To Mess or Not to Mess? That is the Question…..Photographically Speaking.

I may have indigestion later…….. I just ate my hat…….. Ok, it was an imaginary hat, but there is imaginary indigestion, no? An imaginary hat as in the statement, “I think photos should be natural and not tampered with, and I’ll eat my hat if I ever do that!” You get it, no? In other words, I was a photography purist and I am converted.

I blame the Guanches. It was on a thundery-looking afternoon I went with RunawayBrit to see the pretty, little town of Candelaria. We’d been enveloped by chilling mists most of the day in the Teide National Park and descending the northern coast of the island,  I’d abandoned plans, and turned south, but when we reached Candelaria, the clouds had risen so that they hovered, thick and menacing above, but least we could see stuff! So we changed plans again, and stopped there.  My photos of those imposing statues of Guanche kings were disappointing when I came to look at them on the screen, though…..which is when I began to mess with them, and this was the result.

And in the time it takes to click a couple of times, there I was – hooked! In my defense I state that I always said that what I wanted my photos to do was convey a message, and the truth is that the camera doesn’t see what the eye sees, let alone what the heart sees. And for me Pelicar towering into the stormy sky was threatening the Spanish invaders, and preparing to fight to the death, and enhancing the photo conveyed that message. Or am I trying to justify my conversion?

I went out to capture the sunrise a couple of weeks later. Now, I know – I’m lucky to live somewhere where scenes like the one below are, well, quite common, really, which means that by my standards the photos weren’t that special, yet when I “messed” with one of them and put it on Facebook I got more comments than usual. Vindication? Well, no, because now I was feeling the guilt. Were my photos more  ”some tart with too much make-up” than “a natural beauty?” I wasn’t at all comfortable with the messing.

Still feeling the guilt, visiting Icod de los Vinos on a very dull day (dull as in overcast skies that is….which is not to say overcast in the UK sense, but that the sky was an utter white-out, and the sun hidden), I snapped the dragon tree because it was in full flower, a noteworthy event, I couldn’t wait for the possibility of a blue sky. More disappointing photos, but would they look ok if I messed with them? What do you think?

Hmmm. Maybe? I began choosing random photos from my files.

Am I a total convert? Well, probably, so much so that I’m making a whole, new page just for photographs, ones, that is, that a more than just snapshots to illustrate text.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not totally happy with any of the above photos, and I know I’m still experimenting. Wishing I’d had the extra money for the third part of that photographic course I did a couple of years back, which dealt with this sort of thing – perhaps I would have had a different perspective a while back. I only use Picasa right now, there just isn’t money for anything I actually have to pay for, and I appreciate that with a more sophisticated program I would get better results, and I assume that if I was using something more advanced I would, yes, be a convert…….so excuse me while I go look for the imaginary Rennies.

The Forest Fires and Responsibility

By coincidence last week I changed the background of this blog. I’d experimented with plain backgrounds (in order to be taken seriously, but they seemed too serious) and seascapes and sand (I love to be by the ocean, it’s a big draw for me in making my home here, but I am very conscious that the outside world needs to understand that there is more to this island than beaches). Finally, I settled on a picture I took on a hike three years ago. It was New Year’s Day; there was an achingly-clear, blue sky, misty visions of the islands of La Gomera and El Hierro shimmering on the horizon over the bluest ocean, and in the foreground acres of simply beautiful pine forest. We were walking close to Ilfonche.

The photos I took that day remain some of my favorites of the island. On the occasions I need a photo which I think typifies Tenerife I usually go to that file first. The pictures seem to encompass  ocean, mountains, island and forest,  the main components which make up this island, giving it its special personality and atmosphere.

Returning south last Sunday from a day wandering the street market of Santa Cruz, we spotted a huge plume of smoke around the hillsides. It was what has been dreaded for over a year. Anyone who’s read my blog before, or follows me on Facebook, knows how often I use words like arid, barren, parched or dry when talking about the state of the landscape over the last couple of years. The last time I remember any substantial rain in the south of Tenerife was around two years ago, a bit more in fact. It happened the week I moved house, and I remember lying awake as it thundered on my roof terrace – I hadn’t had a roof terrace before, and had visions of it overflowing and making a waterfall down the stairway. It didn’t, and I don’t remember any more nights like that in the two years I lived in that apartment.

I took the photo around 5.30 in the afternoon. The fire had broken out around 3. By the next morning it was raging out of control. By the next day it had spread in every direction, despite the valiant efforts of 7 helicopters constantly dousing the area with water. At one point choppers were diverted to deal with a fire which broke out on neighboring island, La Palma, where they had more success. Two planes arrived from the mainland to join the helicopters. The were 3 press conferences a day updating us on the situation. An entire village and some smaller hamlets were evacuated as the flames got closer. All the emergency services sprung into action. I don’t name them in case I miss one out. All, both professional and volunteer were outstanding, but you have to especially think of the firemen. Gradually one front was brought under control, then another, though  the fires still burn and are not, by any means, totally extinguished.

Each hike in recent months has re-enforced the sense of dread, as each one bore witness to the seared landscapes, ever drier. The subject of the dangers always came up in conversation at some point during a hike, especially when we saw a cigarette carelessly thrown from a car or noted cigarette ends along a trail. In the end it seems that it wasn’t smokers who caused the fire, but it could have been.

It seems at this point, and there is no absolute confirmation of this that I know of, that it began in a smallholding somewhere in the area in the first photo. One witness I saw on tv said something like, “Who would have thought that all this devastation could be caused by a little old bonfire?”  My question would be, “Who would not have thought that before lighting a bonfire?” If it’s true, and I don’t know that it is, it was an act of crass stupidity, and/or arrogance.

Arrogance because we seem to be living in the culture which thinks that the rules don’t apply to them. “It will never happen to me.” I don’t imply this is true only of Tenerife, I see it just about everywhere, and it’s time that we stopped to think of others. I’m not, even,  talking about the big issues, of wars, or famine or earthquakes. I’m talking about how we go about the minutiae of our daily lives; about whether we let our dogs foul the pavement; about whether how we park obstructs someone’s view at a crossroads; about how our cigarette smoke affects those around us or whether we toss our litter from the car window; about giving way on the supermarket aisle or a narrow street to those less agile or with bigger burdens or  whether our dog’s incessant barking frays neighbors’ nerves, and, of course, the consequences of lighting a bonfire when the earth is tinder dry……and those are just off the top of my head. It’s time we thought about the consequences of our actions instead of our immediate needs or pleasures. Almost everything we do affects the life of another person in some way, and it’s time that we owned up to our responsibility.

If this fire was started, however accidentally, by such arrogance and stupidity then the law here has severe penalties, but it can’t restore trees which took decades to grow, destroyed crops which are peoples’ livelihoods or compensate for the heartache and panic. Really, it’s a shame that we have to look to the law to provide penalties to deter folk, and that we can’t just care enough about each other and the earth to be more responsible.

The Myth of the Tree which had the Power to Move Roads

Long ago, on islands on the edge of the known world, there lived a dragon. These islands lacked for nothing. The ocean bore them moisture on its winds, so that when water didn’t fall from the sky directly, the trees and plants of the islands reached up and gathered that moisture to nurture life. The sun gently warmed its earth, so that plants and trees and flowers flourished and grew strong. It was said to be the most beautiful place on earth. The dragon‘s work was to guard this paradise from the dangers of the outside world, and so they rested peacefully in the waters of the Atlantic, blessed in every way.

Tending the garden which was these islands were a group of nymphs, sisters, called the Hesperides, daughters of the Titan, Atlas, who poured all their love into their work, so that the garden thrived and its beauty was, indeed the stuff of legends. For its further protection its location was known only to that wily sea god known as the Old Man of the Sea, who, once he had you in his grip, wouldn’t let go until you died from the exhaustion of attempting to escape.

 
The dragon, whose name was Ladon, had an easy life, for most lacked the intelligence or the courage to even try to reach the islands, but, of course, there were those who couldn’t resist. None had succeeded, until the invincible Heracles was ordered, as one of the tasks assigned to him as punishment for killing his own children in a moment of madness, to steal apples which grew on a certain tree on one of the islands. These apples were made of gold, and much coveted by Eurysthesus under whose orders Heracles was bound until his penance was served out.

 By trickery, Heracles discovered the location of the Garden of the Hesperides from the Old Man of the Sea, but he knew that even he was no match in strength for the dragon/serpent Ladon. There was, however, one who would be, and that was the mighty Atlas, who had been condemned by Zeus to shoulder the skies in an attempt to prevent them from rejoining earth. Heracles struck a deal with Atlas; in exchange for Atlas seizing the golden apples, Heracles would relieve him of his burden for a spell. Atlas, weary of his task, agreed.

In stealing the apples he first had to slay Ladon, which he did, and it is said that as the dragon’s life blood drained away into the earth trees sprang up in the places it had touched, and these are the trees known as dragon trees, when cut they ooze not sap but blood. Atlas was reluctant to return to his task of shouldering the world, but was tricked by Heracles into returning to his position, and year by year the dragon trees grew and multiplied.

That is just one version of the legend, in others it’s Heracles who slays the dragon, before Atlas, who is father to the Hesperides, steals the golden apples, and then there is the version where the body of Ladon is carried to the skies to become the constellation Draco in the northern night sky; and yet another tells of a shipwrecked sailor pursuing a beautiful maiden, who rejected his advances. The sailor, not knowing that this maiden was a magician, continued his pursuit, but found a strange tree in his path, whose many branches and twisted trunk blocked his way. In anger he struck out at the tree, severing its branches, only to find that blood spilled from every cut. The tree, of course, was the sorceress, and as her blood seeped over the earth more trees grew, just as in the Greek legend. Yet another myth says that every tree is a slain dragon – which would explain why, when Pilar & I were hiking the valley close to San Miguel de Abona the other week, in the Barranco named Barranco del Drago, we saw scarcely one……..there just ain’t that many dragons living, let alone dying these days!

 Legends, are, naturally, much more fun than the truth, but for sure dragon trees are weird, and there is one which might well be crucial these days to the economy of a small town in the north of Tenerife, Icod de los Vinos. This tree has the distinction of being probably the only tree in the world which had the power to move a road. When I first immigrated to Tenerife it was one of those sights one has to see, and to be honest, we drove past it a couple of times without realizing that we had found it. It stood by the roadside with some sort of undistinguished plaque proclaiming its vast age, but as the good folk of the town realized it was attracting visitors to an area which was earning less than of yore from agriculture they decided to protect it, and re-routed the entire road system to bypass it. Dragon trees are very, very slowing growing but have an amazing ability to survive. Some are said to have lived for thousands of years, and so to further protect this one, they also placed a fan inside to prevent the accumulation of fungus which might damage it, and created a small park around it, making it more worthy of the attention it was attracting.

 Their efforts were rewarded this year, as last, with a splendid flowering – a proof of the ancient tree’s good health, and not bad for a living thing which may be anywhere between 3,000 and 300 years old! It’s been christened the “thousand year tree,” but it’s doubtful that it is even that old, although the best guesses are somewhere between 500 and 300 years old. It may well have borne witness to the invasion of the Spanish Conquistadores. Unlike other trees, Dracoena Draco, to give it its proper, Latin name, doesn’t have rings, so it’s impossible to tell its specific age. History, rather than legend, tells that no lesser personage than Alexander von Humboldt (whose visit to the island is much vaunted) saw a splendid specimen in Orotava, which easily rivalled the one in Icod de los Vinos, but perhaps happily for the economy of Icod, it was destroyed in high winds mid 19th century, and I hear tell that the search is on for a successor now, should the same fate befall the current icon. A little way up the road, there grows a contender in fact, secured by steel wire, since it looks in imminent danger of falling onto nearby buildings. The danger being to the tree as well as to the buildings, since those branches can’t support themselves in the way a normal tree’s branches do, they simply break.

 And icon it is. Its image adorns postcards, plaques, mugs, fridge magnets and all the other trivia of modern life, which might be sold as souvenirs. There is no doubt that it’s existence is important to the economy of the town, but I doubt it’s crucial. Icod is a lovely, meandering place, with lots of history and tradition other than those which appertain to just one tree, but more of that another time.
In the times between the Greek myth and current, economic-icon status the sap of the dragon tree has had different uses. Its sap does resemble blood, and was said to have healing properties. Aboriginal Guanches used it as part of the embalming process when they mummified their dead, but it is probably best know as a stain or lacquer. It is even said that Stradivarius used the resin in the making of his violins, although his methods are also the stuff of legends, so I am not clear as to whether that can be verified or not.

I’ve been a sucker for myths and legends, ever since my first high school English Literature teacher told us that we must have a “willing suspension of disbelief” in order to appreciate fiction. I was ready, willing and able to suspend mine at the drop of a hat, so seeing this dragon tree in full flower was a must this year. I loved standing and imagining all the things this tree has witnessed over the years, let alone the mystical overtones to its being. There weren’t so many tourists that the atmosphere was totally lost, and mists  crept along the horizon and up the mountain roads as we descended into the municipality….. and what’s a good legend without a foggy backdrop? Icod is one of my favorite island towns, but the dragon tree really deserves this post to itself.

 Two things for sure: one is that the absence of trees in Barranco del Drago was almost certainly due to their having been cut down for use in as lacquers or varnishes, and not because of the dying out of dragons; two is that these fascinating trees really are the stuff of legend from early history to present day. It was nice to see Icod’s superb specimen in full flower, and looking as if it might live another 500 years……..or 1,000 who knows?

Hiking Surprises: San Miguel to La Centinela, Tenerife

Say the word “hike” to me and, after years of living on Tenerife, I conjure images of arid badlands, shady, mystical forests, volcanoes and other such exciting stuff, so a few weeks back,  hiking closer to home than usual,  I didn’t expect to find anything other than exercise to be honest because the hillsides of the south of Tenerife are barren at the best of times when compared to other parts of the island, and now, after around two years without any substantial rain, they are especially seared and tan, hence the low expectations……….but it proved to be a day of surprises

Pilar and I set off from the village of San Miguel de Abona around mid-morning, under one of those crystal clear, achingly-blue skies which make you double-check the contents of your daypack:  Sun cream? Check. Hat? Check. Plenty of water? Check. Ok to go then.

Daytime San Miguel perfectly fits the description “sleepy village.” Every time I visit, it has that siesta time air, as if the population are all whiling away the heat of the day behind closed shutters. It’s pretty, and well-maintained and restored.

We  sauntered out of the village. It almost felt like tip-toeing to avoid waking  residents.  The hillsides were parched, dusty and achingly dry, but within minutes we’d left all of that behind and  descended into greenery.  It was a revelation to find a certain lushness around us. Remember there are no rivers on Tenerife (many were already underground, and others were long ago diverted to take advantage of the natural, underground storage, to conserve water supplies). The reason soon became evident; along the way we passed places where water trickled  down the rock face, and in a couple of places we stepped into mud, clearly there was water underground, although the mud was the only evidence above, and there was the merest whisper of its running.

Pilar crosses a recently-installed bridge as we near Fuente de Tamaide

Probably that presence of water was the reason for all the other surprises that day.

One thing I miss  hiking here is birdsong. Summer hiking England and the air fairly vibrates with song. It isn’t as if there is nothing here for bird lovers, in recent weeks I’ve seen kestrals, buzzards, woodpeckers, hoopoes, great grey shrike, partridge, plovers, egret and a dove which is endemic to the island, as well as numerous gulls, blue tits and canaries, but there isn’t that  unseen pulsing  you feel  in England. Normally, that is – in this wee valley it seemed as if all the island’s missing birds were come together to celebrate spring, and the air was sweet with their chatter.

At some points we could look up and see the peaks of the caldera above us

Second surprise – we hadn’t been walking very long when we came across very visible water in the form of  La Fuente de Tamaide, a natural spring, like so many here, where water which has filtered underground in through the porous rocks of the mountains above eventually emerges into daylight. Even dew or light rain seeps through the this rock  and trickles downward, often finding its way out in scenes like this.

You can see how the basin of what is, really, a small waterfall when there is a lot of water, has been adapted to human needs.

Below a link to the past, and up above modern life intrudes.

Throughout history, and even before of course, water has always been important. The world over, byways and settlements sprang up close to water sources, and this, particular one, like others in this valley, served not only for practical purposes, like drinking water, washing, and watering of crops and animals, but also as a meeting place. There was a plaque explaining what it was we were looking at, with some old photographs. The photos didn’t tally exactly with what we saw, so I assumed that they were an illustration of how natural pools of water like these are adapted and harnessed by man to fit his needs.

The natural pools had a helping hand and you can see how it must have been a rendezvous for the village women. Can’t you just imagine them dishing the dirt as they beat and scrubbed their washing on the beveled sides of that  tank, or blushing as that handsome young man rode up on his horse? Beats hypnotizing yourself watching your machine’s wash cycle doesn’t it? Fresh air, a nice gossip with the girls, but then you have to remember that this is a valley, and they had to return with the wet washing uphill. They were made of strong stuff these country lasses.

Photo of the village washerwomen on the plaque.

There is no date for the photographs,  so I presume that they are intended as an example of how a pool like this fitted into daily life two or three centuries ago. There are, apparently, three such pools in the area, but we saw only two. It was noted that the first written record of this spring was in 1849, and it’s certain that it was used by man long before that, even by the aboriginal Guanches before the Spanish conquest. History hung in the air.

Sheltered in the barranco, it was easy to leave the modern world behind and imagine oneself back into history. We passed only one other couple until we got to the end, although, it’s for sure that it must have been busier back when than it is now. Abandoned cottages dot the landscape, as is common here, families long since absconded to the more profitable pursuits of the coast; the hillsides are swathed by barren, desolate terraces but here and there a green oasis, a terrace still cultivated. As we began to gently climb out of the barranco we had views right down to the coast. In Tenerife you are never out of sight of the ocean for very long.

Abandoned terraces

An oasis on the parched hillside.

As we emerged we came to a modern road and there was the next surprise. The odd-looking building by the roadside turned out to be another piece of history. It was an old tile kiln, built in the late 19th century, and restored for posterity, and once again a plaque explaining how it was used, and in English and German as well as Spanish too, another trip into history. The rest of our way took us past old houses,  an immaculate rural hotel and thirsty hillsides.

Tile Kiln La Hoya

Beautifully restored building which now houses a rural hotel.

This isn’t a difficult walk, looking back now I don’t remember puffing or panting at all until the last few yards of the outward journey, which took us to the mirador which clings to the rock just under the peak of the volcanic cone of  la Centinela. There there is a restaurant with an impressive view from its sweep of windows taking in much of the island’s south-east coast. The food is good there too, but this day we had to do a quick turn around back to San Miguel, so we lingered only long enough to take in the views, from the very peak, above the restaurant you have a 360º view, taking in mountains, ocean, agricultural fields, the resort areas of the coast and neighboring island, La Gomera, on a clear day you would be able to see Gran Canaria, La Palma and perhaps El Hierro too.

View from just outside the restaurant on La Centinela

We followed a slightly different path back, but its surprises were less evident, a mysterious door to nowhere; trying to catch a glimpse of the cackling we knew was a partridge hidden in the dusty scrub; climbing the side of a barranco and hearing that bucolic and satisfied clucking which indicates chickens laying eggs – it took us a while to identify from where the sounds came, then we realized that hidden under brush and branches in the dip below us was a row of chicken coops, hidden, we assumed, from aerial predators – we’d seen huge birds riding the thermals earlier, but were sure they’d come from a local zoo which specializes in bird life, whose eagles and vultures fly free for demonstrations during the day.

Chained and locked the door to nowhere, but it would be easy to hop over the wall. A mystery!

Almost back in San Miguel we turned to look back at La Centinela across the valley, and were surprised how far away it seemed to be. It hadn’t been a taxing walk, and we didn’t feel as if we had walked so far, but it had been something like time travel, a glimpse of other, earlier worlds, and we arrived back to find the village still snoozing in the mid-afternoon sun.

Close to where we parked in San Miguel this cave, clearly still in use for storage, may well have been inhabited in times past.