In Celebration of El Día de Canarias

Today I should have been out celebrating and enjoying myself, quaffing some local wine and no doubt stuffing myself with traditional foods, whilst listening to Canarian musicians and learning more about “my” island. However, I wasn’t, instead I am lying on my couch, amusing myself by writing this to distract myself from the constant urge to empty the contents my stomach. All is not perfect, you see, in paradise. I seem to have food poisoning.

In lieu of joining the celebrations I thought I might do one of those boring posts which really belongs in a tour operator’s webpage,  but which will relieve both my  boredom and my self pity by reminding me how much I enjoy being here.

Traditional Tenerife: You would be surprised at just how many folk possess and wear with pride their traditional dress. There is said to be a different variation for every municipality on the island.

El Día de Canarias

The first parliament of the autonomous region, Canary Islands, sat on May 30th 1983, after a long wait. The creation of autonomous regions had first been undertaken by the government of the Second Republic in 1931, but by the time the Civil War broke out in 1936 nothing had been implemented in the political bickerings which preceded the Civil War  - and of course everything then went on hold during the war and the consequent iron grip which Franco had on the country.

With his death in 1976 many of the reforms and projects which had been abandoned or iced began to resurface, and the new (and current) Constitution, drawn up in 1978, provided for the establishment of autonomous regions and some decentralization of government, and so the Autonomous Parliament of the Canary Islands was born.

May 30th was declared a fiesta (bank holiday) in celebration of its birth, and the day is marked throughout the islands with displays of traditional crafts, sports, costumes, foods and music.

Historical Tenerife:  The original capital of the island, La Laguna. An UNESCO World Heritage Site and seat of the province’s university, it is both charming restoration and vibrant hub of the island’s creativity.

Tenerife

Tenerife, for anyone who is new to my blog, is just one of the seven main islands which make up the Canarian archipelago. It’s been my home base now for over 20 years. It has an image in some European circles of being merely a mass-tourist destination, but it is so much more, and if you need proof then just check some previous posts.

Since I can’t give you a first-hand report on the festivities to which I didn’t go, I offer you, in honor of this day, a photo essay of this island of Tenerife, showing its different faces, its variety and perhaps an understanding of why it fascinates me so much.

Musical Tenerife: Two things come to mind when you combine the words Tenerife and music – folk music and the salsa of Carnaval, but there is so much more for lovers of all kinds of music. This photo was taken at the annual Santa Blues Blues Fest in June. July sees a prestigious jazz festival, autumn an opera season and year round classical music lovers can listen to the Tenerife Symphony Orchestra.

Coastal Tenerife: tanning addicts swarm to the resorts, but there are also plenty of quieter, more natural beaches to be found.

Gourmet Tenerife: In recent years the standards and aspirations of restaurants and hotels have simply soared. You can now find cuisine from almost anywhere in the world, and quality equal to big city eateries. This sushi at Restaurant 88 in La Caleta, Costa Adeje.

Mountainous Tenerife: The island’s mountains actually come in all shapes and sizes from lushly forested ones on the north east tip to the surreal volcanic landscapes of the Teide National Park, home to Spain’s highest mountain, El Teide.

Wine Lovers’ Tenerife: Canarian wines were famous as far back as the 17th century, and were famously (for we English-speakers) mentioned by Shakespeare on more than one occasion. Tenerife boasts no less than 5 regions. Oh, and I throw in here cheese too, because the goats’ cheeses are the perfect accompaniment!

Hiking Tenerife: Volcanic badlands, lush forest, coastal trails a walker’s heaven, in other words.

Tourist Tenerife: This is, believe it or not, the only Tenerife which some people know. I am a beach addict, but this is my least favorite face of the island, which is not to rubbish it. It’s just that sharing a beach on this scale is not my thing, but clearly it is for thousands, and the municipalities of the south, mainly Arona and Adeje cater for mass tourism, leveling rocky stony beaches, building hotels (the more recent ones of very high standard) and generally attempting to cater for every whim of the sunseekers. Tenerife does not have the prettiest beaches in the world, but they are some of the sunniest.

Agricultural Tenerife: OK the photo is just a bit of a stretch, and may have been more appropriate under the “traditional” heading, but it’s just that I love oxen. These days they are, so far as I can make out, brought out only for fiestas and other traditional events, but were an important part of the island’s history at one time. There are none of the huge farms of the US prairies or even the big farms I’ve seen in Scotland here, but thanks to co-operatives bananas, tomatoes and the famous Canarian potatoes are still exported, though not to the extent they were in history. Did you know that London’s Canary Wharf was named for the islands? So great was the volume of exports to England alone at that time.

Shop-till-you-drop Tenerife: Neither the Via Veneto nor the Champs Élysées, nevertheless shop shopaholics can have a ball in the swisher parts of the southern resorts and in the island’s capital, Santa Cruz, these days.

Sporty Tenerife: Surfing, windsurfing, hiking, cycling, paragliding, sport fishing, running, golf, kite surfing, climbing, trail running, triathlons, tennis…….that’s just off the top of my head, the sports which immediately come to mind.

Delicious Tenerife: Fine dining apart, Tenerife has a wealth of simple and traditional dining too, with fresh ingredients sourced locally from mineral-rich farmland, the variety of the ocean and locally raised goat and pork. Go inland to find small bars and restaurants, or to the kiosks at the fiestas.

Cultural Tenerife: Santiago Calatrava’s magnificent auditorium in Santa Cruz is symbolic of the wealth of island’s Cultural (with a capital C you note) events. An icon of modern architecture it is home to the symphony orchestra and scene of ballet, opera, jazz, world music, modern dance and many other events. In addition the capital has the historic Teatro Guimerá and La Laguna is home to Teatro Leal. Then there are museums, art exhibitions, photo exhibits and other events galore. Granted, you may need to speak some Spanish for some of these, but a little can take you a long way.

Romantic Tenerife: They tell me we have the best sunsets (and I would add sunrises) in the world. Since I haven’t been everywhere yet I can’t confirm that, but, well, they are pretty amazing.

Quirky Tenerife: I suppose everywhere has its quirky side, but I would put money on it I could snap a photo every day of something out-of-the-ordinary here!

Floral Tenerife: This was the hardest photo to decide, so in the end I chose two. Bouganvillea, hibiscus, geraniums, marigolds and heaps of other domesticated flora decorate the towns, villages and cities of the island, but only in the mountains will you find the tajinaste, indigenous to the island and found in the wild no where else on earth.

The almond trees, on the other hand, were brought by the Conquisadors, their flowering marks the beginning of a new season in January, and the nuts are the base of many artisan sweets.

Travelers’ Tenerife: Finally Tenerife as gateway to the archipelago, the launching point by ferry or by local airline to the other islands in the chain.

We Don’t Do Sunsets in El Médano

I had to laugh this week when I read a “review” of a restaurant situated on the boardwalk in “my town”, El Médano. It claimed that it was the perfect place to enjoy a tipple whilst watching the sun go down over the horizon. Now, there are many fine and even wonderful views from the boardwalk, and even better ones from other parts of the coast, but to see a decent sunset there is nowhere you can sit in comfort and sip your wine at the same time, while someone whips up a tasty meal for you – unless you take a picnic to the beach perhaps – haven’t tried that, so I can’t say for sure.

The picture above is about as much as we see of a sunset in summer, over the mountains and far away, in other words the reflection of the glory on the clouds. Granted, in winter I’ve snapped some pretty nice sunsets, but not whilst sitting in a bar. Although, come to think of it, probably there’s a nice winter sunset from Manfred’s Bar, but I can’t think of anywhere else. Although sometimes what happens is that clouds  echo the sunset; catching the colors, turning them candy stripe pink and puffing them along the horizon like so many rosy cottonwool balls.

That pink sometimes shades into lavender and melts along the horizon right around the island, it’s a pretty sight,  but not the evening we took our walk, and granted, if I hadn’t stopped to snap so often we might not have been slopping around in tidal pools as we made our way back for tapas. When Guy was visiting, we decided to walk one evening,  before eating, to Bocinegro, that’s the smaller of the two volcanoes which mark the perimeter of the beach.

Bocinegro is an after thought, a punctuation mark at the foot of the iconic Montaña Roja. It’s an easy walk, almost a stroll – unless you forget about the time and have to clamber over wet rocks in the dark, as we did that night!

The sky was darkening over the foothills even as we circled the beach, the sun just tinting the underbelly of the cloud mass behind us.

The sun was sinking fast.  Coastal sunsets at this latitude don’t linger long. They are often dazzling, but over quite soon, and night descends fairly quickly.

Nevertheless we made it to the top of Bocinegro’s 118 feet in good time. It’s just about the right length of walk to work up an appetite, but not overdo it. Guy was in training and I had a wonky knee. Being so familiar with the area I didn’t worry too much about losing the light, but as we reached the beach I had to fumble for my torch (always useful to keep a torch with your camera bag I’ve learned!) The night had turned to pitch black, and the moon wasn’t up yet. We skidded on the loose stones as we neared the beach, and then picked our way between damp sand and rock pools, as tiny fish skittered to hide from the torchlight, but it was worth the slithering and sliding for the views of nighttime El Médano from a different angle to usual, as the lights flickered on along the bay.

I don’t need another reason to be thankful for living here ….. as you might have gathered from my previous post!……but this did give me another, I have to admit. Being such a lover of early mornings, I often find it hard to burn the candle at both ends, so I’m not that much of a night owl, but I’m thinking that from time to time I should break my habits, take a siesta and go out late with the camera again!

 

Local Goats’ Cheese Doesn’t Come Any Fresher Than This!

Some days here you set out with one thing in mind and it turns into something quite different, or it leads to another thing quite unexpectedly, so broad is the medley of lifestyles which rub along together in this small space in the Atlantic.

When Maria and I set out to take the photos of the floral crosses I wrote about the other day, I had suggested that we come back by an indirect route, because I wanted to take a look at Barranco Orchilla. I’d seen an amazing photo

of it on the internet recently, and I wanted to see how difficult or even possible it was for walking. To my shame I should explain it’s at the most 15 minutes drive from my home, I’ve driven over it countless times, but not fully absorbed before just how beautiful it is.

The picture I’d seen was an aerial photo of this bridge, which, I can promise you, looked even more stunning than it does in my photo. Right now, like all of the south of the island it’s much drier and browner than late spring would usually find it.  We’d gone to Granadilla de Abona early to catch the light (we hoped!) so it was only mid-morning when we set off back, after being side tracked for a while by a pretty cross in the hamlet of  Charco del Pino. It’s hard to take in the depth and drama of those craggy ravine walls as you drive over the bridge, so we pulled in at the first chance, which was just over the other side. We’d driven from right to left of this picture. As soon as we spotted a space by the roadside we stopped and yanked out the cameras. It turned out to be an unmade road, so we wandered down to get the best view.

What opened up before us, as we turned a corner, were the views above and below to one side and the other. Utterly spectacular cliffs, even in drought conditions, sporting tree and plant life on their sheer sides. Though we could see traffic crossing the bridge from time to time the silence which enveloped us was broken only by fragmented bird song, and a lazy peace hung in the air, like a lazy summer Sunday afternoon.

To our right the ravine widened and flattened out, as it meandered its way down to the ocean, and we could see agricultural buildings poised on the top of its sides as if ready to tumble down to its depths. Strolling back to the car, we noticed a wooden sign which read Queseria (a place which makes and sells cheese). This seemed way too good to miss, it was turning into one of those days I mentioned, you see. There had been the crosses and the ravine, some unexpected photo ops and clear, blue skies, this was clearly another path we were meant to follow.

Arriving, we realized that the buildings we’d seen, seemingly in imminent danger of tumbling down into the valley floor, had been this finca. Whenever I go to somewhere like this, I time travel straight back  to my granddad’s market garden sixty years ago and two thousand miles away. There is the same ramshackle disorder; the piling in the corner of old bits of wood or wire or pipe “just in case” they might be useful; the outside tap for water; the dusty dog, tied up but wagging its dusty tail in greeting. Here a couple of baby goats huddled in a corner too, they weren’t in my granddad’s place, nor was the chugging of a small tractor which entered the farmyard at the same time we did from the other direction. Granddad’s tools certainly weren’t mechanized.

We enquired about buying cheese, and the owner was summoned. He greeted us in that cautious but not unfriendly way that country people often do, perhaps surprised to see a couple of women turn up without warning, perhaps wary of strangers in general, and invited us to follow him as he went to see if any remained, explaining that because it was Saturday it was possible there was none, because their produce is taken to sell at the local farmers’ market in San Miguel de Abona, which happens over weekends. Happily for us he found a tray.

Realizing that we wanted to buy one, and weren’t simply being nosy, he willingly answered our questions about how the cheese was produced, having a nice old rant about the EU regulations, as cheesemakers Europe-wide like to do – and not without justification. He pulled back the cover on this vat to show me the morning’s milk which was sitting and waiting to curdle, and begin the process of becoming cheese.

Goats’ cheese is probably one of the very first dairy products ever made, long before man thought of utilizing cattle, and the Berber-descended Guanches, who first inhabited these islands are known to have kept them, so in Tenerife it has a long history.

Goats, of course, climb to ridiculous heights in search of a choice morsel, and will, famously, eat just about anything if left to it. They are survivors, and the perfect animal to farm in this rugged landscape, where, even in the lusher north, the gradients would be impossible for other animals to scale. There is hardly any pasture land on any of the islands. This flock was penned in, but roaming free, that’s the other nice thing about goat products, they’re not factory farmed.

Clutching our cheese we wound our way back up to the main road, and home, where we divided it in half. I had some for breakfast the next morning, drizzled with just a smidgen of honey, and I can only tell you that it was the freshest taste of just about anything I’ve ever had. At this stage I should admit that I’m not hugely fond of queso blanco, the freshest form of this cheese. I prefer it cured or semi-cured, with a stronger taste and firmer texture, and apparently on this farm they do smoke and cure cheeses too. That said, if it was always like this I would like it this way just as much!

Let’s just backtrack a minute from that Sunday morning breakfast, though, because there is just a wee cheesy tidbit more. This Saturday was the same Saturday as the Supermoon, and after chilling for the afternoon, Maria and Colleen and I spent the evening chasing the moon up and down the Médano coast, and eventually sank onto the terrace of a local bar in need of refreshment and a little sustenance. Maybe it was thinking about the morning’s wee adventure that made me order the goats’ cheese…….this time, grilled and served with a local mojo sauce, perfect way to end an unexpected and fascinating day!

I can’t, hand on heart, say it was a “typical” day, but it certainly wasn’t that unusual by standards here, so perhaps you can understand why, despite downsides (and there ARE downsides!) I just love living here.

Day of the Holy Cross in Tenerife ….. or almost.

It’s a sign of neglect – of this blog – that this post refers back to May 5th, and that it’s taken me all this time to get my sh*t together. The neglect comes from happy stuff (my son’s visit) & the springtime urge to clean out and put things in order. Quite why I should feel that urge, when I live in a climate where seasons are hard to define, I cannot say – perhaps too many years of living in England…….but, then, perhaps it is relevant to this post, this refresh and renew compulsion – hold that thought! Early May does seem to be the real kick off of warmer times, however, and this year Tenerife celebrated with a heatwave of record-breaking proportions. Happily that’s over now, and we are basking in warmth rather than heat again.

Cross in Calle de la Iglesia, close to the parish church in Granadilla de Abona.

…..back to May 3rd then, which is the date about which I intended to write……..May 3rd is the Day of the Holy Cross, or Santa Cruz in Spanish. If you are brought up in a country whose main religion is Christianity, and, however loosely, are brought up in that faith, as I was, you tend to take the cross, as its symbol, for granted. I attended, sporadically, Salvation Army Sunday School, where brass crosses  were paraded with pomp, seriousness and much clashing of symbols (my burning ambition was to be allowed to play the symbols, but they never let me, which might explain why, in the last throws of my adolescence  I became a Catholic). My childish mind  associated the cross with fire, brimstone and fear, and its relevance to Christianity seemed obvious. I didn’t question just how it had been chosen as opposed to other possible symbols.

Spanish Conquistadors had the habit of planting a cross on ground  they claimed  for the crown of Spain. Remnants of the cross which Alonso Fernández de Lugo stuck into the soil of Tenerife are stored in the church of La Concepción in the city of Santa Cruz. The full title of this Spanish province (as opposed to this island) is Santa Cruz de Tenerife, or Holy Cross of  Tenerife, so that tells you that there is connection here – stay with me!

Cross outside the church in the little village of Charco del Pino

This is one of those stories where it’s hard to separate fact from fiction, but back in the 4th century AD, when Constantine was jefe of the Roman Empire, he is said to have seen a symbol in the sky, a cross and the words In hoc signo vinces, which translates, roughly, as “With this sign you win.”  This, the day before he was to go into battle. Later Christ appeared to him in a dream to explain the apparition, and Constantine ordered that a symbol of the cross  be constructed and carried into battle in front of his army. Natch he went on to win, otherwise this story would have no point.

That there was an emperor named Constantine is true. That he had learned about Christianity from his mother, who had converted, is true. That he won the battle is true. That, later in life, he too became a convert is true. The rest, of course, is speculation and hearsay, but it makes a nice story, and back in those days they were really into these sorts of stories. Nowadays we seem to recommend therapy for folk who claim to have had visions.

The sequel is that he then dispatched his mother, Helena, to the Holy Land to search for the true and original cross. That is its whole own story, but of course she found it, and it was her dying wish that Christians henceforth would celebrate its finding. Early May, like so many dates, was a handy one for the early Church to pick to honor her wish, because it was the  celebration of Flora, the Roman goddess of flowers and Springtime. The powers-that-be of the day therefore tacked the Holy Day of the Cross onto the same date, eventually, swamping that “heathen” festival, as they did with others.

What remains, however, of Flora are the flowers which adorn crosses throughout the Hispanic Catholic world on May 3rd, so I’m thinking perhaps she has the last smile. Some of these displays are simply gorgeous. They certainly celebrate the hope and beauty of spring, the sense of renewal. They are, also, very photogenic :=)

A simple cross by a doorway. Granadilla de Abona.

Any town with the world “cruz” in its title in the Spanish-speaking universe celebrates this day by adorning the town with these floral crosses, outside churches and public buildings, and outside private homes and businesses. In many places there are parades, and in the city of Santa Cruz de Tenerife it is its annual fiesta, the equivalent of its saint’s day. I couldn’t make it to Santa Cruz or anywhere else on May 3rd, as I had a very important barbecue to attend, so it was May 5th when Maria and I wove our way up to Granadilla de Abona (about ten minutes from El Médano, straight up into the foothills, and where I’d seen the crosses last year) to see if there was anything left to photograph. It turned out that there was, although some of the flowers were droopy and some were already withered, so we did miss them at their best.

The cross outside the parish church, Granadilla de Abona.

This, and the next two photos, of crosses outside private houses, on walls or balconies.

This gorgeous display was sited between the town’s museum and a rural hotel.

It struck me that, regardless of one’s views about religion, these festivals do both maintain cultural traditions, and a sense of community, neither of which is any bad thing in this day and age. And so the skeptic in me is stilled because, you see, at the end of the day I think that is what “religion” is – that sense of community and connection, and I’m not sure how much it matters how you arrive at that, so long as you do.

This lovely display was on the wall of a refurbished, old building which turned out to be a hairdressers.

Calle de la Iglesia and the cross in one of the previous photos, from a different perspective.

We were leaving the village when we spotted this cross outside of a shrine.

………oh, and they are good for the sort of tourism this island needs – those who are interested in its past and its culture.

Walking and Warnings in the Teide National Park

A week without posting – it’s a long time since that happened I think, at least when I’m “at home.” The reason being a visit from my younger son, Guy.

Guy left Tenerife in 2002, so ten years already, but more about musings on empty nests and such at another time.

Right now I am sitting here editing (although little, if any, editing is needed) some photos we took yesterday on a gentle hike in the Teide National Park, and because I am a little tired tonight I thought I would share them in lieu of anything deeper.

I’ve written a couple of times recently, and several in the past, about the Teide National Park. It’s a World Heritage Site as well as a National Park, and is, basically, the enormous crater of a volcanic eruption which left El Teide, Spain’s highest mountain not only at its center, but at the center of the island too. Oh, it might not be geographically the center, but it is as if the island radiates outwards from its peak, even though this area is not the oldest part of the island. Legends abound, the landscape is described as “lunar” or “fantastic” or “surreal”, tourists are gobsmacked, hikers relish the challenges and photographers fall in love with this landscape, and here it is:

OK. This photo is just a little self-indulgent because that tha’ mountain is the one I summited in January, when I slept in a cave, which is the other side from this photo, but I couldn’t resist. This is Guajara, the stuff of legends.

And so is this.

And finally…… thanks to the miracles of modern cameras – the intrepid hikers together.

Actually, perhaps I should get serious for a moment here. Yesterday, as we were messing about with this photo,  a hiker died on the neighboring island of Gran Canaria from heat exhaustion. We are experiencing dense calima, despite these blue skies in the mountains, which rise above the clag, and a heatwave of serious proportions, an Orange Alert, in fact, unusual for this time of year. What you can’t see on this photo are the bottles of water we had stashed in front of us. We intended only a short hike, and we were within an hour of the parador, but dehydration isn’t always what you think it is. It isn’t, necessarily,  a raging thirst and burned lips the way you see it in the movies;  simply feeling sluggish, some confusion, a headache, a dry mouth or even slight dizziness can be indicators. Yesterday we noticed several people, who seemed to be walkers,  in the café of the parador drinking beers. Now, I love an ice cold beer on a hot day as much as anyone, but only if I am hydrated in the first place, otherwise, the alcohol does just the opposite – it dehydrates you – and, guys, I can promise you there is nothing manly or macho about being a beer drinker so far as the ladies see it. Needless to say, hats, or some other head covering, and suncreams are also essential items in your pack. On this morning my son had done a two hour run, we passed several walkers who had clearly done the entire four-hour walk, and we spied, from a distance a party of young guys having fun doing some rock climbing. One thing I know for sure is that they all made sure they made provision for re-hydration in their exercise. When we heard about the death on the news this morning we were saddened by how easy it is to prevent. OK it’s too early for an autopsy report, and maybe the person had some other health issues, but hydration is quite simply – replacing the liquid your body loses, in other words, drinking sufficient water, not soda, or beer or coffee but water. Once you know you’re well hydrated (and check the color of your pee if you have doubts – it should be pale as pale, if it’s yellow you’re dehydrated) by all means indulge.

It’s sad to think that whilst we were having fun and enjoying a walk in the sun someone else was suffering whilst doing the same thing.

Seizing the Supermoon

Another 24 hours and all our supermoon stories and exchanges will just be another footnote to 2012, moments seized, enjoyed, recorded and then committed to the archives in our minds. This, then, is what I will file away.

We meet at the appointed hour 19.30. The intention is to suss out the best spot and then retire to eat or drink until well before the due time of 21.15 to stake our claim. The early evening is balmy and calm,unusual for this stretch of coast. This is my home turf. It will not be the first time I’ve photographed the moon rising out of the ocean from the sand dunes at the end of my street, but it’s a first time in this spot for Maria and Colleen, and I think they like what they see. There are rocks and sand dunes and junipers, all perfect for framing photos. I think they like the gelato from my favorite ice cream parlor too! We sit by the little harbor and savor the pleasure. They are finger-licking good.

We rouse ourselves and saunter back along the beachside road, chatting companionably and not at all hurried. We step onto the beach, and it’s then I draw a sharp breath. In the lavender and rose  twilight sky the moon is already there, and well on its way to the heights.

One of the odd things about living in the Canary Islands is that we are in the same time zone as the UK, an hour behind the Spanish peninsula and most of Europe. The thing is that most information on tv and internet fails to mention this. We had failed to deduct the hour, the “una hora menos en Canarias,” as the ones which do bother to differentiate, say.

I fall to my knees on the nearest dune and fumble my camera out of its bag. The closer to the horizon the bigger the moon seems to be, we missed its hugeness,  but it is, nevertheless, quite breathtaking. The colors are gentle pastels. It isn’t yet dark. Its progress is slow, so we get lots of snaps anyway. Then Colleen suggests going a little up the coast to La Tejita, to see it rising over Montaña Roja, so we trot, quicker now, to her car, which is the nearest, and turn for a couple of last shots over the beachfront wall, as darkness descends and paints the world in other shades.

La Tejita is one of my favorite places on the island, but I know that without a tripod my pictures won’t amount to much, so I spend more time simply inhaling the scene than snapping. The ones I do get are noisy and dark. I have to max the ISO in the absence of a stable tripod, but the effects are a bit unusual.

There is a yacht anchored in the shelter of the mountain, and out at sea there is a string of fishing boats, twinkling like the proverbial diamonds on velvet.

I have no idea what produces that shaft of light, grease on the lens perhaps? But it looks effective. It’s enough. Sometimes in the snapping you don’t have time to take it all in, so perhaps my lack of tripod is no bad thing tonight.

Happy and fulfilled, we retire to what is one of my local bars to admire in comfort and sip mojitos.

The next night, yesterday, finds Maria and I a bit further down the beach, a part which is more rocky and a bit wilder, though it’s bounded by hotels and apartment blocks, you still feel closer to the ocean. This night, of course, we know the time, and we make our way down to the shore as darkness falls. Tonight there is a breeze as usual, and along the horizon a skein of deep purple cloud hovers, but doesn’t touch the ocean. There is a line of light, and we hope that we will see the moon rising before it disappears into the clouds. In the meantime, there are diverting images, as the sun sets way behind us, its crimson is reflected onto the thick, dark clouds, and that reflected light, in turn, is reflected onto the muddy sand, turning it lilac and moody.

The wet beach is a gift of reflections and images, even the ugly hotel on its edge looks pretty, as its lights flicker on and are echoed, and a girl appears soundlessly and seemingly out of nowhere, riding her bike along the shoreline.

It’s getting darker, and the waves are creeping up the beach, the breeze is getting stronger and shearwaters are calling out to each other, their spooky, unreal cry. We talk of famous photographers who spend hours in freezing waters or mountainsides, waiting for that one, perfect shot. We begin to think that we have missed it, that in the dark we haven’t noticed that the clouds have descended to the sea and obscured our moonrise. We are about to reach for our stuff and turn tail, when a mere sliver of intense scarlet emerges, again there is a deep intake of breath and a scurrying for lenses and equipment.

Without a tripod, in this darkness I have even less hope that I did last night. It is impossible. I shoot a couple of frames, and then turn the camera off and stand in meditation. It’s a brief but intense experience. The moon will soon be hidden by the cloud, but it glows from red now to orange, and it is a huge as one expected it to be. I’m posting a couple of pictures only to give you an idea of how it was. They can’t really, but you can see what distinct experiences the two nights were.

This morning, as I walk Trixy, there is a silver shadow in the sky, which is fading as the sun’s brilliance begins to dominate the day. I rush home for the camera and return within five minutes, only to find that I took out the battery last night to charge it, and failed to put in the spare. Ah, well, as a photography experience this supermoon hasn’t been too great, but as an appreciation of this universe, it’s been pretty impressive.

 

Just Another Day in Paradise?

Just kidding, people. There used to be a T-shirt back in the 90s with words to that effect, or a little cruder, to be honest, and whilst petty bureaucracy and inefficiency have been taking their toll of me to a huge extent of late, there are times when living here is, well, heavenly!

Yesterday, for instance, my day began like this:

And ended like this:

And for once the bit in between was entirely satisfactory :=) But no time to scribble about it now, I’m off to inhale a bit more of the wonders of Mother Nature, but I will fill in the gaps ….. soon.

 

 

Another Glorious Médano Sunrise

Worry not, I’m not nearly good, nor prolific enough a photographer to do a “today’s photo” thing, but I did think yesterday’s sunrise was worth sharing. I’ve seen more dramatic, but this was just so lovely and peaceful….possibly because of the lack of wind! And maybe I’m being a bit Pollyana because, honestly, much as there is to recommend both El Médano and Tenerife, it isn’t always just like this! Still, nice, eh?

Blue Skies & Sculpture in El Médano

This sculpture stands at the end of the beach road, where El Médano becomes a bit wilder, where you can, actually see where the name médano comes from – it means sand dune.

Simply because a photo of this sculpture was the last picture in my last post I thought I’d show you a completely different view of it. It is said to represent the seven islands united, whilst on the wall behind you can see the seven pieces separately, as individual entities too.  Why do I say “it is said to….”? Because despite asking the local authority I couldn’t get confirmation of what I believed to be true. Though there are several interesting works of art on El Médano’s streets, they go their artists go unsung, which I think is a great shame.