Storm Passing

Late afternoon yesterday

It’s looking like the worst may be over, although outside my window right now looks like an English August Bank Holiday on Blackpool Promenade (you need to know the north of England to get that reference, sorry!). The point being, however, that this is winter and this would be summer in England.

As the day dragged on yesterday, the streets were abnormally quiet, especially for a Sunday. Walking around town around lunch time, cafés and bars were already giving up and stacking their tables. Everywhere here relies on having seating outdoors, even if normally protected from the wind by blinds or awnings. But this wind was coming from the opposite direction, and foiled their attempts at protection. Two valient (or foolhardy), middle-aged couples meandered around the main plaza, the women dressed in white trousers and frilly blouses, the men in nicely-pressed shorts, you could see they were pretending they weren’t cold – tourists then – everyone else was clad in sweats or waistcoats, even though they sported shorts and thongs. There were only a couple of small boats still moored up within the harbor. There are never that many, but clearly most had been taken out of the water, being tethered is one of the worst places to be in a big surge, and sure enough one of the two was half-sunk this morning. The other, I think, had broken its mooring and was rescued during the night.

In that way that storms move, it was almost dark before 6 o’clock, and it seemed that the worst was approaching, but it lightened briefly before night fell, and with the night came the high point of the storm. In Plaza Roja outside my window the palm trees bent over and the rain was horizontal. It was a scene familiar from tv news coverage of hurricanes. I read online of hurricane-force winds being recorded up in Izaña by the Observatory, they were saying 199 km per hour, but this morning it says 149km – still pretty windy!

It passed quickly. In fact, I’ve never known a storm to pass over as quickly. Hurricane Delta in 2005 rattled my shutters for hours. But I wasn’t venturing out. I watched pictures of the rescued boat, floods right across the plaza from me (but hidden by buildings, so no direct view) on the internet and turned in for any early night, expecting to be woken by the winds again, but the only things which broke my sleep were text messages and the neighbors screaming at each other at midnight.

A Tenerife Beach which isn’t in the Brochures

Hurtling up the autopista on a Sunday, take a peek over to where the sun glances off the creamy tips of the waves, contrasting with the misshapen rocks, spewed up from ancient volcanic eruptions.  In summer the bays and nooks of this coastline are filled with families enjoying the sunshine and the ocean. Local families these days rarely bother with the tourist beaches of  Playa de lasAmericas, and few with the beaches of Los Cristianos.  On these more remote shores you can barbeque, put up day tents, take your dog, get a little drunk – basically, do all the things which tourism has made socially unacceptable on the posh beaches.

I did a wee post for Tenerife.co.uk a month or so ago about this theme, and wanted to take some pictures of Playa Grande in Poris de Abona to go with it.  It wasn’t the busy Sunday scene I found, though, it was autumn and about an hour before sunset.

The beach was deserted, the little ice cream stand all locked up, and the only people around were a couple of hikers who passed by. It all looked much more seasonal than the island usually is.  Tenerife’s “sub-title” is “Island of Eternal Spring,” and certainly on the south and south-west coasts people sunbathe all year round, so to observe such apparent bleakness on a good-weather day (I’d been roasting in Santa Cruz) felt strange. I suppose coming from Blackpool the idea of seasons is firmly entrenched in my brain. I remember Blackpool better off-season than high-season, because we avoided the summer crowds like the plague.

Clouds were beginning to descend from the hillsides, making the leggy, white windmills of a nearby wind farm stand out in contrast to the gathering gloom, and I was losing light fast for the photo I wanted, and yet I didn’t want to leave. The calm was taking hold of my brain;  the slight chill, the persistence of the ocean trying to reach the shore, that lonesome sound of gulls circling and the sense of having the world to oneself.

Just along from the bay and the sand, the beach was littered with the cages which are used for fishing for pulpo, some of them twisted and rotting, and I wondered about why we are drawn to beaten-up, discarded objects and decaying mortar and peeling paintwork.  Is it curiosity about the stories they might tell, or is it pity of the unwanted or some sort of respect for history?

This pretty little beach, surround by gnarled and almost sinister rock formations, is only 20 minutes, tops, from the famous beaches, yet it’s a thousand miles away in experience. You won’t find amenities, no lifeguards, no loos, nor bars even, but a sense of peace, at least on this occasion, which you have to travel much further to find in other places.

Of Big Swells and the End of Summer

It’s strangely quiet outside my window today.  A few kids are splashing about in the pool, but nowhere near the hooting and screaming of the past few weeks.  This morning in the silent supermarket there were still lettuce and tomatoes left on the shelves – granted a bit tired-looking, but for the last four to six weeks the shelves have been bare on a Monday morning after the weekend rush, (well, even on a Monday afternoon – it takes them a while to restock here).  It’s a sign the summer residents are gone or about to go, and life is on the cusp of change.

To an outsider it may seem as if everything is the same year round in El Médano, but if you live here the changes are obvious.  There will be parking again.  Once the annual fiesta is passed in another couple of weeks, the stage which occupies a corner of the main town square, will be dismantled and put into storage for another year.  Although there are always tourists, there will be fewer, and they will be mostly people here for a purpose. The spirit of El Médano, certainly for visitors and foreign residents, is very much sports-oriented. We come at the very least for the good dog-walking, and then, depending on your level of fitness, for windsurfing, kite surfing, running, cycling, swimming or power walking and more. Mix this with the folk from the old fishing community, throw in a few “hippies,” and you have the odd blend of people who rub together easily to give the town its quirky character.

In August, however, it turns into a family resort, as does just about any stretch of beach on the island with a few houses nearby.  When I strolled into the center with a friend to enjoy a glass of wine or two the other night, we were surprised to see the  climbing frames and equipment of the little playground in the square swarming with kids at midnight. Like so many indefatigable ants they were climbing, running and, of course, screaming to their hearts’ content. El Médano isn’t known for nightlife, more often than not, arriving home after dark, I’m surprised by how quiet it is, but not in August!

The other great precursor of the season in the south  that the landscape has turned to desert. Oh, the well-watered public areas of the resorts are lush and colorful as always, but the natural landscape is parched and thirsty, dying for some rain you might say.

From the approach to Montaña Roja it looks as if nothing could survive, vegetation is wilted if not skeletal.  It’s an easy walk up to the top, which is about 170 meters I think (from memory), and the views from up there are extensive along the coast, over the airport, and to the mountains beyond on a clear day.  Saturday, when I went with the photo group, it was clear-ish, and the views revealed a harsh landscape, seared by the summer sun, and apparently devoid of life, except some scrubland between the beach and the road.  Nothing much was growing other than the resilient tabaiba.

Wave beginning to build

From the times I lived near the beach in La Tejita I remember the big waves seeming to mark the end of the season too. From the hilltop on Saturday we watched for around an hour or so as the waves built and came crashing down onto the sands, the crests already being blown back out to sea by the strong winds, sometimes forming brief rainbows along the peaks of the wave.

La Tejita isn’t a surfer’s beach, although there are always waves as ocean meets the shore.  The waves break far too close  for surfing, but yesterday, when I went with Maria to take a closer look at the beach, there were a few bodyboarders out there catching a ride, and even a couple of hopeful surfers.  Not very long rides maybe, but definitely exciting. Waves rose, glittered like jeweled, turquoise glass, dragged sand from the shoreline and tossed it up in their foam, before creaming onto land.  They say that the waves come in sets of seven, every one bigger until they die away and you wait for the next set.

You can see from the color of the rock how the mountain got its name.  Anyone wonder why this, despite the barrenness at the moment, is my favorite beach in the south of Tenerife??

High Winds and Full Moon Tides

I failed miserably with my pictures of the lunar eclipse, although I do maintain that the very best pictures from around the world are the ones taken from Mt Teide, despite all the votes for Australia!  Check out this link.  The videos are really long, but the pictures are stunning.  Once in a (dare I say it?!) blue moon the shadow of the mountain is cast over the ocean like this.  http://www.sky-live.tv/

The reason my photos were an utter fail was down to the winds.  From my roof terrace I might have had some better shots than usual with my new lens, but even with a tripod it was impossible to keep still!  The moon looked as if it was jumping all over the sky!

Above you can see the effect the high winds and state of the moon had on the seas around here. I was hanging around waiting for some photos to be scanned, and enjoying cinnamon ice cream, so when the photos were taking longer than expected, and to stop myself from buying a second ice cream, I wandered down to the corner of the harbor in El Médano.  Contrast the above with the photo below, which I took a few months back.

To be fair, the one above was taken very early in the morning.  Often the winds drop at night and pick up again midmorning, which totally explains to me why El Médano is not an early morning town……no breezes for the wind and kite surfers until later, as some surfing friends explained to me.  Even if you want to go out for breakfast you can’t find anywhere open until 10am.

I’m guessing the owners of those bars aren’t too happy, but then I suppose they’re used to the weather here.  As I’ve said so often it maybe one of the things which makes El Médano a quirky kind of place to be.  These pictures were taken early afternoon, though, so I imagine that the bars lost some lunchtime trade. Doesn’t look as if anyone wanted a free saltwater shower with their meal!

And, yes, you can see people swimming in there!  Canarian children are as happy in the water as they are on land, and most grow up to be really strong swimmers.

My son recently began a job with beach security in Candelaria, further down the coast, but still facing east.  He’s done this kind of work before, and said he doesn’t remember dealing with so many rescues in one day.  On neighboring island, Gran Canaria, two people drowned – a reminder that we should never take the ocean for granted.  It’s usually stronger than we think (and maybe just a bit pissed at what we are doing to it?).

Never Be Without a Camera

It’s no secret that I fell in love in January, no, not with Mr Right, and not, even with the Nikon 70D, I was lusting after, (and whose picture was the wallpaper on my computer at work the day I was fired), but with my Canon EOS 500D.  It was, in many ways, an impulse buy and an extravagance, but I haven’t regretted it for one second.  Well, only one or two, seconds that is.  It’s not that I would swap it for all the tea in China, it’s just that I’d like a nice, wee one to slip into a pocket when dog walking, or going out for dinner.  The Canon is almost always with me, but just isn’t practical sometimes……….but far be it from me to whinge, one day it will have a little brother, this I know.

I’ve had a couple of reasons to be happy it was with me this week, outings when I really didn’t expect to use it, but took it anyway, because you never know what will turn up on this remarkable island.  I’m sure it’s the same anywhere.  Carrying a camera makes you look for photo-ops, and look at things in a different way, makes you more aware of the journey.  What you would spot in England or in Tennessee wouldn’t be the same things I spot here, but I guess this is the draw of photography, sharing impressions and how we see them.

The first time was returning from a late afternoon lunch in Adeje.  It really had been late, because the sun was about to set, as I drove along, parallel with the coast.  To be honest, what I’d expected to use the camera for this day was the shoreline (too bright), the food (forgot because it was so delicious!), or the restaurant (light was all wrong), so none of the shots which had been in my head were in the camera, and I was chastising myself a bit even though the wonderful lunch had left a mellow glow.  So I was delighted when I glanced out to sea and saw that we might be due for a really gorgeous sunset, and I looked for somewhere to pull over.  Though it was a busy road, basically a motorway access road, which I knew well, the spot I chose wasn’t familiar, but turned out to be a bonus, because not only did I get the snaps in the previous post, but also these (more about where they are another time):

This morning I decided to take myself to the ER after a restless night with the mother of all toothaches.  Last night we had heavy rains again, and it didn’t seem like a good idea to drive with combination of extreme pain and washed out roads – good call, because the road up to the medical center had some deep puddles, even at 9.30am.  I took the camera because, well, after that kind of rain, and the orange alert we’re under you never know what you might find, plus the center is on a hillside, with always the chance of a good view down to Los Cristianos.  It stuck me afterwards just how much I love this camera, because  I was in so much pain I couldn’t even eat, and had difficulty downing my very necessary morning coffee.  After one of those shots in the bum that seem to go on forever, (but hardly felt a thing …. I am full of praise for the staff in the ER at El Mojon!) and by the time I found a pharmacy open to get my prescriptions filled, I was beginning to chill at last, so when I noticed the surf on the beach at Las Vistas I had to stop.

The novel thing about this site, on an island of surfers, is that this beach doesn’t normally have waves at all.  The main surf breaks end on rock or pebble, as you would expect from a volcanic island, so to be able to ride a wave right onto the sand of this man-made beach must have been cool I imagine.  I have seen it in this state before, but not too often, so this is kind a historic little collection of snaps here.

The day was warm and very humid, and mist from atop the waves drifted across the beach.  Even then there were a few vacationers stretched out on sunbeds, and a goodly crowd watching the surfers.

I was tempted to take a look at the ocean from the El Médano side as I drove home, but the meds were kicking in, and I was beginning to feel a bit drowsy, so I headed straight home, but later, I decided to break one of my own rules and take a camera when walking Trixy.  I have to be very careful, she’s a great subject, but not a very patient assistant, so I took the car down to Montaña Pelada to see how that was looking:

Not so much surf here, although there are some guys waiting in the water.  Still a bit drowsy, I wasn’t in a mood to clamber down there, so we turned tail, but not before I had chance to catch this incoming plane and its vapor trail.  In a blue sky you barely see that, and right now they are approaching from the opposite direction to normal.  I’ll know when the weather is on the turn when I begin to hear to roar of takeoff again.

So, when you’re remembering that Life’s a Journey, Not a Destination – remember to take your camera!