when I’ve met so many friendly people.  People who would stop in the hot sun and wait whilst you fiddle with your camera so you can snap them.

People who are quite at ease being photographed showing off their pride in their traditions….not all instruments were homemade!

People who are willing to attire themselves in heavy, traditional clothing in a 46º heat (might even have got hotter after we left!), so that they can keep this link with their past, and show it off to others.

This lady was crocheting what looked as if it was going to be a small doily, and surrounding her are displayed other examples of lace and crotchet work – most looking newly made, and proving that old crafts are not nearly dead here!  The really nice thing is that it looks as if future generations are happy to go on keeping these traditions alive.  It’s something I’ve noticed often in the folk music and dance groups which I see regularly on tv – no way are these groups composed just of the old folk.  The folklore of Tenerife seems to be in good and safe hands for quite a while yet.

Now this is a tradition many people will be happy no longer is widely used.  This gentleman is preparing a goatskin for use in making gofio or cheese.  The ingredients for either were placed inside to be molded and strained.  Goat is still widely eaten here, and is a treat.  I’ve never had it badly cooked.  The use of the skins?  Well, there was nothing else, back when, and as with other meat products, there wasn’t much waste.  They were different times.

There were demonstrations of bread making in big, old ovens, agriculture as it was (and still, sometimes is) here, the making of roof tiles, which had been the village’s only industry outside of agriculture, and a host of other stuff, and highlight of the day, a mock wedding, but we ran out time and couldn’t stay to watch.  We had a glimpse of the wedding dress, laid out on the bridal bed in a restored house, but no time to see the bride, sadly.  As I mentioned before, we did pop into the pretty church for a few moments, and then we had to be on our way.

We just missed the mini bus, and took refuge from the sun in a nearby bar, which was built directly into the rock face, providing welcome coolness.  I have to mention it was the only kind of disappointment of the morning.  We paid around €15 each for a very average gazpacho, stone cold garlic bread, croquetas (one ration of chicken and one of tuna, which were indistinguishable), a couple of very cold, very welcome beers and best – a plate of papas arrugadas (wrinkled potatoes), the island’s speciality, all of which came with indifference or a shy smile, depending on who served us.  It was a bad choice of venue, but nicely decorated, as you can see above, and reminiscent of the coastal resorts, where that kind of service is the norm.  It’s a great shame that tourists don’t get out more to meet the “real” people of Tenerife, these people who are so kind and happy and gracious.  I’ve never been to a fiesta of any kind where I wasn’t made to feel enormously welcome, and Chirche would be top of a list like that.  In some ways I don’t blame the kids who work as waiters or shop assistants down in resortland.  Firstly, they aren’t given the proper training in most cases, so they don’t know how to respond to people, and secondly, I couldn’t put up with the sort of attitudes and backchat they get from a lot of their customers.  Frequently, once you have made a contact, their demeanour does change.  Yes, I do realize that the onus is on the supplier of whatever service you are buying to provide that service with a smile, but scratch just a bit and you might find that the nice young waiter comes from Chirche, or somewhere similar.

When I move on from Tenerife, and return for a visit, one thing I intend to do is to stay in the casa rural (rural hotel) here, in the middle of Chirche, and embrace the relaxed and happy lifestyle of its people.

One thing this day taught me.  I’ve always enjoyed snapping, and never really been too interested in video, but watching the maypole dancing for quite a while I would have loved to have videoed it.  Stupidly, because of my lack of interest I’ve never bothered to figure out how to work the video selection on my camera – job for this weekend!  Next year I won’t clash to the World Cup at least!

Ratha Yatra: The Festival of the Chariots – Lucky for Spain?

The wonder of living in the south of Tenerife is not just the exposure to Canarian or to Spanish culture, but also to the art, traditions and ideas of a host of other nationalities who have gravitated to this island in the sun.

Ratha Yatra is an Indian festival,  my reading tells me that the Hindu religion has a whole host of these, each one more colorful than the previous!  It might have been a happy coincidence, or it might have been auspicious that the dominant colors of this festival are yellow and red………. as are the colors of the Spanish soccer team – or it might be that there was some sort of karma in the air, because, as the world knows, they won!

In the traditional ceremony in Puri in India, where this Festival of Chariots originated, there are three chariots, one for Lord Jagannath (who, so far as I can make out is the same being as Lord Krishna, a name which we, in the West recognize) and one each for his siblings Lord Balaram and Lady Subhadra.  Each has their own color Lord Jagannath’s is yellow, Lord Balaram is blue and Lady Subhardra is black, and their colors are draped over the red canopy of the chariot.  However, in Playa de las Americas on Sunday they had to share, and so red and yellow it was.

It was a shame for the organizers  that it clashed with the World Cup, but, then, it wasn’t the only event to suffer for that! On Saturday afternoon I went down with some friends to find out what it was all about, but arrived a little early, although it was publicized as starting at around 3.15pm.  We did nibble some wonderful samosas, kebabs and other tasty treats, but then retreated in the face of around 30º heat to find a cool place to wait  until the real celebrations which were scheduled for 6 o’clock.   For me that meant about a half hour of mantras before I had to leave to babysit the most neurotic dog in the world – as some of my neighbours are Uruguayan I knew it was going to get noisy around here regardless of who won!!

In Puri, once a year the three dignitaries are taken in their heavily decorated chariots from one temple to another.  There seems to be a long and complex history surrounding the tradition, but since we had the shortened version of the celebration we also have here the shortened version of the explanation :=)   The chariots, or carts, are pulled through the streets by hand, and it is auspicious and pious to be able to help pull the carts, or even just touch the ropes.  In India thousands vie for the privilege, but here, of course, there were a few dozen, so no-one was fighting over the honor.  This journey is the only occasion on which many people may get to see the deities, foreigners and non-Hindus are not allowed into the temples in which they reside.

The feeling of the festival, however, was far from exclusive.  The atmosphere was warm, informal and very friendly.   We arrived just a bit late to see the transfer of the deities to the cart, but were offered pieces of fresh coconut for good fortune as the procession set off.  Apparently, the celebration has spread since the mid-sixties, when our own “gods”, the Beatles, returned from India and people began to take an interest in the religion and culture.  The festival is now celebrated in New York, London, Dallas and San Francisco amongst others – and now Tenerife.

Interesting historical note – the English word juggernaut comes from the name of Lord Jagannath and the chariots used in this procession, which, in the original are enormous, and English colonists were so amazed by their size that the word was coined and passed into use.  In another of those coincidences which make you wonder about the nature of the fate and such stuff, read this definition of the word juggernaut from dictionary.reference.com

Jug·ger·naut

any large, overpowering, destructive force or object, as war, a giant battleship, or a powerful football team.

It is typical of the Indian community in Tenerife that they reach out and share, and the chariot was proceeded by a Canrian folk music group, who had also performed the previous evening, talk about having the best of both worlds!

Even this group was something of an oddity to see in the streets of Playa de las Americas, and the gawping faces of some of the tourists were a wonder to behold, more accumstomed as they are to frying on the beach all day, and seeing only their own breed around the streets of town.

As the chariot and its attendents moved slowly through the heat of the afternoon on the wide tourist boulevards, the children on atop the cart threw bags, containing nuts and sweets, eagle-eyed, they seemed determined that no-one should miss out, and I thought of the pictures I’d seen on the internet of this festival in its home town of Puri, where thousands of people crowd around, anxious for at least a touch of the ropes or a glimpse of the deities.  It doesn’t take an awful lot to stoke the fires of my desire to travel, and this was more than enough.  One thing I do know -next year it will not clash with the World Cup, so even if I can’t make it to Puri, at least I can spend more time in Playa de las Americas, making time to see more of the music, drama and dance which are part of the fiesta.

The Indian community of South Tenerife deserve a huge thank you for bringing us this colorful event, and for reaching out to share their culture – something not all other cultures here do!

I Had a Religious Experience

I had a busy day yesterday (about which more later), but even before I arrived home to turn on the telly to watch the World Cup Final (yes, I watched it alone :=(  remember, I am the owner of the world’s most neurotic dog) it had occured to me, whilst driving, that I had had an odd day in terms of spiritual experiences.

In the morning, Colleen and I went to take a look at the Día de las Tradicciones fiesta in Chirche. With an orange alert out for extreme temperatures, and having seen most of the demonstrations and exhibits, we ducked into the church, partly because it looked cool, and partly because I missed seeing it last time I went to this fiesta. Colleen disappeared for a few minutes,  so I entered alone, and sat for a while, silently, lost in the kind of thoughts someone brought up as a Christian, but who has abandoned the religion,  has in a church. I let the anger go, and absorbed the undeniable sense of peace, as I listened to an elderly granma explain to her grandaughter what the different statues represented. Of course, she wasn’t talking about them as representations so much as if they were the actual dieties and saints of which she spoke, and even with the strong feelings I have about the manipulation of their congregations which many churches practice, I admired her conviction. Of course, the church IS its people, and not its buildings or its management, Jesus taught that, but it is so often forgotten, especially in these days when the Catholic Church has to deal with the fact that so many of its priests have been living lives totally in contradiction to everything Jesus represented. I wish the hierachies of all churches would realize that they are there to serve and help their people, and not exploit them.  This was my first experience of the day, but not my last – that feeling of peace in the church which came from the simple faith of its people.

In the afternoon, we went to watch a traditional Indian  ceremony, about which I understood very little.  I did check it out online first, but there wasn’t very much opportunity to ask more on the day.  The festival is Ratha Yatra, and what I understand is this:  Once a year the deities Jagannath (which, if I understand correctly is another name for Krishna), Balarama and Subhadra are taken through the streets to greet the people. They are taken on richly decorated carts (which happen to be colored red and yellow – very apt on this day!) which are pulled by long, thick ropes.  As the cart (in our case the gods had to share) began to move, people began to sing and sway in that way many of us remember from following the Beatles’ flirtation with Eastern religion in the 60s.   What was really nice was the warmth and welcome of the Indian people, even though we were just spectating, it was easy to feel included in the event.  I followed the cart as it wound its way along one of the main tourist streets, the children on the cart throwing bags of sweets and nuts to  everyone watching, and was struck again by that same feeling of togetherness which had occured to me in the church earlier in the day.  It’s the unity of the people which is the foundation of any religion, in fact IS the religion.

Celebrations began as ways of bringing the people together to honor this unity.  Yesterday it went a step further with the inclusion of the local, Canarian community in this festival.

Being owner of the world’s most neurotic dog I had to leave before the cart had returned to base, but not before someone had passed up a Spanish flag to the people on the cart, which they proudly fixed in a prominent position near the front, which takes me to my next musing.

It was around a half hour drive home, and it was about 50 minutes before the World Cup Final was scheduled to begin.  The excitment in the air was palpable, everyone seemed to be dressed in red or yellow and red (apart from a few, brave tourists sporting orange!), and every other car was flying the flag.  I’ve never seen so many national flags anywhere outside of the US.  No matter who’d won, it was a reason for a national pride which is emotional and passionate.  There are regional jealousies and disputes which often seem to get out of proportion, but yesterday (and today, and many days to come) the sense of togetherness and unity was fantastic.  This is why soccer is sometimes refered to as a religion – it serves the same purpose it would seem.