Walking the Badlands of the Coast

The longer I live on this island, the more I understand our connection to the earth. It isn’t simply the connection of someone who lives off the land, like a farmer, it’s also a connection to the places where nothing of any apparent use can possibly grow, the badlands, or malpaís. There is something about touching rocks which were spewed out of volcanoes millions of years ago that gives you a sense of place, and of being a part of it all, and not only the land itself, but to the people, back in  history, who had to overcome the difficulties of these forsaken places.  Modern life seems to trivialize them, but if you stop and listen you can feel the ghosts.

There are several of these places called Malpaís on the island, the most spectacular being on the western slopes of Mount Teide. Stopping to photograph there last winter, with a tidal wave of white fog bearing down on us, gave me a spooky sense of desolation and loneliness, even though I knew there were folk only ten minutes away.  When the disgorged rocks are sinister, dark and jagged shapes it seems even more unsettling – as if it wasn’t that long ago that nature flung them from the bowels of the earth.

I walked one of these landscapes a few days ago.  The walk, a circular one, beginning in Puerto de Güimar and back, has been somewhat tamed by man.  Paths are unobtrusively but helpfully laid out, and maybe even follow paths taken hundreds of years ago by the Guanches.

Guanches were the island’s first inhabitants, who valiantly resisted the forces ofSpain, making Tenerife the last island of the archipelago to fall to the Conquistadors in 1496.  They were an interesting race, who mummified their dead and who used the cosmic spiral symbol, though no-one is absolutely sure what it represented to them, as once the Conquistadors were finished, there were few of them left to explain.

These inhabitants of the archipelago were curiously not seafarers, as if, having arrived in a place, often described as paradise, from the deserts of North Africa, they intentionally forgot how to leave.  This walk is coastal, and standing on black, hardened lava overlooking where it stopped in its tracks as it met the ocean, and watching the waves, even after all these years, still hurling themselves at the land, it’s easy to imagine a goatskin-clad youth standing in the same spot, staff in hand, wondering if anything lay beyond the blue.

This landscape is its own storyteller, with pre-historic tales of hot lava which curved, and must have hissed and steamed as it met the cold Atlantic waters, and of small volcanic tubes forming, some of which, after the ages, have collapsed like this one, or formed caves and crevices on the shoreline, like the one you can glimpse under this natural “bridge”.

Modern Canarian history can be found amongst this rocky crust of the earth too.  This old water pump must have tapped into an underground stream at one time, though there were no signs that anyone had lived close enough to it to not make carrying water a hard chore each day, just as it still is in parts of Africa. However, I couldn’t get out of my mind an image of R2D2 lost in the desert and rusting away waiting for Luke to come find him!

These salinas, or salt pans, weren’t that easy to reach either.  On high tides, when the sea crashed further over onto the shore, water was left in these manmade pools, and as it dried salt was left behind, which was then collected, and had to be humped over to the village, or up to the main village in the foothills.

Close to the shoreline, we came across this very touching memorial, though the lettering was faded, and covered by that buoy, which I was reluctant to move so that I could read better.  It seemed, somehow, disrespectful. So we could only guess that a boat from Puerto de Güimar had possibly been lost, probably within living memory, as there were flowers around it, which had clearly been left quite recently.

Adding our own thoughts or prayers that the folk memorialized Descansan en Paz, or Rest in Peace, we moved on. Close by the beach was littered with debris, not the rubbish left behind by weekenders, but washed down the gullies and dry river beds during the torrential rains of winter, and out to sea, only to be returned to land by the incoming tides.  The driftwood you could even call picturesque, but the plastic bottles and tin cans so apparently essential to our modern life were ugly and out-of-place amongst the old rocks, likewise the shards of wood, once probably fencing, and the rags which had been fishing nets.  I was remembered reading that Chay Blyth once reported finding floating rubbish on even the most remote legs of his sailing adventures.

Desert, for sure, this terrain is, but not, by any means devoid of life, although the closer to the sea we got the less we found.  We shared our apples and some water with this guy and at least a dozen of his friends and family, as swifts circled overhead on their endless quest for food, and the star of the ant’s life photo I posted the other day was also working busily away with his mates. We also saw rabbit droppings too, but where in the world don’t you, though it was really hard to imagine what food they found around there.

This barren scenery was an utter contrast to what I’d intended to see on this day. Our goal had been a favorite walk in the Anaga Mountains in the far tip of the island, and I was anticipating it hugely, but when we left La Laguna at around 9am the fine chirimiri quickly turned into a heavy drizzle as we ascended.  I’m not at all averse to walking in rain (I am English after all), but when the swirling mists obscured what are amazing views there didn’t seem to be much point, so we re-thought and headed for the coast.  With images of the lush laurel forests I’d been expecting still in my brain, I think I appreciated the starkness of this scenery even more.  I was left wondered if there is anywhere else on earth where you can drive from a misty forest and only twenty minutes later be chucking waterproofs and sweaters out of your pack to begin a desert walk.

The walk should have taken around two hours, but with plenty of photo stops, and one other stop to nibble some delicious, Canarian goat’s cheese together with crispy apples…..and feed the local wildlife as a result, it took us three on a hot day, but it wasn’t that hard.  Steps have been cut into the steeper parts of the walk, to make it more accessible. The rugged terrain means you are far better with a thick-soled boot or shoe.  As one of us found out – you feel every, unyielding and sharp stone underfoot if you don’t!

And – at the end of the walk, you return to the village of Puerto de Güimar, where good food is abundant I am very happy to report.  This dish (photographed by Austin to give him full credit, because normally I only post my own photos!) was lapas, or limpets, which were divine, tasting of the ocean and garlic and olive oil, and a royal feast to crown the day, along with tuna in mojo, fried eel, a melt-in-the-mouth pulpo gallego (and that is saying something!) together with salad, and a plate of the very, very best papas arrugadas, the real, creamy papas negras and not the white potatoes so often used in tourist areas…….thank god I’d walked off enough calories not to feel any guilt!

It’s an Ant’s Life!

Really, I’m not a big fan of ants. In fact you could say I hate them. Well, I hate them when they get into my sugar or my microwave, but out in the countryside I suppose I’m all “Live and let live,” because these little fellas just fascinated me, on a wee hike the other day, and my only gripe with them was that they wouldn’t stay still long enough to have their picture taken!!

Quite Simply the Most Breathtaking Island Sunset I’ve Ever Seen

After our experience last Saturday in Vilaflor, and seeing so many wonderful photos of the star-filled Tenerife skies on the internet,  Maria and I decided it was time to explore night-time photography.  I didn’t feel ready, but as always, one should take the plunge, go for it, just do it.  Procrastination gets us, precisely, nowhere, nothing, zilch, and it’s in the making of mistakes that we learn.

We assumed that it’s better to go on a moonless night (information which the internet has subsequently confirmed – I found this marvelous site recently, and now I simply hang on every word!), but thought it best to go when there is some moonlight to suss out the best places when it would be easier than with no light…….and we had NO idea what we were letting ourselves in for, nor what a learning curve it would be!

We set off around 8pm from the coast, and by my favorite route from the south, via Granadilla de Abona and Cruz de Tea, a quieter route, though it can be a bit scary when the mists shroud the road.  This night we were just ahead of the mists, snippets of cloud spied on us through the trees, but never impeded our travel. It’s so quiet, in fact, at this hour at least, that you can stop, as we did, without fear, on a curve to let a momma partridge herd her two babies across our path.

After that delightful moment we meandered up to Vilaflor, where we stopped to snap Mr Potato Man (and, in fact, Mrs Potato Woman too) which we hadn’t been able to stop for on Saturday night.  Nice emblems of that quirky festival.

We were also enchanted by the view down to the coast.  The route up which we’d just driven was now hidden by the Mar de Nubes (Sea of Clouds) a regular and impressive feature of the island landscape.  You have the same sensation of being above the clouds that you have whilst flying, but with mountains and islands emerging from the mass, and that uneasy feeling that the fog is following you as it slithers its way upwards.  Those terraces below are where we stood on Saturday night to open our minds to what was in store.  The horizon was just beginning to turn pink as the sun was sinking.  Although we were facing, more or less, east at this point, when you are up high you can see the colors of the sunset leaking all along the horizon.  It’s beautiful and slightly disorienting.

Onwards and upwards; we cleared the forests, but stopped on the first bend.  By now the sunset had deepened and was casting a rosy glow across the clouds beneath us.  We couldn’t wait for a better vantage point, we thought, because sunsets and sunrises wait for no man.

The island of Gran Canaria can be glimpsed there, on the horizon.

The warm glow of having experienced Nature’s wonderful display in our hearts and minds, we set off again, only to find……..and this is where words fail me………that Earth’s kaleidoscope had shifted, changing those gentle shades of rose and lavender to jewel-bright reds, oranges and deep purples.  The was no prescribed stopping place, but once again, you can’t wait, we pulled over on the opposite side of the road at the first opportunity and pulled out our cameras.

I tried lighting the foreground with flash to see how they would look, because the foregrounds on the others weren’t actually as dark as they appear to be in the photos, neither, or course, were they are bright as they appear to be here.  Part of the amazing learning curve that this night was turning out to be.

As we  wandered around the ridge on which we had stopped a little the colors changed, the sky darkened and night fell, bit by bit, not with the same suddenness as on the coast.  Even so I find my photos puny in comparison with reality.  I’m not sure if it can ever be captured, though I’ve seen some very impressive attempts.  Certainly, I have much to learn, but I hope these photos give you some idea of the awe we felt, since both words and my photographic ability fail me utterly.

Concentrated as we were on the scene before us, the vibrant sunset colors, the sea of clouds hanging like a night-time blanket over the hillsides and spotting the lights twinkling on other islands, we didn’t quite realize just how dark it had become until we turned around, only to be met by another, equally breathtaking sight – the blue-velvet night display of a million, million stars, suspended in space.  I drew breath and cursed.  The little I knew about night photography told me that I needed a tripod, and I didn’t have one.  Maria did, clever girl.  I’d thought of this drive only as a rekkie, not as an opportunity like this, but the moon wasn’t up, and the sky was achingly clear, and it felt as if we were looking into the future.  I only had one good photo, which you see here, by dint of putting the camera upside down on the top of the car, so that it was stable, everything else I tried was a huge fail, but I include the only other one I’ve kept.  The line of light from center to left of the photo is a passing car – another lesson learned, although because this is such an awful photo I think it gives it interest.  After a while I gave up and just drank in the experience.  It isn’t my first time, seeing this, though it’s a sight I’d never seen until I came to live here, but it was somehow very special, maybe because of the chat we’d had on Saturday, knowing just a bit more about what it was I was seeing.  Slowly, as dark overtook the scene the Milky Way was clearer than I’ve ever seen it, making us feel small but at the same time connected to all this.  It would be a good thing if everyone could experience that, maybe it would give us a sense of our place in the universe.

The next day began to intrude on our thoughts after a while.  I had a ton of stuff to do, and Maria had to be at work at 8am, so we began our roll down the hill, and I remarked that the only thing to complete our experience would be the rising moon…….when we turned a corner, and………… there it was, bright as a billion, billion rubies, rising over the mountains and through the trees.  The first place we could stop was at the same place we’d stopped before, and within that few minutes the shades had changed from ruby to diamond, as she took her place in the night sky.  Before us, the clouds now partly receded, lay the lights of the village of Vilaflor (the highest in Spain, remember) and further lights we knew were coastal towns and villages, and the lights from those and others hidden under the clouds lit the scene from below, giving it a surreal glow.  More curses about the tripod  …….. I will never, ever be without one again, OK!

We thought we were done.  We thought Nature couldn’t possibly have more in store for us after all this, but after all the majesty of the going down of the sun,  the vastness of space, and the grandeur of the landscape around us, she had one, final message.  As we followed the country road home, as happens on country roads, a rabbit suddenly froze in our headlights, and we slowly stopped.  She hopped out of our path fairly quickly, only to reveal a tiny baby which had been hiding behind her. As he hopped off into the forest it was just a reminder that despite the mind-blowing scenes we’d seen these small and more common moments have their beauty too.

La Romeria de San Benito en San Cristóbal de la Laguna

After you’ve lived in the Canary Islands for a while, you begin to understand that the philosophy that enjoyment is an important part of life, and at times takes precedence over work, is deeply ingrained in the culture.

This knowledge gives me one of my mugwump moments.   Where we came from, didn’t we all feel pressured by family commitments, traffic jams, work, paperwork, taxes, the weather,  medical checkups, all the stuff which makes up modern life?  And don’t we yearn for more leisure time to relax and reconnect with ourselves?  That said, how frustrating is it to know that the bank will be closing early for half of February because it is Carnaval, or that nothing happens at the town hall in August?  If you live here and are a slave to work, really, you’ll end up being more stressed than you were in London or New York. It’s ain’t always easy.  I can see, and I’ve experienced both approaches to this philosophy, and I don’t have an answer, but I’m leaning towards the incorporation of pleasure into one’s life being a right rather than a reward. I don’t see that that should exclude efficiency.

The other thing which appeals is that enjoyment and fun are not exclusively for the young!

Many, if not most, towns and villages have two annual fiestas, and that’s not including Christmas, Easter, Carnaval, Constitution Day, New Year, All Saints, Labor Day and the Immaculate Conception (off the top of my head, I’ve probably missed a few there).  Most of them sound religious, don’t they, and obviously they have some religious feast as their foundation, but they have evolved into something more.  The nightly verbenas (open air balls) are now as much a matter of salsa and pop as of traditional music, but the important thing is that there is some degree of enjoyment for everyone.  Even those religious, elderly women who weep as the plaster saint is carried by, I presume, are weeping in joy and not agony.

A romeria, in comparison with other festivals, is usually connected to the earth, blessings are requested or thanks given for a good harvest, and the high point is a procession to or from a church ostensibly for that purpose. Although there are priests and plaster saints aplenty I think it’s fair to say that the experience is more a) spiritual and b) fun than religious, for most people.  I can’t imagine that there is anywhere else on the island where this is as important as in La Laguna.

This city was the original capital of the island, founded around 1496, shortly after the Conquest. Despite being a World Heritage Site and having the oldest university in the archipelago, it’s still a country town at heart, even though it lays claim to the title of “city”.  Santa Cruz, the current capital, is where all the hustle and bustle is. La Laguna’s old and historic center is tranquil by comparison, and the perfect setting for a celebration like this.

The best way to arrive in La Laguna, is by the impressive tranvía (tram) service.  These sleek, modern coaches glide their way effortlessly between the two cities with the occasional clang of what sounds like an old-fashioned trolley bell, and by some miracle, despite being so modern, seem to fit into the surroundings.  Parking is difficult at the best of times, but I didn’t doubt that on the day of the Romeria it would be impossible.  The tram rides right up to the edge of the historic district.  It’s perfect, and this is where my experience began.

My favorite snap of the day.  I wonder how many romerias and fiestas he has attended!

I drove up to Santa Cruz and hopped onto the waiting tram.  There were four or five people in traditional, Canarian dress, not a sight you see in the south outside of the actual parade, so that gave me a little buzz. The coach wasn’t too full, and I was chuffed when a group of older ladies, in traditional costume entered a couple of stops later and took the empty seats around me. Their attire comprised long skirts and white, frilly blouses; some with bodices over the top of the blouse, some with petticoats peeping from their skirts and some with traditional felt or straw hats.  I know that different islands and different regions within an island have their own dress, so it seemed like a great opportunity to ask them. It wasn’t to be, however.

As soon as the tram gently jerked into motion they began to sing Canarian folk songs, and apart from sharing a few jokes they didn’t let up until we arrived at the terminal, close the city’s historic district.   As they alighted from the tram and swayed their way down to the procession’s starting point, they were still singing, hardly missing a beat.  I was so enthralled at being on the very edge of this delightful, smiling musical group that I didn’t even think to ask if it was ok to take a picture.  Confession to make:  they were on the same tram going back to Santa Cruz, and they had the entire coach singing along with them, AND I remembered to whip out my phone to record it…….then promptly deleted it by mistake :=(

They certainly gave me a taste of what was to come!  I followed them for a while, and then they forked off presumably to gather at the beginning of the parade, whilst I wandered around to explore streets with which I was familiar, but which had taken on a new vibe this day.  My first reaction as I came to the main street was that they had left the dead and scattered flower carpets there from Corpus Christi!  Then I realized that what littered the street were wood chippings and not wilted flowers – obviously to help the cleaning up process….I did mention that a romeria is agricultural in theme – that was going to mean horses, oxen and goats.

Those oxen were amazing.  I can’t honestly say that I’ve ever given them much, if any, thought before.  They were huge and the epitome of strength, pulling carts laden with folk and barbecues and produce, but seemingly gentle. A touch from the long sticks their owners carried was enough for them to change direction slightly if they wandered off course, and some of the leaders were just slips of kids.  They had the most beautifully worked collars, and gorgeous, pleading eyes.

Oh, and a word about the goats – yes I do acknowledge the irony of  enjoying a heaped plate of goat stew and then going all mushy over them in the parade.  That’s another thing which brings out the mugwump in me.

I drooled at bakery shop displays of biscuits and cake made to celebrate the day; I ate delicious stewed goat and drank fruity, local wine; I snapped a few parade entrants making their way to the beginning; I fled from shop selling crafts and local food stuffs on the entry of a huge group of Italian tourists; and I chatted with a few locals about the day.  It was overcast, which was a shame photographically, but much more comfortable for those taking part. I was quite stunned by the number of people in traditional garb, around 50% I should think, and not just a passing attempt at it, but beautiful dresses for the women and gorgeous embroidered waistcoats and attire for the men, not to mention the cuteness of the children’s outfits. It spoke of community and pride, and of history and happiness.

After the parade got under way, I lost track of time, it was quite enchanting, I can’t think of a less corny word.  On the narrow main thoroughfare there was little chance that crowds could be controlled, and after the pass by the local police car, always the first sign that a parade is beginning, no-one really tried. We stood as close to the procession as we could, darting respectfully into the road from time to time to snap away.  At Carnaval that is never allowed.  You can see on one of the videos that a hay cart is actually brushing past my telephone.  I didn’t back off, so you can see just how close we were.

There were groups of dancers and bands from other islands, (on the videos, sadly, much of the music is drowned out by the chatter of the crowd); there were reconstructions of old farm implements and carts, the carts drawn by oxen; there were herds of goats, bright, colored ribbons tied to their horns and there were wonderful floats from a neighboring town, Tegueste, a taste of their own fiesta to come in September, which took the form of ships (their fiesta celebrates a famous, historic battle, but more of that when the time comes), and there were groups of neighborhood associations and seniors, all proudly wearing their island dress.  Local restaurants, and even the casino, had floats representing some aspect of rural life, and then there was the tossing of food to the crowds lining the street, which I  described before.  Bananas, hard-boiled eggs, watermelon and wine rained down on us (well, the wine was poured into plastic cups and handed down!).  Children were lifted onto shoulders, and arms outstretched they set up chants of “A mí, a mí” (to me, to me)……….can you imagine children elsewhere getting excited about bananas and eggs, and not a candy in sight?!

I clearly remember, when we first arrived on the island, seeing women carrying goods this way, but I can’t remember the last time I saw it here other than at fiestas.

My feet, despite my sensible shoes, began to ache a little, and I pushed my way down to the beginning of the parade to get some final pictures, and then drifted slowly back to the tram station, still coming across groups singing their hearts out, even though their sashay along the main street was done.  After all this time living here I, shamefacedly, have to admit that it is only in recent years that I have begun to really understand the Canarian love for their islands and traditions. What else but pride and love would drive a group of elderly women to sing for something like four or five hours, non-stop! I’ve always been interested to some degree, but now I can, actually, feel it. Maybe it seeps into one’s being bit by bit  It stems from a deep love of the land, and of a tight-knit community, far from the Spanish mainland, which has ties to so many other countries that it welcomes us all like long-lost kin.

 

Of Astronomy and Traditions; Of Myths and …….. Potatoes

We meet at 8, as the day is on the cusp of fading, and we pile into Cristina’s car, and follow the winding road into the mountains which I’ve described before.  It’s quiet, probably because a car rally took place here today and people may not know the road has reopened.  We see the ugly litter left behind by rally workers or fans, stacked up in some places, disturbing what is normally an unspoiled drive.

We are headed for Vilaflor,Spain’s highest village at something just over 4,500 ft above sea level, and which deserves a whole other post some day. This weekend is the fiesta of La Papa Blanca, the white potato (as opposed to the famous black potatoes, which also deserve a post of their own).   As we reach the outskirts of the town a couple of scarecrow-like apparitions grab our attention, one of which turns out to be a man made entirely out of potatoes calmly sitting on a wall, clearly this is a festival with a sense of humor.

We swing into the car park of the hotel adjacent to the festivities, and the pungent smell, of the evening’s first event, heavy with pine, fills the air, and we see smoke rising through the trees.  This is a demonstration of the traditional way of making charcoal, practised in these parts almost since the Spanish conquest of the island.  We wander over to the source of the aroma, what looks like a huge mound of earth, which is emitting smoke from various orifices.  Apparently, in the morning this had been a huge bonfire of pine logs, about twice the size of what we see before us now.  Once lit, a kind of wall is built around the bottom to contain it, and earth is heaped on top, with holes so that the fire is fed, but doesn’t burn bright.  The object is to have it smoulder, but to rob it of sufficient oxygen to turn into a true fire. The color of the smoke, at times billowing from the gap, indicates that the process is working as it should.   It will have to be tended throughout the night to ensure that everything goes according to plan.  As we watch, guys throw additional spadesful of earth onto the mound. For Maria it’s more than history come to life, it’s a part of her personal past, as her grandfather used to make charcoal in just the same way.

But the light is fading quickly now, as it does here, and it’s time to move on to the night’s next event, a short stroll, a Ruta Nocturna.  We pick our way gingerly along a path which is probably not nearly as bumpy as it looks by the feeble lights of cellphones, through a small copse, and emerge after only five or ten minutes onto an agricultural terrace.  This is where the region’s famous potatoes grow.  Basically what happens here is a sort of ecumenical urging to prayer, in a way in which anyone, of any religion, or of no religion, can identify.  We are asked to feel our connection to the earth beneath our feet and the stars which are now twinkling above, as the sky fades from dusky blue to inkiest black.

No doubt about it,  whether you believe some old guy is sitting up there, orchestrating everything as he plaits his beard, or whether you prefer the proven facts, this clearest of night skies, with a full moon rising in stunning, silver splendour, the pervasive perfume of pine all around, and the insistent chirping of cicadas is a moment to be savoured. A prose poem is read.  A moment of silence is requested to still our minds and open our souls to Mother Earth.  No other sounds are to be heard.  No other lights disturb the perfection, but after a while, inevitably, the few children along get restless, and it’s time to go. We pick our way back, but with long, lingering glances at that full moon until we are in the trees again.

Next on the agenda of this already quirky, but marvellous night, is story telling.  Now I can listen to a good story-teller for hours, even when I only get about 80% of what he says, and this man, Don Savoie Enrique Alvarez, whose picture you see below, is a master.  He even has that look which makes you not want to take your eyes off him, and his voice is rich, words roll from his tongue, perfectly formed pictures which dance in your mind.  He tells funny stories about potatoes – it is, after all, the fiesta of that unpretentious tuber. As we sit in the thin lights around and the mysterious light of the moon,  he tells sad, local legends of unrequited or lost love, and he tells charming stories from South American and Native American folklore.  I am standing, the seating is limited, but I don’t think about the passing of time for one second. In fact I am quite disappointed when it is announced that food is being served, even though my stomach is growling and I haven’t eaten since 2pm.

Food is garbanzas in a slightly picante sauce, typical of the islands, and a stew of meat with dumplings made from gofio (a local flour, and, yes, also worth another post), but, strangely, no potatoes, an irony which doesn’t escape us as we tucked in with gusto, and sip a very acceptable red wine.  The long journey back limits our possible intake of that! Simple but nourishing, this is the kind of food which has sustained generation after generation of families in this town since the conquest. It is perfect for the occasion….except for the strange lack of potatoes.

Duly refreshed, we pile into a small, unlit room for what was for me a real treat, a talk by Don Juan Vicente Ledesma Taoro, President of the Official Association of Guides in Tenerife, and secretary-general of the Spanish Confederation of Professional Tourist Guides.  I have heard him speak before, which is why I know this is going to be seriously good.  I’m not sure I’ve ever heard anyone speak with such passion, authority and wit all at the same time!  He doesn’t disappoint. He gives a compact history/astronomy/science lesson as he rips through his talk, barely pausing for breath, and with all the excitement of a child first captivated by the universe. He ranges from absorbing scientific fact to the stuff of myths and legends of the ancient world. He is part scientist, part actor and he is clearly a movie fan too, references to several movies punctuate his chat, mostly famously he re-enacts a scene from the Lion King, explaining its spiritual and cultural significance, and making everyone laugh, something I remember from the last time I saw him. Afterwards, but not before we do a quick take around the room (which turns out, with lights on, to be a small museum), he does a stroll around the car park, laser pointer in hand, pointing out different stars and planets, constellations and, of course, not forgetting the moon which is now high in the night sky.

At this point I am really very contented, and don’t have the faintest desire to join in the night’s final offering, what is billed as a laughter therapy session.  Whilst I am more than happy to listen to chats and performances and lectures in Spanish I don’t trust my colloquial Spanish enough not to make an utter fool of myself…….. although, perhaps that is the point.  Anyway, Juan Vicente Ledesma is setting up a telescope nearby!  I’ve done laughter therapy in yoga classes, and it was nothing like this.  This is what I remember from the past as being a team building thing, and I’m not entirely sure that I’m not too much of a loner for it anyway, but it’s good to see others enjoying it.  I can see the point, but now that telescope is ready, and there is already a queue.  I stand by and watch Juan Vicente Ledesma as he tirelessly explains to everyone what it is they are seeing, the same words each time five or six times before it is my turn, and adjusting the telescope after every viewing, pointing out where we can see the lunar area named for Tenerife, in homage to its place in astrophysics.  His enthusiasm never wanes, and I find myself envying that.

But our watches are showing something around 2am and we still have almost an hour to drive to where we all met.  The return is filled with laughter and chat, and I appreciate how much these friends mean to me.  We stand for ages, still chatting before getting into our individual cars and going our individual ways.

This morning, as I wake, the smell of smouldering pine permeates my half-dreams and I realize that my hair, my clothes, which lie in a jumble on the floor, and even now my pillow smell of the burning charcoal, but, hey it’s Sunday, so who cares?

Street Food Canarian Style

Street Food seems to be the “in” thing. Blogs from Thailand  make me salivate……..all that wonderful, cheap street food, without having to wait for some tired waiter or grumpy chef to attend to your needs! A feast and a buffet spread before you endlessly!

And now everyone seems to be singing the praises of food trucks in the US and Canada – imagine having all that choice, without the expense, to be able to sit on a park bench or a beach and picnic and feast.

Just about anything can  make my feet itch, and tales of foreign foods can do it in half the time.  Street food here in the south of Tenerife is mostly limited to fiesta or Carnaval time, but when we do get it, believe me, it is to.die.for, skewers of pork with onion and peppers, chunky slabs of tortilla española, luscious slices of those Spanish staples chorizo and Serrano ham, and this mountainous and mouthwatering platter of stewed goat meat I woofed down last Sunday at the Romeria in San Cristóbal de la Laguna……oh, the plastic utensils didn’t really work, and they laughingly gave me a wad of napkins so I could eat with my hands – now that’s what I call finger food!

Yep – you noticed the wine? It was rich a smooth and perfect with the food, and came from the family vineyard.  This is not so much a truck as a stall.  They appear overnight whenever a celebration is due ( and, happily, there are lots of celebrations here!), and this one was a family business.  This, including local potatoes and chunks of crusty bread was around 8 dollars.

The other stalls which spring up are the candy stalls. As well as the usual factory-produced stuff, those trays you can see are turrón – not quite the sweetmeats you know from Christmastime, but hard candy topped with nuts of different kinds……not exactly the kind of thing my teeth need right now!

Last Sunday, however, was an eye-opener for me and “street food” took on a whole other meaning.  More about the Romeria soon, but  briefly it involves blessings,  a procession, the feast day of a saint whose best endeavors are entreated to protect the current crops, and thereafter much feasting and partying.  I’d had a decent spot, being able to get the church into a lot of the shots, which made up for the greyish kind of day and the slight chill in the air.  La Laguna is not only in the north, but is also a good bit higher than where I live.  After a couple of hours my feet were beginning to get a touch weary, and so I made my way back along the procession to its endings, instead of waiting for it to pass me by, and this is where I discovered barbecues in motion!

At a Romeria food is always given away, and I’d watched potatoes, hard-boiled eggs and fruit being thrown into the crowds all afternoon, and once bocadillos (sandwiches made with crusty, chunky bread), but nothing like this.  There were several of these – well, what word do I use?! A decorated vehicle in a procession in England is called “a float”, but that seems far too mild a word for these beautifully decked-out meals on wheels.  Some were clearly motorized under the camouflage, trucks underneath the drapperies, and others were handcarts, what they all had was a barbecue fixed to the back, where sausages and pinchos (skewers of meat and vegetables) were sizzling merrily away.

 The aroma was amazing as the flavors mingled and rose into the warm afternoon air, and crowds pressed around the vehicles eager not to miss out. Goodness knows how long it took them to complete their walk.  I was long gone by then, but next year I will remember to have a bit less at the food stall so I can sample real street food!

My 7 Links

I’m always taken by surprise when I get recognition of any kind whatsoever for this blog, so when Barbara Weibel of Hole in the Donut invited me to participate in the 7 Links exercise initiated by Tripbase  my first reaction, after seeing the list of other participants, was sheer panic.  Some of these names are legendary in travel blogging circles, and I know I’m just an amateur in comparison!  However, either I’m a blogger or I’m not, and I do keep harping on about taking this blog to the next level, so maybe this will give me a push!  The aim, after all, to quote Tripbase, is  “To unite bloggers (from all sectors) in a joint endeavor to share lessons learned and create a bank of long but not forgotten blog posts that deserve to see the light of day again.”  So here is my two centsworth:

1.  My Most Beautiful Post

This was by far the easiest.  My favorite time of year on Tenerife is almond blossom time.  I think, even in the last 6 months since I posted this, I have learned more about photography and presenting photos, but this was this year’s almond blossom post.

2.  My Most Popular Post

This one was easy too, that’s because I was lucky enough to be Freshly Pressed by WordPress, so I didn’t have to go count stats to find out!  I wrote Subtropical Snow after a visit to the mountains in March.

3. My Most Controversial Post

This one took most researching back on, and I found that I haven’t really had any negative feedback when I’ve said critical things, although I know that some Canarian people read my blog.  In one way it’s a shame.  The thing I am most critical of is the accumulation of rubbish in various places around the this beautiful island.  In this post about a tour of historical sites, including the place where Horatio Nelson lost his arm,  I deliberately courted a reaction, but got none, so I can only say that I attempted to be controversial!

4.  My Most Helpful Post

I’ve yet to finish a series of posts about my steps in becoming an expat, this one was the first, about things you should consider before upping and leaving, and although there are only two comments on the post itself I got lots of feedback from Facebook and Twitter.

5. The Post Whose Success Surprised Me Most…..

…..was this one.  It’s quite personal.  At this stage I was really still writing at people I knew, albeit they were spread throughout the world, and in another sense it is my first “real” blog post.  It was “…the fork stuck in the road,” and re-reading it makes me realize how far I have come in life’s proper journey.

6.  The Most Which Didn’t Get the Attention I Thought it Deserved

A post I did for World Environment Day.  About rubbish – again.  Why does nobody care about how we are messing up the planet?  You know, just for the sake of having something nice to look at instead of a beach full of cans and plastic bags?

7.  The Post of which I am Most Proud

I chose this one because for once I was happy with my writing and because it’s about my sons as well as about the island.

A big thank you to Barbara and to Tripbase because it was interesting going back over posts, and realizing how I and my life has changed over the time I began blogging.

Now to figure out who to nominate because so many blogs I follow are already on the list!

Cathy of Travelling with Sweeney                                                                                             Zoe of The Quirky Traveller                                                                                                       Andy and Jack of Buzztrips                                                                                                       Talon Windwalker of 1 Dad 1 Kid

How We See the Heavens: Open Day at the Teide Observatory

There’s a lot to be said for curiosity – it took Columbus to America (o.k., yep, I know there was some greed involved there too, but don’t tell me the man didn’t have an inquiring mind!), and it took man to the moon (well a handful of them at least). Last Saturday morning it kicked me out of bed at 6am.

Now, that’s not a whole lot earlier than my preferred time to rise anyway, but considering how achy and pain-y I’d been for a couple of days, and that Thursday night’s Noche de San Juan celebrations down on the beach at the end of my road, had gone on full volume, and I mean FULL volume, full ON disco trash, well, but WELL, into the wee small hours, putting feet to floor required some effort.

There are just two days in the year when the Canarian Astrophysics Institute hosts an open day at the Teide Observatory, and I’d been wanting to go for years, but never made it. This year I was determined, even had I still had migraine and stomach pains, which had laid me low, I would still have crawled up there! Maybe I was stung by my inability to afford to go to the Starmus Festival which was going on last week at the Magma Center in Las Americas. Tickets were a cool €1,000, so far out of my price range it might as well have been a trip to the moon, though to be in the presence of Buzz Aldrin, Jim Lovell and Neil Armstrong, not to mention Brian May, I might have bent the plastic a bit, had there been any to bend!

To anyone who has ever been up in the island’s mountains after dark I won’t need to explain the fascination.  I don’t pretend to any knowledge at all about the heavens, but their breathtaking beauty, when seen without interference from clouds and light pollution, is something I struggle to find words for.  If I said imagine black velvet studded with billions of diamonds it doesn’t even come close to doing the scene justice.  You have to see it for yourself.  One of the things I remember from my first time was my totally inability to identify the constellations I did know, because they were simply lost in the abundance of the cosmos.

It seemed very apt that the moon shimmered so brightly above as I trotted around the block with Trixy.  Poor thing she doesn’t care much for the dark, so she wasn’t too bothered that it was such a short walk, she was far more excited about the prospect of early breakfast.  By the time I’d showered and dressed it was already time to go.  As I left El Médano the smell of smoke still clung thickly to the morning air, (I’d heard on t.v. that there had been a fairly serious fire in El Médano Thursday night, in an old market garden, presumably co-lateral damage from the bonfires) but once on the autopista with a dazzling sunrise reflected in my wing mirror, the air was fresh and clear all the way to La Camella, where Maria, Pilar, Cristina and I had arranged to meet at 7.30.  The Observatory gates were to open at 9am, and we figured the first group to enter would have the advantage.  It would hopefully be quieter and cooler.

We all arrived in La Camella at the same time, and set off in high spirits.  It’s stimulating to do something different.  The roads, especially going upwards were quiet.  I love it when it’s this way, not exactly an “open road” in the sense it stretches interminably before you, but a winding road, which curves its way smoothly up into the mountains.  We were making good time, and found a bar open in Vilaflor (Spain’s highest village) for the coffees we’d missed earlier. Starting off again, we were quickly through the pine forest, and had those views of the other islands seemingly suspended over the ocean which never cease to thrill me.  El Hierro was under a cloud blanket, but La Gomera and La Palma were quite distinct, smokey-blue outlines on the horizon, and later we were to see Gran Canaria too.  Sometimes you kind of forget that you live on an island, and seeing so much of the archipelago strung out across the sea this way is always a reminder of our place on the planet.

As we passed the spots where just a few weeks ago we’d stopped to admire the tajinaste and the broom, we saw that their time was already past. The flowering seasons here are so short as the summer heat intensifies, and the vibrant tajinaste reds and yellow broom had been replaced by the gentle, blush-lilac of the rosalillo, which now carpeted many areas in spectacular fashion. But we weren’t there for the flowers this time, we were there hoping a bit of the excitement of being “close to the stars” would rub off.  There are only three places in the world where this type of bank of telescopes can be found, here in the Canary Islands (on La Palma and on Tenerife), in the Hawaiian Islands and in Chile.  In these, three places conditions are optimal for viewing the universe.  Weather, winds and pollution are such that there is minimal interference with studies. Atop Tenerife’s mountains the various buildings, all painted a brilliant white, stood out against the crystal blue sky as we approached.  My excitement mounted.  I’d only glimpsed these mysterious buildings from the road before, and now I was, actually, going to see inside some of them.  Places where the secrets of the universe were being unravelled.

Our theory about arriving early was  good, the parking was easy, and we entered the actual grounds of the observatory with the first group, after whiling away the short wait cutting out and putting together various devices for figuring out where constellations are, phases of the moon and so forth.  Interesting for me, and positively brilliant for kids……..if only this kind of thing had been available when I was in school, how much more interested in science would I have been!

I don’t pretend to have retained every bit of information we were given (although I did try to video on my Blackberry, which didn’t work too well), and I don’t understand the subject in enough depth to be able to translate it into everyday language, so what I’m trying to convey here is an impression of the experience, the “snapshots” which are still sharp in my mind a week later, not a scientific essay. Also lots of the photos are not too sharp.  I had the wrong lens with me, and used my Blackberry a lot.

First, a bit of magic – as he began his chat, Alex (as he introduced himself) set in motion the opening of the domed roof of the building in which we stood, and rotated the IAC80 telescope to demonstrate it. I’ve never though of myself as much of a nerd, but a little thrill went down my spine, so maybe I am, just a bit. Despite the brilliant azure revealed as the ceiling opened up, it was easy to imagine being there after dusk and seeing the millions upon millions of stars above. The talk was by no means too technical, the workings were explained to us in language which even I could understand, and so the rest of the morning proved to be.

We learned that not only stars, planets, black holes and comets are studied here, but also the sun and its 11 year cycle of activity, which, as we know, can drastically affect things on earth, like telecommunications. There is also a reminder and homage to those first astronomers a complicated and fascinating sundial.  How far man has come in just a few thousand years – and, of course, as on our own planet, we are leaving our junk behind in space!  It might seem inconsequential given the enormity of the heavens I described before, but even a small fragment of broken satellite travelling at the speed they do poses a threat to other, working satellites (think of your mobile phone or your favorite tv channel!) or to the International Space Station.  Indeed, only a couple of days later we read in the newspapers about the Space Station crew having to evacuate to the shuttle, as one of these pieces of junk passed uncomfortably close to them.  Of all the objects circling earth only a fairly small percentage are actual, currently-functioning satellites, the rest are defunct satellites or broken pieces of our attempts to understand space or communicate with each other.  They are considered to be out of control, and have to be monitored, as, of course, do natural threats like asteroids.  This is just one of the jobs undertaken.

Night time visits aren’t allowed, Saturday’s visits had to end at 5pm, and at that altitude the sun beat down quite unmercifully as we strolled from place to place over the grounds.  Our guide was great, but clearly under pressure to keep us moving.  You can’t really complain, when we arrived back at the car park we realized how lucky it was we came early – it was packed to capacity, so maybe more folk than expected had turned up, and it was all free, and of course, people with far more important things on their minds had given time to talk to us about their work.  I passed on the chance to use one of the small telescopes provided to take a peek at the sun.  I hate queues, and I was busy snapping away.

A highlight for me was listening to a young Englishman (sorry, I was at the back and I didn’t catch his name…..and I don’t really think it was Kevin, or was it!……..take a look at their website and you’ll know what I mean, people :=)) talk about the work of the Bradford Robotic Telescope.  The primary function of this telescope is educational.  It’s used by schools to teach and experiment.  Pupils can track and take photos of whatever in the heavens they are studying.  Most of the schools participating at the moment are in the UK, as it’s a British project, but it’s available to schools throughout the world.  I can imagine little more thrilling than having been able to do something like this when I was in school!  Take a look at www.telescope.org, where you can register and take your own photos too.  I haven’t begun to explore it all yet!

All I can say, girls, is information overload!!!!!

As a parting reminder that not only is this all fascinating stuff, but also simply stunning, we were shown a video of the Aurora Borealis.  It was an apt ending to our visit.  It left us with a sense of wonder, a certainty that “There are more things in heaven and earth………. than are dreamt of in (our) philosophy.”