Sampling the Bright Lights of Playa de las Americas

Man (or woman to be perfectly, politically correct) does not live by ocean waves, verdant forests or dramatic mountains alone, sometimes a bit of glitter and sophistication is no bad thing. Well, don’t take the word sophistication too literally there, this is a tourist resort about which I am about to speak!

I use the expression “bright lights” literally rather than figuratively in this title.  Perhaps it was visiting the Safari Center with Cruz Roja a few days before which made me vote for Thai Botanico the other night when  friends suggested eating out. First, I love Thai food; second the music and lights had been very nice on the Saturday night; and third Thai Botanico belongs the the Venture Restaurant Group, which owns Bianco and newly renamed Imperial Tai-Pan in the same location and also the delightful 88 Restaurant in La Caleta, and two out of those three are among my favorite restaurants!

Despite always rambling on about how I prefer the countryside or a quiet beach, it’s fun to take a look at other sides of life, it goes without saying.  I love variety in just about everything. I’m as passionate about big cities as I am about countrysides, but the stuff in between …… not so much. That said, I can understand the draw of this part of PDLA.

The lights make it feel like perpetual Christmas season, and they’re very pretty, not even that garish really (mind you, remember I come from Blackpool!), and you could preface your dinner with a stroll along the promenade known as “Geranium Walk” (which stretches right from the tip of Los Cristianos to La Caleta in Costa Adeje). It’s surprising how few people do that, and I promise you that we have sunsets here which are to-die-for.

Before Costa Adeje became the upmarket face of Tenerife there was this area, which straddles the “border” between Los Cristianos and Playa de las Americas. As well as numerous perfumerias and “duty free” shops,  in the Safari Center and in the neighboring complexes you will find names like Escada, Zara and Timberland – not exactly designer, but definitely good quality brands.

What with the fairy lights, brightly-lit stores and twinkly restaurant signs it’s all very shiny and colorful, and a very pleasant place to shop before or after dinner. Lots of the shops are open very late, and there is always ample parking in the underground car park, which is, as you can imagine, a HUGE plus. It’s not free, but not too bad either.

Precisely across the road from the center’s main entrance (it’s all open and spacious, no doors or anything) the facade of La Pirámide de Arona tempts visitors and locals alike to see the marvellous Carmen Mota ballet. I wrote about that last year  and this year’s show is, if anything, even better. Above the theater’s entrance a wide screen titillates with snatches from the spectacle, which I defy you to resist.

At 8, 9 and 10 pm the dramatic strains of Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyeries blast out, and the fountain at the heart of the Safari Center dances in time with the music, which changes from opera to Elvis with a flow as smooth as their choreography. I’ve seen it scores of times, so perhaps the effect is slightly dulled, but I still enjoy it. Mostly I love the atmosphere it creates.

There is no doubt this is the area to wander and choose a restaurant for a good dining experience, and with all there is to choose from, I can only tell you that I return to Tai-Pan time after time, and that’s also going to be true of Thai Botanico now. The food in both is utterly delicious. The other reason to dine in either, or in Bianco, is the service. Venture Group somehow always manage to find top-notch staff, who are helpful, polite and never without a smile. Sad to say, that isn’t true everywhere you go here, regardless of whether you stick to resort areas or local, inland venues, and it really does make a difference to your dining experience, whether it’s a posh hotel or McDonalds.

I can’t stand those restaurant reviews which go into details about “what I had” and “what Fred/my partner/the rest of the group had” – after all, you’re an adult and you can choose from a menu – so let me say, simply, that the menu is varied and ample. I can’t opine about the wine list because on this occasion I didn’t see it. We sat outside on the terrace, despite it being a very cool night. There were those gas terrace heaters dotted around, which were fine, and I wasn’t in the least cold, but I was dressed accordingly – flimsy, holiday clothes aren’t really much use on Tenerife, winter evenings.

I have only one complaint about last week’s meal and that was that they didn’t have sticky rice with mango. I’ve heard so much about this dish and was really hoping to sample it!  The menu is, however, authentic, witness this write-up I found on the ‘net today.  I vividly remember the restaurant at which the chef worked before, so it’s no surprise now, having read this that the food in Thai Botanico is so good!

To reassure you I will add that this post wasn’t solicited by Venture Group in any way. I didn’t mention anything about writing it  when I was there either. In fact, I didn’t even take my camera. The photos were from the previous Saturday, hence no photos of the food, and the interior you can see in the links. And the nice thing is that I can say whatever I want, so I’ll just say that my last meal at Bianco was a little disappointing, so I can’t recommend it as whole-heartedly as I would the others in the group. I’ll certainly give it another try, because everywhere can have a bad night, and the staff there are equally as efficient and pleasant as in the other restaurants. Oh, and the little videos on the website don’t do any of the restaurants justice, for some reason they concentrate more on the models’ smiles than on the wonderful food!

Gratitude

Anyone who has ever done any volunteer work will tell you that they get far more from the work than they give. In helping someone who has, in some way, less than you do, whether its mobility, a home, family, or whatever, makes one appreciate what one has, and the gratitude of others, even when unspoken, is immensely rewarding. Doing your bit financially is often the only way we can help, and the rewards for that X euros/dollars/pounds or so each month aren’t so obvious.

The Spanish Red Cross (La Cruz Roja Española) has taken that to heart, and is thanking their supporters for allowing them to be able to do the great work they do. The supporters, or socios in Spanish, are the everyday folk who give whatever they can afford on a regular basis, usually without fanfare. Of course, it’s impossible to thank every one of the more than 900.000 socios personally, so each province of Spain has chosen, at random, one supporter to whom to give a personal thank you, as representative of the many.

Last weekend Santa Cruz de Tenerife’s choice was lured to a very public party to celebrate her kindness. I was privileged to be asked to take some informal photos (a video was made but will take a while to be edited). When I arrived at the secret rendezvous close to the Safari Center in Playa de las Americas, where the encounter was to take place, I was amazed at all the hard work which had gone into the event to that point, even selecting and getting permission to use a meeting point where a hundred or so people could meet up, almost in secret, to avoid the lady who had been chosen finding out was a feat in itself. Most of the volunteers were in uniform and there were scores of placards, most spelling out “Gracias Veronica.”

Veronica suspected nothing as she shopped with a friend in the Safari Shopping Center. This complex has a mini son y lumière feature thrice nightly, when the central fountains dance to music on the hour from 8 through 10. The crowd which had gathered to watch and photograph the spectacle assumed that when dancers appeared at the end it was part of the show, but after a couple of minutes they jived their way around to where Veronica stood on one side of the fountain, and their numbers were augmented by children from the Junior branch of Cruz Roja, and it might have been then that she realized that something extraordinary was going on! Certainly she did when a hundred or so volunteers in uniform appeared, as if from nowhere, carrying placards with her name and the world “gracias”, thanks, and on the second floor of the Center posters were held high above the fairy lights spelling out the same message. I’d sneaked along with the volunteers who carried those signs, who’d very carefully disguised their uniforms until the last minute, so that if she passed by she would have noted very little. Again, that was a feat in itself, the organization and the discipline were tremendous.

Veronica has a radiant smile, which light up her face, as she was thanked by people representing the various recipients of Cruz Roja’s work. It must have been incredibly emotional for her …… it certainly was for those of us watching, to know that the contributions she makes are appreciated and well-used. There was cake, which she gracious cut and handed out afterwards, and a final message of thanks on the neon billboard of the theater opposite as she turned to where a table had been secretly positioned during the ceremony, for cake and sodas.

Goodness knows what the scores of tourists made of it all, some asked, and those who were likely to have their aperitifs disturbed had received explanations and apologies minutes beforehand. The Safari Center is a mini slice of Las Vegas in the resort areas, a whole world away from the lives of those in need whom Cruz Roja helps, and without the contributions of supporters like Veronica the work would not be possible. It was a reminder that many ways of life converge on this small island, and, indeed, on the planet. It was a fitting place for a celebration, with music and lights and glamour, and a reminder that there are many silent and unsung people and businesses who help those less fortunate, without fanfare or publicity. It was an honor to have been there.

A Dramatic Sunset: My Reward for Procrastination

I’d been glued to the keyboard all day yesterday, all the while gnawing at the back of my mind were chores I needed to do in Los Cristianos. Now this is only a 15 or 20 minute drive, so it’s no big deal, is it?  especially when you consider the distances some of you drive daily without thought, those of you who live on continents, rather than on islands, of course. Island living definitely alters your perspective sometimes. Procrastination can become a way of life.

Finally, I dragged myself out in time for the business day re-opening. Although in the resort areas loads of businesses and many shops now stay open throughout the day, there are probably just as many which resolutely close their doors either at 1pm or at 2pm so workers can lunch and siesta the afternoon away, before returning at 4 or at 5. In Los Cristianos mostly they close at 2, so I aimed to be there for 5.

The advantage is that the parking is much better in the afternoons. Deliveries seem to be concentrated into the morning hours, and generally if you think about making an appointment with your lawyer or accountant or any other professional you think “before lunch”.

The other advantage is that you get everything done much more quickly because there are fewer folk around, not only are less locals doing businesses, but in Winter at least, the tourists are ambling back to their hotels and apartments to clean up for dinner. Yesterday, in fact, there were a few visitors mooching about the shopping area, because we have winter right now. That is, it’s the few weeks of the year we get at some time between December and March, when temperatures drop a bit, so not exactly beach weather then, we even had a few drops of rain over the last couple of days.

Fred, my faithful, old car, not being in the best of health these days, I was aiming to be home before it was too dark, but as I drove out of town the skyline caught my eye. Brooding, purple clouds were hovering over the horizon, and the sun, not far from its setting, was playing hide and seek with them. I pulled over, and sat and watched for a while, and the allure proved too much. It’s clouds which make those dramatic sunset pictures, and who knew what these fleecy beauties might do.

Playa El Callao’s 400 m or so of bedraggled sands mark the terminus of Los Cristianos, most of it is pebbles with a few parched-looking junipers surviving here and there.  Although it is within the resort it certainly isn’t a tourist beach, and its scraggy-ness isn’t unappealing. It’s close to where I lived in 2009.  It’s tranquil, last night only the slapping of the waves on rock from the wake as the ferries came and went could be heard, other than a couple of dog-walkers calling or whistling their pets.

I trudged down to the scrubby beach, on the approach dodging the dog poo, plastic bags and other fast food detritus, wondering whether the photos I knew would make this forlorn beach look like paradise were fair.  There are so many times I scratch my head over things which seem to me obvious: why isn’t this beach “adopted” and prettified? There is a smart hotel right next to it, The Arona Gran – what do its residents think about this beach? If there is some reason (and right now if you asked the town hall will tell you there’s no money, obviously) it isn’t being developed, at least why isn’t it kept clean? There were quite a few folk around, walking down to the beach or headland to watch the sunset.  I’m very much in favor of “wild” beaches myself, but how can the filth be allowed?

Fact is, the Canary Islands in general have benefited enormously from the Arab Spring, from rioting in Greece and other problems which have made people think twice about holidaying in other places (not that the queues at the employment offices get any shorter), and whilst enterprising and imaginative promotion is done in some quarters, in others it leads to complacency.

So I have to say that whilst these photos represent Nature’s passion and splendor, and it’s very true that sights like this are the norm here, what lay behind me was mankind’s disgusting mess.

Roque del Conde: Tenerife’s Answer to Table Mountain

It seems as if all I’ve written about of late has been walking and mountains and landscapes. That’s because it’s mostly how I’ve spent my leisure time the past few weeks – taking advantage of Austin’s presence until he moves to UK. The other day we took a hike that’s long been on my bucket list.

From almost everywhere in Los Cristianos or Playa de las Americas, you can spy a flat-topped mountain standing like a sentinel over the coast, frequently, its peak shrouded in low cloud, it exudes an air of mystery.

Roque del Conde seen from the entrance to Los Cristianos

This is Roque del Conde, towering over Barranco del Rey (King’s Canyon) where we went rappelling at the end of last year. Formerly it was known as Roque Ichasagua in memory of the Guanche ruler who, rather than face possible slavery, or worse, at the hands of the Spanish Conquistadors, threw himself from its heights. Are you beginning to see a pattern to these legends, perhaps? Before that the Guanches knew it as Ahío o Hío.

The mountain lies in the municipality of Adeje, one of the oldest parts of the island, along with Teno and Anaga. It’s because Tenerife was formed gradually by volcanic eruptions millions of years apart that there is so much discussion still about its “age.” It’s something impossible to quantify in terms of the island we know today, and it’s one factor in the enormous variety of landscape to be found in something less than 800 square miles, but whatever type of landscape you are admiring, be it “lunar” or lush forest, I can guarantee one word they have in common – dramatic, and this day was to be no exception to that rule, despite the cloud, the views were breathtaking.

Although the mountain itself is in the municipality of Adeje, the walk begins in neighboring Arona. We set off from the hamlet of Vento, just as we had when we went rappelling. Passing the ramshackle outhouses and accompanied by the same tinkling of goats’ bells and barking of dogs, we stepped over the modern water pipe which lies alongside the old stone troughs which used to bring water down to irrigate these dry lands, and descended into Barranco del Rey.

This time, instead of turning left deeper into the canyon we crossed it, and once we began the climb up from there it was uphill all the way, at first up well-maintained steps and paths, and then onto rougher but much-used trails. It was a bank holiday and, going late morning, we passed several walkers of different ages and nationalities returning from a morning ramble, including a mutual friend neither of us had seen for some years – Tenerife is like that. Move through the busy streets of a resort and you don’t meet a soul you know, but take a wild mountain trail and you bump into someone.

Austin perched on the crumbling wall assessing the possibilities for a photo.

Around a third of the way into the climb, we passed a long-abandoned house, most of the timbers and all the roof tiles missing, just a rectangular, stone structure remained, with a sad hole where a door had once been. The views from here were magnificent, over the southern coast, and back in the day they must have been even more so, with less buildings and more countryside to admire. I have no idea why I am so drawn to these tumble-down old shells of homes. There have a mystery and sadness about them I can’t quite put my finger on. I vaguely mused about how severe life must have been, and how hardy the inhabitants of this small farm, trying to coax a living out of this arid dust, but I was in for a surprise which provoked more serious thoughts. Passing the house we came upon a threshing circle, just like the ones I had seen in El Tanque on El Día de la Trilla last year. It was even in decent condition, given the state of the house, but what intrigued me was what animals had been used to turn grind the crops, surely oxen or horses couldn’t have been used way up here. I’m presuming that donkeys were used, but I don’t know that for a fact. It’s one of those mysteries I would like to chase up sometime.

What’s for sure is that much of the land, even at this altitude had been terraced, and so had been cultivated, and I remembered a conversation I had with an elderly taxi driver years ago. He told me that when he was a boy the land around Adeje had been rich farmland, overflowing with corn and other crops. At the time I thought that he was probably exaggerating, and my Spanish wasn’t up to asking too many questions back then either. I’d love to have that same conversation today!

Note how parched the landscape looks – it’s been almost twelve months now without rain in this area.

Almost at the top!

My photo op taken full advantage of, we continued upwards, along narrow paths which dwindled to almost nothing in places, stopping now and then to take our bearings and watch what appeared to be a boat on fire just outside Los Cristianos’s harbour. We came to the conclusion it was a drill, since nothing seemed to be dashing to its aid. On the smudgy, blue horizon the island of La Gomera hovered like a purple shadow, and we could make out El Hierro and La Palma, although the visibility wasn’t too good. Above, however, the peak of Roque del Conde was clear and beckoned.

We scrapped around proud cardon, the multi-pronged cactus which thrives just about everywhere here, and thick clumps of tabaiba, the super-hardy endemic plant found even in the harshest and most arid island landscape. It’s been a long time without rainfall in the south, and most every other sign of flora looked pinched and forlorn. We scuffled on loose stones and clambered over rocks, and then we were almost there, and striding along the open path to the mountain’s flat summit.

It’s quite something to eat your lunch sitting on top of the world. At around 3,280 feet Roque del Conde is a fair bit lower than Alto de Guajara where we’d breakfasted the previous week, and the views were quite different. From Guajara we’d overlooked more or less east on the oceanside, seeing the airport and Grandadilla de Abona below, and a wide sweep of the caldera to the other side. From Roque del Conde we had a 360º view which swept the foothills purple and grey or hidden in cloud, a motorbike gang whining its way up from Arona towards Vilaflor could be heard quite clearly. Turning we could just make out Montaña Roja lying in the sunny space between the low cloud and the shadowy valleys and volcanic cones between us. The plastic-covered banana plantations around Costa del Silencio blotted our view, and immediately below Arona strung out, and even at this height the barking dogs intruded on the silence. The resorts cluttered the south western side of the island, and for a while we played at picking out familiar places. I’m told that on a clear day you can see the cliffs of Los Gigantes, but this day wasn’t that clear. In fact, those familiar mists were beginning to filter down from the mountains, and inch their cold fingers across the flat peak, making us shiver and pack up to make our way down.

Tabaiba in the foreground clinging to the hillside and to life, as the mists roll in from above.

I’ve always considered going down easier than ascending, and I merrily set off thinking it was going to be an easy and quick descent – silly me! Whilst it there was no puffing and panting, there was a bit of slipping and sliding, and it was much slower than I expected. Even so I wanted to linger a while in Barranco del Rey when we reached it, knowing that this is such an ancient slice of the earth, knowing that the Guanches inhabited caves here, and just the sheer beauty and loneliness of the place kind of seeps into your skin.

To my surprise I found the final climb back to Vento much easier than I had done last time – I must be getting used to this walking lark – my only problem is how do I follow the experiences I’ve had so far this year!

Of Mountain Tops and Sunrises: My Best Hike Ever: Part Deux

Instantly awake, I was aware of a faint light and a rustling sound. Surprisingly, my body kicked in more quickly than it usually does in the comfort of a bed. I was in a cave, and it was pitch black except for the point of Austin’s head torch, as he wriggled free of his sleeping bag. I’d gone to sleep with my own torch still over my beanie, but it wasn’t there now, and I fumbled around where my head had lain on a jacket stuffed into the bag for my sleeping bag. I clicked it on and began my own wriggling. A true gentleman, Austin had given me his bivvy bag as well as a sleeping bag, so it was a bit more complicated.

I freed myself and ducked outside the shelter of dead branches under which we’d slept, and stretched. Austin already had the camping stove going, and the gas hissed, filling the stillness. He handed me an energy bar and a warming cup of cappuccino, as he began to stuff things back into his backpack. Once everything was packed up, we double checked, and then treble checked to make sure that all we were leaving behind were our footprints, and paused to adjust our head torches.

In the silence I was aware that even the tiny stream which we had discovered the previous evening was still, no doubt it was frozen by now, we’d found ice all around it at dusk. There was no other sound, and the quiet was, quite simply, overwhelming. Overhead, stars and planets filled the heavens, so that the sky was more shining jewels than darkness, and the light pollution from Santa Cruz, which  had framed the hills opposite, was less evident than at night. For anyone who hasn’t seen this kind of clear night sky, so overwhelmingly full of pin points of brightness, it’s impossible to convey either the beauty or the feeling of one’s own insignificance in the universe that it sparks.

We clambered down to the path below, guided only by the pools of light afforded by our head torches, found the path and set off upwards, me all excitement because I was promised another surprise. You can get an idea of just how dark it was at this stage in the short video below, which Austin made.

With thanks to Dido & Lynard Skinnard for the music!

We quickly reached the point at which the path up to the peak of Guajara crosses another which we later found goes to Granadilla de Abona. We turned right and upwards, me thankful that I was following Austin, who from time to time called out a warning about loose rocks or advice about where to place my poles. Other than our own footfalls and the faint thump as pole hit earth, utter silence followed us.

“It’s as if the circle of light in front of you is your entire world, and you can just forget everything else, and just concentrate on that,” commented Austin.

It seemed to me that it was just as well that it was dark and progress was, necessarily, slower than in daylight because I was feeling the effects of the climb, combined with too little sleep and food, and I would best describe my pace as a trudge, speeded up in spurts by Austin’s urging to speed up in case I missed my surprise. Second by second the skies were lightening though, and when turned off our torches I was surprised that it was, actually, easier to spy what lay ahead than with the false light.

Looking back, I could see that what we had already traversed was mainly scrub, as Austin pointed out really it’s high altitude desert. We were well passed the really rocky parts, though the path had narrowed to almost nothing in a couple of places. Looking way down, the lights of the airport and coastal villages glowed, and now, just as we turned upwards again, and into a field of broom, the horizon began to glow with intense purple light. Looking back again after a few more steps and it was turning orange and scarlet, like the colors of some exotic bird.

Ahead I could hear Austin urging me on, even though this sight was mesmerizing, apparently there was something more in store. I admit freely the last few feet were hard, but I began to understand, as I saw the warm alpen glow on the mountain peaks, and then, suddenly we were atop Alto de Guajara, and El Teide rose before us, bathed in the sun’s first light. Guajara’s peak is 1,000 meters lower, but we seemed to be on top of the world.

Then I saw my surprise – for just a short time at sunrise, the shadow of Mt Teide is cast over the Atlantic Ocean. I’d read about it, and seen photos, but it hadn’t occurred to me that I would see it this day. The scene had an almost mystical quality – no wonder that the Guanches apparently worshipped this imposing mountain. We watched, in awe as the sun rose, and the colors of the landscape changed, basking now in the new day, as we picked out places we knew in the caldera far below.

Once we our senses were saturated, Austin lit the little stove, and made hot chocolate and biscuits for breakfast. Yet again, I wouldn’t have swapped places within anyone brunching in the poshest restaurant in London or even Paris. Right on the top of the mountain there is a rough shelter, a square-ish kind of pen which gives you some respite from the icy morning wind, and I suppose you can bivvy there too, but it would have been mighty cold! Once we’d eaten and warmed up, we set off back, meeting only two other walkers on the section of the route, a local father and son.

We crossed the desert again, turned at the point where the routes meet and descended to where, the day before, the mists had been creeping up the hillsides, now the valley was clear, the scrubby mountainsides, the pine forest and right down to the coast.

We didn’t meet other folk until we got down to the final downhill section, where a couple of trail runners huffed passed, and a handful of German tourists wound their ways up, then we were back on the almost level Siete Cañadas trail and homeward bound, still marveling at the bizarre rock formations, casting off layers as we went and looking forward to getting our boots off!

Things sometimes happen which make you feel truly alive, which alert all your senses, which have become deadened by the comforts of modern life, which cut us off from reality, and allows us to live in what is almost a virtual world. For me this was one of those times. I’d like to think I’ll be able to do something like this again, right now I don’t know, but the memory will definitely motivate me on several levels for a while yet.

And just to reiterate: Camping as such is strictly prohibited in the National Park, what we did was bivvy, nothing was driven into the ground or otherwise disturbed. We left, hopefully, only footprints.