Corpus Christi Flower Carpets

Some aromas just make you smile.

For me it’s the scent of hot pine needles which remind me of hiking through sun dappled forests; freshly mown grass which conjures up camping trips to Cornwall, the Lake District and Wales; candyfloss and toffee apples which transport me back to childhood fairgrounds and …toasted grass seeds. No, not the sort you smoke (though come to think of it that should be on the list too), but the sort that the Alfombristas (carpet makers) of La Orotava use to outline, silhouette, create shadow and background to their floral masterpieces during the Feast of Corpus Christi.

Yesterday we arrived in the Baroque town of La Orotava which lies in the valley of the same name above the northwest coast of Tenerife at about 11am.
Sweating in the already hot sun as we laboured up the cartoon-sized incline of the cobbled streets, the aroma of toasted grass seeds assailed my nostrils and a broad smile crossed my lips.

I remembered spending last year here with Pamela from Secret Tenerife and her friend José ‘Mataparda’; wandering endlessly around the burgeoning carpets, drinking beer outside a Guachinche and eating carne machada arepas at an arepera near the bus station…happy days.

As we made our way towards the Ayuntamiento where the main sand and soil tapestry occupies the plaza, some of the flower carpets in the surrounding streets were already well underway whereas others had barely begun. It’s one of the great joys of the day, wandering in a continuous circuit of the carpets watching as they take shape and form, transforming before your very eyes from ‘do you know what it is yet?’ status to ‘ah! It’s the La Orotava skyline at sunset’.

It took us almost two hours to do one circuit and to go up to the balcony of the Ayuntamiento from where we could photograph the main tapestry. While there, we noticed that there were people on the roof of the church of La Concepción and we headed that way to try our luck.

Eagle eyed Jack spotted ‘Mataparda’at a small balcony half way up the tower and we went inside to meet him. José took us up the narrow winding staircase of the tower to the window we’d seen him from and Jack took some photos before we continued towards the roof.

Just as it seemed we were about to have La Orotava at our feet we were stopped in our tracks by a trainee jobsworth who insisted that no-one else could go onto the roof as last night’s rain had left the surface too slippery and dangerous. We retreated back to ground level where we were joined by Colin (easy to spot with his blonde hair and ubiquitous CD Tenerife football top).
By the time we got back out into the sun it was definitely lunch time and we headed to the little Gauchinche by the side of the Town Hall where José treated us to beer and pinchos. Another perfect day and one which ought to be on the ‘must see’ list of every respectable traveller.

I’ll let the carpets speak for themselves and I’ll consign the smell of toasted grass seeds to memory for another year.

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Tenerife Beach Time

You may imagine that living on a tropical island I must spend a great deal of my time lying on a beach topping up an all-year tan. You’d be mistaken.

For one thing, I’m desperately trying to make a living which is proving particularly difficult in these times of ‘economic crisis’ and for another, my standards for what I consider to be a beach day have changed somewhat. In other words, I’ve become fussy.

Before I moved to Tenerife, any small break in the clouds would have me stripping off and lying prone until the cold became intolerable and I’ve spent many an hour on some beach or in the garden, wrapped in a towel waiting for the sun to reappear.
Nowadays, when the rare opportunity to spend a day on the beach presents itself, nothing less than unbroken sunshine in an azure sky and air temperatures of at least 24°C will hack it.

Our local beach,Bollullo...bliss!

For those two reasons, as I sit here I’m as pale as milk and haven’t been to the beach since early November.

Well this week was post-Carnaval week; a period traditionally dedicated to R&R after the excesses of alcohol, the disrupted eating and sleeping patterns and the physical demands of repeatedly walking the 3 kilometres to town and back, partying until morning and spending hours on our feet parade watching. Coupled with an impending visit from our friend Jo en route from the UK to her home on La Gomera, this week presented the perfect opportunity to put in some beach time.

Unfortunately, having spent all day Tuesday cleaning the house and converting the small room from office to guest bedroom, when Jo arrived my visions of two days feeling the warmth of the sun on my face and the heat of the sand beneath my toes vanished in 18°C temperatures and cloudy skies. By way of a double whammy, the now abandoned hope of beach time was replaced by Jo’s busy schedule of ‘things we could do instead’.
Cleaning, shopping, cooking, baking, gardening (including weeding our neighbour’s garden while he played golf!) and walking, plus a few hours of essential work is not my idea of complete rest.

Admittedly watching football, Mamma Mia! and Blackpool went some way to compensating and it’s always a joy to spend time with Jo, but nevertheless, as far as I’m concerned I’m OWED beach time. So I hope the weather Gods have enjoyed their R&R since Carnaval ended because at the first sign of sun next week I’m beach bound …provided the thermometer’s moved up about six degrees of course.

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Tenerife’s Hidden Depths

We woke up yesterday to cold, cloud and drizzle, cursing our luck that we’d chosen the week’s worst weather day to show a friend something he’d never seen, despite 30 years of visiting Tenerife.
As we were about to pull the front door, the electricity went off.
“I think a day out will do us good”, I sighed.

Bob’s not like a lot of the Brits who spend their winters on Tenerife, moving from their apartment to the beach and the beach to their favourite bar, the longest journey they undertake being the one from the airport to their resort and then back again when it’s time to return in the spring.
Bob likes to explore Tenerife.

Not being a driver though, his exploration has to confine itself to those places he can easily access by public transport in a day and so, in 30 years of coming to Puerto de la Cruz, Bob had never been to Masca; Tenerife’s Shangri-La and the second most visited place on the island after Mount Teide.
Yesterday, Jack and I decided to rectify that omission and to take Bob on our ‘Hidden Depths’ discovery drive.

Masca never fails to impress even the most hardened of travellers.
From the moment you begin to climb the narrow road that snakes its way up the mountainside out of Santiago del Teide, then crest to reveal the tiny settlement perched at the mouth of its ravine, surrounded by palm groves and towering monoliths, until you reach the end of the path at the bottom of the village, the ‘WOW’ factor never diminishes.

“They have quite a history of witches here, you know.”
“Really?” Bob looked suitably sceptical.
“Yup, shape-changers; women who become crows, or pigs or cats and play tricks on you.”
We were walking back along the narrow road towards the car.
“That’s odd”, said Jack, “the mobile phone won’t switch on.”
“My camera’s just gone blank”, said Bob, “it won’t do anything.”
We stopped in the road and tried pressing buttons and changing batteries but nothing would resurrect the camera or the phone.
Eventually we gave up and continued walking. After a few yards the phone came back on and Bob’s camera miraculously came back to life.
“Told you.” I grinned.

By the time we arrived at the valley, the sun had burned the clouds off and it had turned into a beautiful afternoon. We found a perfect table at the picnic zone, in the dappled shade of the fruit trees and ate our bocadillos while Bob filled the memory stick on his camera, completely seduced by the beauty of his surroundings.

After lunch we continued our trip to the Westerly town of Buenavista where Bob informed us he’d once gone, not known where to go and, disillusioned with the surroundings, had got straight back on the bus to Puerto.
Yesterday we took him to the old quarter with its pretty plaza and church, to the best cake shop on Tenerife and the old little store that sells local produce and handicrafts .

Later, as we sat in the sun by the Art Nouveau bandstand of another picturesque plaza enjoying a coffee, Bob asked if there were toilets in the café, there weren’t, but we knew where there were some and directed him to the courtyard of the old convent.
When he came back Bob said; “I can’t believe how many beautiful places I’ve seen today and all the things I’ve learned about them. You even know where the toilets are everywhere we’ve been!”

It was a great day; relaxing, enjoyable and fun and it was rewarding to share in Bob’s enthusiasm.
Sometimes we forget how few people really know this beautiful island and its hidden depths; it’s a joy to share that knowledge with those who want more from Tenerife than just a suntan.

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The Yin and Yang of life in Tenerife

I have long held a personal philosophy of ‘work hard, play hard’. I know it’s not original, nor is it ever going to be the subject of “Discuss” on a philosophy exam paper. In fact, let’s be honest, it’s a sort of Mars Bar philosophy on life…but nevertheless it works for me. If I don’t feel that I’ve achieved something at the end of the day then I’m usually irritable and find it difficult to relax. If, on the other hand, I’ve worked hard and achieved results, the sound of a beer can opening is music to my ears and I can settle down to a movie or listen to some sounds with a light heart and an easy mind.

Life's 'yin & yang' concepts beautifully illustrated by alceu

So I can easily appreciate the symbiotic relationship of the yin and yang of life.

The same is true of living in this island paradise. Often, days can be filled with frustrated attempts to move forward in even the simplest of matters and it feels like all the negative energy is stacked in your direction.
Like the two minute job of posting a package which turns into a half day’s lost production courtesy of the Correos (Post Office), or the trudging from shop to shop in search of even the most basic of items because re-stocking on a weekly basis appears to be beyond the wit of the average supermarket, or spending all morning without electricity because someone forgot to flick a switch when they put the cables back into the road.

But then there are days when the yin and yang scales tip the balance back in favour of our Tenerife lifestyle.

Yesterday was one such day.
We had a meeting scheduled in the south of the island and we left the house in plenty of time. As we approached the car, we saw that one of the rear tyres was flat, and I don’t just mean it needed air, I mean ‘metal rim in contact with tarmac’ flat.
After a few perfunctory swear words, Jack got to work removing the spare tyre and toolkit from the boot and wrestling with the jack to free it from its handy moulded plastic container.
As he began to jack up the wheel, I thought I might try to hurry things along a little by loosening the bolts. After about a nano-second I gave up entirely on that idea and just watched as the veins in Jack’s neck stuck out with the exertion of pushing on the brace. At one point he finally managed to loosen one and it spun his hand downwards, scraping his knuckle along the ground and removing a slice of the flesh…ouch!
Sweating, hands covered in oil which was mingling with the bloody knuckle, Jack finally managed to get the wheel off and the temporary spare on and we set off to the Vultesa garage at the top of the road.

 

'Vultesa' - I can't recommend them highly enough.

 

The speed and efficiency with which one man repaired the puncture, removed the temporary wheel and re-affixed the newly repaired wheel was a joy to behold. It took him approximately 11 minutes in all, not pit stop speed (but then I doubt he’s on pit-stop wages) but certainly impressive enough.
I paid the bill (the princely sum of €5), threw a euro into the tips basket and we were on the road, just half an hour or so later than planned.
The flat tyre had been a negative force but it could have happened while we were on the TF1 which would have been far worse. The need to repair the tyre took us to a local business with smiley staff who knew what they were doing and set us back on the road with the minimum of fuss; a very positive experience.

Although we arrived late in Los Cristianos for our meeting of the 7C Marketing Group, everyone had waited patiently for us and we spent the rest of the morning receiving copious pearls of wisdom from John (sorted-sites.com) and sharing laughs and experiences with Julie (Tenerife-tattle.com), Joe (MyTenerifeinfo.com) and Colin (canary-green.com), rounded off by a great lunch courtesy of John.
As we drove back up the TF1 mid-afternoon, we felt like a part of a community that, although it’s invisible and only virtual most of the time, is as real as the skinned knuckle on Jack’s hand. A community that works unseen to raise the profile of its own and other’s web presence; a cyberspace circle of friendship and a part of the yin and yang of living on Tenerife.

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The New Neighbour

Life here at Casa Monty has been hectic of late.

All summer we’ve been fully occupied producing a new guide to Tenerife, or should I say the new guide to Tenerife, as it knocks the spots off everything hitherto produced. Jam packed with insightful information, witticisms, priceless tips and tried and tested recommendations, ‘Going Native Tenerife’ should be available on Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com by the year’s end and will provide a shortcut to the accumulated knowledge and experience of ourselves and others over the course of years spent living on the island.

With the early rains came Teide's first snow of the winter

Squeezed into small pockets of leisure time in between researching and writing have been island exploring exploits with visiting friends and family, the latest of whom was Mary, Jack’s mum, for whom tan topping was high on her agenda. Unfortunately, Mary’s trip coincided with the early arrival of the November rains and we’ve had to travel the length and breadth of the island to try to find the illusive ‘sol’, largely without a great deal of success.

So amidst all this activity, it’s hardly surprising that I haven’t had time to keep you up to date with all the goings-on in our very own little patch of Tenerife paradise, including the arrival of our new neighbour.
It was at the beginning of September that we first noticed lights on in the little house (we call it the ‘casita’) that borders our path and a few enquiries at the golf club revealed that indeed someone had moved in.

A week or so passed without sightings of the elusive new resident until one night when we were on our way into town with Bryan who was staying with us at the time. As we closed the gate behind us, a voice called “Hola” in the darkness and we went back through the gate to be greeted by Jesús, our new neighbour.
Not much more than a slip of a lad (mid-twenties), Jesús is from the Basque Country and is lately moved here from Thailand where he has been studying and practicing the ancient massage techniques of Sen healing; the loosening of the flow of energy from the body’s natural network of energy lines in order to alleviate muscular and skeletal problems.

Over the course of the ensuing weeks, we’ve gotten to know Jesús very well and he’s now a regular accompaniment on our Friday morning shopping trips and an habitual visitor to Casa Monty where we have ‘cook-ins’. He’s a very good chef and he brings us traditional Basque dishes in exchange for our culture-crossing repertoire of meals. He’s still waiting for us to cook something ‘typically British’ and I guess we’re going to have produce fish and chips at some stage.

Needless to say, having Jesus living at the bottom of our garden has been the source of endless puns and ‘double-entendres’ for our friends and family and the fact that he is a healer by the laying on of hands has naturally added fuel to the quips. But for me, the crowning glory of our juvenile blasphemy came last week when we introduced him to Jack’s mum:

“Jesus, meet Mary”.

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From Benijos to Blingville (part 2)

Only for Bravehearts

As it was Bryan’s last night, we felt that it would have been mean to dump him in Playa de Las Américas whilst we joined the smart set at Siam Park’s inauguration. So whilst I noseyed around ‘The Water Kingdom’ amongst the designer suits and Audrey Hepburn print dresses of the invited guests, Andy showed Bryan the sights and bright lights of the ‘revamped’ face of Tenerife’s tourist Mecca.

Siam Park has had its detractors, but transforming the bland desert-like landscape into a lush Thai paradise is no mean feat and, in my opinion, an improvement. Like the resorts below it, Siam Park is designed with the pleasure of its visitors in mind; its white knuckle ride attractions are meant to be brought alive with excited screams and the sound of laughter. Whilst the Thai themed water park looked splendid in the golden twilight, the perfectly attired guests seemed strangely out of place below the menacing ‘Dragon’ or the gaudy features of the ‘Giant’ water rides; maybe the invitations should have advised ‘bikini’s and Speedos’ as the preferred dress mode.

The mighty 'Palace of the Waves'

Once I’d listened to the speeches and decided I’d seen enough for the moment, I headed into Playa de las Américas (PDLA) to meet up with Andy and Bryan in a pleasant, but unremarkable pavement bar/restaurant on the ‘Patch’. After I’d baulked at the prices (I’d forgotten how much more expensive restaurants were in the ‘upmarket’ tourist areas of PDLA and Costa Adeje) and I told Andy and Bryan all about Siam Park, they told me all about their impressions.

Bryan had been to PDLA some years ago and had stayed around the infamous or famous, depending on your point of view, ‘Veronicas’ area. He hadn’t been impressed. The area around the ‘Patch’ with its smart restaurants, stylish bars, designer shops and Las Vegas type hotels was not the PDLA he remembered. The mock Roman pillars and statues of the ‘Palacio de Congresos’ had apparently elicited a “What’s that all about?”
Around us, visitors from a host of countries were stylishly dressed in expensive looking clothes; not the cheap and cheerful image of Tenerife that is too often portrayed in the UK.

PDLA or Las Vegas?

And then Bryan said something that we initially laughed at, but then it occurred to us that it might not be as far fetched as it first sounded.
“Do you think that people in places like Benijos have ever visited PDLA, or do you think that they talk about it like some mythical land which may or may not exist on the other side of the island,” he pondered. “Like that M. Night Shyamalan movie, ‘The Village’.”

It was an interesting thought. Most of the people around us certainly never knew Benijos, or places like it, existed. To many of them this was Tenerife and the idea of a little village surrounded by vines and pines where people play imaginary ‘timples’ and you’re as likely to see horses on the roads as cars might seem a ridiculous notion, so why not the other way around? I’m pretty positive that if you told some of the older folk in Benijos, that in PDLA people pay over €7 for a hamburger, they’d run you out of town for being a fanciful fool.

And that is one of the beauties of Tenerife; you can find your Benijos if you want, or you can wallow in the amenities of a modern tourist resort if that’s your preference. Tenerife is nothing if not diverse.

Guest Blogger – Jack M

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From Benijos to Blingville (part 1)

The cloud had descended to just above our heads; so close that it felt if you stretched out an arm it would disappear into grey cotton wool. The man in front of us swayed to the music as he played an imaginary timple; tears rolled down his creased cheeks in response to the emotional ballad booming out over the loudspeakers; his watery eyes already glazed and slightly unfocussed; a consequence of the previous day’s fiesta. A toothless woman in gaily coloured traditional costume cackled (she was, what in bygone days would have been called, an old crone) and flashed a gaping grin at our friend Bryan as she invited him to join her at the fiesta.
Bryan reacted to this a bit like Patsy in the episode of Absolutely Fabulous set in France and scowled at us with an expression which said; ‘Why don’t I have friends who do normal things like go to the beach on a Sunday instead of dragging me to the land that time forgot where the chances are I’ll end up as the meat in the puchero.’

Boy Racer - Benijos Style

We’re used to processions at fiestas on Tenerife running a bit late, but the romería at the tiny hamlet of Benijos in the hills above La Orotava was taking unpunctuality to new levels. Due to start at 3pm, by 5pm townsfolk in traditional costume were still making their way to the romería’s starting point a couple of kilometres along the road. I suspected that the previous days festivities, which our imaginary guitar playing friend slurringly informed us had gone on till 7am, had taken their toll on attempts to stick to any sort of organised timetable. It didn’t matter to the people of Benijos, they were the parade; this was their party and the longer it was drawn out the better. And it didn’t really matter to Andy and me; there were wonderful images all around. Two teenage fiesta queens in tiaras were made up like seventies beauty queens, except instead of gowns they were wearing denims and T-shirts; chavette queens perhaps. A seriously drunken caballero swaying precariously on his thankfully sober steed, Tenerife’s Cat Ballou, sparked a discussion as to whether you could be charged with drunk driving on a horse.

The procession finally got underway around 6pm, but it moved at such an interminably slow pace, the palm

Isn't that Robbie Williams on the right?

frond bedecked floats stopping at every house along the road, that we calculated that it would be 9pm before it reached us. We decided to speed things up by leaving our vantage point and meeting it halfway, dragging a grumbling Bryan “once you’ve seen one harvest float, you’ve seen them all” for whom the slow pace of life in Benijos was rapidly losing its charm.

When we reached the procession Bryan’s mood changed. Whilst I wandered around taking photographs, being stopped by every other person in the procession who shouted “Saque un foto, saque un foto,” (“take a photograph”) buxom matrons bombarded Andy and Bryan with eggs, pork fillets, gofio, chorizo paste montaditos, plastic glasses of country wine and, bizarrely, popcorn. By the time I rejoined them Bryan was beaming.
“This is great,” he mumbled through a mouthful of pork tenderloin; the previous four hours apparently compensated for by the mountain of free food and wine in his arms.

As a fiesta it was a disorganised shambling rough and ready affair, but as always the incredibly friendly and generous Canarios were full of the joie de vivre at doing what they do best – havin’ a party and their enthusiasm was infectious.

Twenty four hours later I might as well have been on the other side of the world as the other side of the island when I went to the biggest event on Tenerife this year; the opening of the island’s spectacular newest tourist attraction, Siam Park in the hills behind Costa Adeje, or is that Playa de Las Américas?

Guest Blogger: Jack M

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Fame at last, well in Manchester anyway

Walking above the clouds on Mount Guajara in Teide National Park

Which of the following statements would you say was false?

Hiking in the Teide National Park:
a) Exercises your heart and lungs
b) Tones up your leg muscles
c) Leaves your mind free to think
d) Is good publicity
e) Provides stunning, surreal scenery

“The answer is d)!” I hear you cry. Wrong. The answer is that all of the above are true. And whilst the story of how we met Chris and Kath Shaw in the National Park is, in itself an amusing story of illusion, its moral is clear: don’t underestimate the power of networking…wherever you are.

The “couple who passed me at speed” in the story turned out to be the proprietors of a successful, UK based PR Agency called Pink Elephant and, once they’d got over their confusion as to how we’d managed to materialise on the path ahead of them, we exchanged website addresses (the modern equivalent of telephone numbers) and promised to stay in touch.
When they made one of their rare holiday visits back to Tenerife we met up with them for dinner at Cha Paula’s in Puerto and chatted about our respective businesses.

Thanks to Pink Elephant, this week’s Wednesday edition of the Manchester Evening News carried a ¾ page spread on Real Tenerife Island Drives, Jack and myself and an article by Leslie Beeson of Tenerife Property Shop on the continuing good sense of investing in Tenerife property in the prevailing UK downturn.

Whilst we haven’t actually seen the page ourselves (there’s a copy winging its way to us from the UK as I speak), we have already been contacted by several friends and former colleagues in the UK all quoting pieces of it back to us and taking the mickey out of my “former pupil of Stockport Convent High School” reference (I can’t think why that should be so amusing) and Jack’s “raised in Rothesay, Isle of Bute” pedigree and generally enthusing about the article.

While we wait with baited breath to assess the economic impact of the piece, it’s certainly got people talking about us, which is rather splendid.

If you’d like to benefit from seeing Pink Elephants, get in touch with Chris and Kath, or keep an eye out for them when you’re hiking in the crater!

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Best Foot Forward, or family fun on a budget in Tenerife

Those blessed with powers of observation will have noticed that there’s been blog silence here for a couple of weeks.

That’s because we’ve had our 19 year old nephew staying with us and he’s 24/7 maintenance. From the moment he drags himself from his pit at the crack of 10 am to his self-imposed curfew at 1 am, the most common phrase to fall from his lips is “What are we doing now?”
In the few short hours that don’t consist of organizing excursions, driving and playing board games there’s the shopping, cooking, cleaning up, washing, and exhausted sleep.

sardines, wine or beer and a bread roll for €3 at Puerto de la Cruz, oh and a live Latino band too

Having spent as much time with us as he has with his parents since he was old enough to toddle next door to our house and ring the doorbell, we were no strangers to the demands of his company and were prepared(ish) with a list of things to do and places to go.

What we were not prepared for was fate giving us the finger by, just a few days into his sojourn, the car’s power steering packing up and leaving us with an astronomical bill and three days without wheels.

Now for someone who loves walking on Tenerife, this shouldn’t be an issue, but for some reason, hiking repeatedly up the hill, along the banana road, along the pavement til it runs out and down past the Botanical Gardens into La Paz and back again in the hot sun very quickly lost its appeal.

Even the little everyday things like running out of drinking water, which is usually cause for no more than a “D’oh” and a short drive to the supermarket, turned into a two hour outing with the nephew moaning about carrying a five litre bottle back.

It’s at times like this that I question the wisdom of living on a golf course in the middle of banana plantations at the foot of the valley.

Having cleaned out every bank account and borrowed to get the car back, the ‘plans’ resumed and Teide National Park was the first place we headed to for a spot of walking in the volcanic crater.

Exploring amazing rock formations in Teide National Park

The nephew started out with bounce in his step and an eagerness to examine every rock underfoot but the decision to climb a small volcanic cone and then run down into its crater…and back again, allowed the altitude to do what it does best and by lunchtime there were moans of “I can’t do any more uphill”.

That night was the town’s annual Sardinada and several hours on foot walking around town, queuing for sardines and watching the Latino band. The following day was ‘Embarkation Tuesday’; an all day on the feet affair without the car as the consumption of beer is a mandatory (oh alright, preferable) component of the day’s events.

Another hike through Las Cañades, a coastal walk to a former pirate fort and several T shirt shopping trips later and the nephew has been safely dispatched back to Blighty leaving Jack and I exhausted, skint and seriously behind with work deadlines.

Grabbing a flag from a greasy pole suspended over the harbour; one of the watery games at Puerto's July Fiestas on Embarkation Tuesday

Then yesterday, worried that he was late for an appointment (in the Canaries that constitutes an oxymoronic statement) Jack sprinted back to the house for some forgotten paperwork and strained a muscle in his calf. The shock and pain of the incident was however alleviated when, on looking up how best to treat it, he discovered that it’s an injury normally associated with athletes …there’s always a silver lining.

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A Step in the Wrong Direction

“D’y think we’ve been walking for more than 15 minutes yet?” asks Jack, re-reading the scant directions in his hand.
“More like 40 minutes” Sue and I agree.
We’d been hiking steadily uphill through the forest and, according to the ‘map’, should have taken a right turn 25 minutes ago.
“Compass!” Jack was like a surgeon calling for a scalpel.
He laid the compass on the map in what, to my mind, was a series of indecipherable, coded movements.
Directions have always been a mystery to me. Maps are a foreign country. I have no in-built compass or sense of direction whatsoever and could, were it not for the landmark of the house, get lost in my own back yard.

“We’re on the wrong path” came the diagnosis, “we need to re-trace our steps and take a left turn”, the prescription.

It was Sue’s second day and first hike with us. We’d been enthusing about this walk ever since she arrived; about the beauty of the Anagas, the difficulty of the terrain, the need to be properly prepared with adequate water supplies, good boots, a hat and of course experienced hiking companions who knew the lay of the land and the language of the forest.

“This way!” shouts Jack, “there are stairs to the path.”
Sue and I had resolved to stop walking until satisfactory evidence that we were on the right path had been brought to our attention.
Having hiked all the way back down the forest trail and taken the allegedly ‘correct’ path to the left, the trail had petered out and Jack had gone on ahead to see if it re-emerged further on.

The ‘stairs’ turned out to be two boulders stepped into the gorse covered slope followed by a series of laddered indents in the sheer rock face of whatever else it was, was not a path.
“Ha! A regular staircase!” said Sue, the sarcasm barely masking her fading confidence in her hiking guides.
“It’s okay, it gets better up here” says Jack “trust me, it’s the right path.”

I wonder how many times in the history of the universe those words “trust me” have come back to haunt whoever uttered them.

We climb the non-existent path for 15 or so sweaty, scratchy minutes, the views opening up around us to reveal a plunging barranco to our right and Tenerife’s equivalent of the north face of the Eiger to our left.
“I really don’t think this is a path” says Sue, the red wheals beginning to raise around her ankles and calves. “Andy, do you think this is a path?” she asks, not unreasonably.
“Well no, I don’t” I have to confess. “On the other hand, in my experience, Jack always gets us back to the path eventually, even though it can be by unorthodox routes.”

“Er, this isn’t right.” Jack eventually concedes that, without the aid of crampons, ropes and harnesses, there’s no way through.

However difficult the uphill trek was, going back down was worse. Sue and I inch our way over the dry dust and loose stones, grabbing handfuls of sharp gorse to steady us as we puff and grunt our way back down the ancient slope.

“Okay, then it has to be this way” Jack’s boots raise a small cloud of dust as he heads off again in the direction of the barranco. Sue and I follow. Ten minutes later, we’re re-tracing our steps again, back up the slope towards what is now becoming a familiar crossroads of goat trails.

A further attempt to reach the far side of the barranco is aborted before finally beginning a desultory return to where the so-called ‘stairs’ had first taken us in what was now indisputably known as the wrong direction and agreement was generally reached that we should have stayed on the original path up through the forest.
Two hours had passed during which we were all pretty much exhausted and we hadn’t moved more than 500 metres away from our starting point of Chamorga.

It now being 1.30 pm and far too late to begin the hike again, we head back to the little church plaza in Chamorga and eat our packed lunch in quiet contemplation; Sue admires the beautiful yellow butterfly that’s flitting through the bamboo…or is it sugar cane? Jack mutters to himself over the map and the words ‘typical’ and ‘mas o menos’ are heard repeatedly; I slip the compass out of the rucksack and into the pocket of my shorts; it seems to me that sometimes a little knowledge can be a dangerous thing.

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