Sunday was the last day to participate in the Puerto de la Cruz Ruta de Tapas and we’d only managed to try three restaurants and six tapas so far. This was our last chance to notch up a few more.

Seafood kebab with gazpacho

We began at La Clave on Calle Puerto Viejo. A stylish Galician restaurant with tables and chairs outside and a New York-style counter inside, we’d wanted to eat here ever since it opened and the tapas route was the perfect opportunity.
We ordered our ‘one of each’ tapas and sat back with the accompanying glass of beer to study the route and see where we wanted to go next.

The food arrived; black rice with cuttlefish and ali-oli; and seafood kebab with gazpacho, all beautifully presented on plain white crockery. The seafood kebab was cooked to perfection, the gazpacho was just okay (but that’s more to do with the fact that I’m not overly keen on gazpacho) and the black rice was delicious. In the time we were there, four more tables became occupied by tapas routers clutching their blue ‘passports’ in their hands.

We’d realised that several of the participating restaurants were only serving up until 3pm and so time became a factor both in our choice of venue and in the time we could afford to linger over each stop. So, leaving a five Euro note on the counter, we downed our beers and headed to the next stop.

Cuttlefish and seafood tempura, or Tiger, Tiger!

At the top of the harbour with tables and chairs laid out on the opposite pavement is Bar-Restaurant Oregón.
Within minutes, the elegant glasses of beer had arrived and the tapas was on its way. Lying on top of a crusty piece of brocheta and striped with orange and black sauce so that it looked like tiger kebab, was a crispy cuttlefish, seafood and vegetable tempura. The sauces were mojo rojo and soy sauce and the barbecued smokey flavour of the tempura combined with the sauces was fantastic.

By now I’d noticed a couple of things; firstly I recognised several of the people who’d been at La Clave so there was a small band of us doing this food crawl, and secondly, I was beginning to feel tipsy.
The clock was ticking and we still hadn’t decided which restaurant to make our third and final so once again, a fiver was placed on the table, our passports were stamped, we downed our beers and off we went.

Mushroom hat

It was between Restaurant La Guapa which was offering stuffed calamari and stuffed peppers or Restaurant Maga which had a seafood filled shell and a mushroom hat on offer. We opted for Maga on the grounds that we’d never eaten there. When we arrived, the tables were empty, but within minutes other tapas crawlers had arrived and the terrace was buzzing.

It turned out to have been the right choice because the mushroom hat was excellent but the seafood filled shell, although small, was a real taste sensation.

Passports stamped and appetites sated we relaxed with our beers while we deliberated over which restaurant to vote for. Over the past two weekends we’ve tried eleven tapas in six restaurants and we haven’t been disappointed with any.
Eleven beers later I can honestly say  – what a brilliant way to try restaurants and food – Puerto should do this every month – hic.

As usual, time was way ahead of schedule leaving us breathless in its wake.
Trying to herd visitors through the streets of Puerto de la Cruz on a Saturday night when there’s so much to see, was proving a difficult task. We’d been told that if we didn’t get to the Majestic before about 9.15pm we’d be hard pressed to get a seat and now a puppet show outside the church was threatening to keep us late.

We finally climbed down the steps into The Majestic at 9.35pm and made a bee line for an empty table slightly behind the mixing desk.
First thoughts on perusing the room were that we’d wandered into a Saga outing. Most of the tables were occupied by a mix of British ex-Pats and holidaymakers, most if not all of retirement age and beyond. I was beginning to wander if this might have been a mistake but I couldn’t see bingo cards anywhere and anyway, we’d already given our order to the ‘personality’ waiter who was mincing about the place like Alan Cumming on speed.

Nicely set up with our drinks in our comfy seats and an only slightly impaired view of the stage for me, the evening began with a short quiz to identify world airline logos and then it was time for the house lights to go down and the footlights to come on.
For the first half of the show Bitter and Twisted (John Sharples and Barry Pugh) took us on a simulated flight around the comedy world of airline attendants which included free peanuts for all (none of that no-frills nonsense on Majestic Airlines), several stunning costume changes and multi-lingual, word-perfect miming.

After the interval the regular Bitter and Twisted Show got into its routine with a level of professionalism and hilarity that has us all howling with laughter and wiping the tears from our eyes. Particularly memorable were the Miss America and Amy Winehouse sketches but the icing on the cake was the uproarious rendition of It Should Have Been Me which is one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen.

In between shows there was banter with the audience, a raffle and a live rehearsal by John of a new song entitled Saturday Cowboys, a beautiful reminisce about a boy’s obsession with the movies before the age of video and the Internet. I was very tempted to go back the following night to see its inclusion in the show.

There’s no charge to get into the Majestic; drinks are amazingly good value; the atmosphere is friendly and fun, and Bitter & Twisted are quite simply fabulous.
We couldn’t believe it when we looked at the time and it was 1.30am. The entire evening had passed in a whirl of laughter, false eyelashes, sequins and wondering if the waiter would make it through the night without a visit to the Coronary Unit.
I can’t recommend it highly enough. Go!

The Majestic is on Calle Cardogan (off Calle Valoise) in Puerto de la Cruz and the Bitter and Twisted Show is on Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday nights from 8pm.

It was one of those perfectly fortuitous sets of circumstances that very rarely come your way.
The Tenerife Espacio de las Artes (TEA) in Santa Cruz were screening Quentin Tarantino’s Inglourious Basterds in its original language at 7pm and we were collecting Jo from Santa Cruz bus station at around 9.30/10pm. So we were off to the movies and would be out in perfect time to meet Jo.

We arrived at TEA a tad on the tardy side and most of the seats in the small auditorium were already taken leaving just the neck breaking first 3 rows.
There were no frills – after all the TEA were screening the movie free of charge in celebration of their first anniversary – no popcorn or ice cream and no trailers. The lights went down and we were straight into the action.

It’s a laudable feature of the film that everyone speaks in their own language which means that much of the dialogue is in French, German and English with a soupçon of Italian thrown in for good measure. With all the subtitles in Spanish, it was proving to be quite an exercise in understanding and gave rise to a sort of Mexican Wave effect when it came to laughs. So, for example, when the dialogue was in English, the Brits would be laughing while the rest of the audience were still reading the subtitles. The same happened for the Germans and the French with the biggest laugh wave always coming from the Spanish for whom the whole movie was in subtitles.  It was a weird and wonderful feeling of being European and sharing a cinema with other Europeans – a camaraderie of multi lingual communication that felt warm and inclusive.

At a fairly critical point in the movie, the mobile started to intone its jaunty you have mail jingle and Jack nervously slid it from his pocket, trying desperately to muffle it with his hands, before finally remembering how to switch it off, which it did with another jaunty see ya later jingle. Interestingly, the Spanish don’t say shush or hush, they give a cross between a tut and a hiss that comes out like bursts of air escaping from a punctured tyre and is very effective at deflating a sense of camaraderie.

The curtain fell to spontaneous applause shortly after 9.30 pm and Jack switched the mobile back on to a series of text-received jingles.
It would seem that Jo’s flight had landed early so she’d decided to get the earlier bus and had been sitting in a bar in Puerto de la Cruz since 9.15 pm. It was now 9.40 pm and Jack and I were in Santa Cruz.

Quentin Tarantino can re-write history, present it to audiences in four different languages and make us all feel part of an inclusive society.
Jack, Jo and I rarely manage even the simplest of arrangements effectively, despite a shared first language and fortuitous circumstances

It’s a big week for Tenerife. It seems our little island in the sun is making headline web news, some of it exciting and some of it, well…embarrassing.

There’s been a buzz about the place over Google’s launch of its new street map which enables you to see places up close and personal. It’s a fabulous little toy and extremely useful if you want to check out directions to a place or get a look at your holiday accommodation before you book or just show friends who haven’t visited what your house looks like.
But it seems that the Google camera vans have also been capturing some rather unexpected ‘extras’ on their exploration and one of them has apparently made it to viral status all over the world. The offending extra is a man seen quite clearly having a pee up the side of a rubbish dumpster at the back of Las Teresitas beach in Santa Cruz.

What struck me most about the captured incident (apart obviously from the central character) was how ugly the particular spot looked with its shitty graffiti and barren scrubland. Hardly representative of the beauty of Las Teresitas. But there you are, sod’s law, Tenerife gets International fame in a shot that equates to a very bad hair day indeed.

However, yin and yang being what they are, this week has also seen the preview release of Warner Brothers’ hotly awaited blockbuster ‘Clash of the Titans’ which is scheduled to hit screens in the first half of 2010. And guess what…Tenerife looks AMAZING! The scenes in the crater are spectacular, as indeed is the forest scene with the sea of clouds beyond the precipice which I’m guessing was shot at Las Raices.

My money’s on Tenerife soon becoming known as ‘the place where they shot Clash of the Titans’ and I predict a glut of film-makers following suit and huge offshoots in tourism. Well take a look for yourself and tell me if you wouldn’t want to visit this incredible landscape?

Incidentally, if anyone has any insider info’ on where exactly scenes were shot (other than the crater – we’ve already got that one, ta) I’d be very pleased to hear from you…strictly on the QT of course!

I guess we can expect a lot of births in early August 2010 then...

Heading into Puerto de la Cruz last night, we arrived at San Telmo to be stopped in our tracks by the sight of the moon. Larger than a Star Trek holodeck creation, it hung over the horizon in the perfectly still, cloudless night casting its luminous glow over the La Orotava Valley and the Ocean.
It was a magical sight and one that gave me a warm inner glow and made me realise once again how lucky we are to be living in such a beautiful place.

When we got to the bar, I asked a young Venezuelan friend if he and his girlfriend had seen the huge, romantic moon outside. He said he hadn’t and, glancing sideways at his lovely chica and looking decidedly worried, he whispered that such a big moon often led to pregnancy and he made a beach ball motion over his stomach just to emphasise his point.

And there was me thinking it was just mad dogs and werewolves …

It's hard to beat starting your day with a sight like this.

We were just admiring the magnificent view of Mount Teide from the putting green outside our gate this morning when José and Glenn came wandering past. There followed a short conversation during which each showed due deference to the other’s native tongue.  So Glenn, Jack and I spoke in Spanish and José answered in English.

It made me smile.

The conversation ended with us all  agreeing that we were living “en paraíso”.

And indeed we are.

Look hard and imagine yourself here, then follow the link and make it happen!

There’s nothing quite like nights drawing in to bring home the fact that you’re in for a long, cold winter during which any semblance of a sun tan carried over from the summer hols will fade inexorably to milky white dotted with goose pimples and a vaguely blue aura.
But the new season also brings some very good news.

Last week we launched Tenerife Magazine, a brand new online magazine, Tenerife’s first in fact, and to celebrate, the nice people from Sands Beach Resort in Lanzarote have placed an unbelievably wonderful offer on the table that could have you digging the suntan lotion back out of the bathroom cabinet before it’s had a chance to gather dust.

Not only do you get a bright, interesting magazine full of Tenerife features, sports and events, but you also get the chance to win a free week at a stunning resort on the neighbouring island of Lanzarote.
.
All you have to do is become a fan of Tenerife Magazine on Facebook and your name will automatically go into a draw for a week’s FREE accommodation at Sands Beach Resort.
Could it possibly be any easier?

If you’ve never been to Lanzarote you can only imagine the peace and tranquillity of Costa Teguise with its neat, white buildings, sweeping golden shoreline and lush palm trees wafting lazily against an impossibly blue sky.
At Sands Resort, all the villas border picturesque swimming pool plazas or hem the soft sand beach of the private lagoon so that the minute you leave your villa, you’re in sunbathing paradise.

With the draw being made at the end of November, you could soon be dreaming of a Golden New Year to go along with your White Christmas.

So what are you waiting for? Delve into the thoughts of Tenerife’s premier writers and win yourself a week in the sun at the same time. Luvly jubbly.

Last week we had a meeting in the south of the island at 10am and not being sure how bad the morning traffic into Santa Cruz would be, we decided to set off by 8am. It’s a journey that would normally take us just over an hour so we were erring on the generous side.
At 7am I leapt out of bed and went into the kitchen to put the coffee on. Through my sleepy haze I could see a dozen or more ants running around the draining board. Raising my eyes I noticed a thin black highway of ants running up and down the wall above the sink and slowly, as I scanned the worktop I saw the thin line running to and from the old plastic container in which we keep peelings and egg shells that are destined for the compost heap.

The night before, I’d taken some eggs out of the fridge to make an omelette and had just slightly knocked one against the other (well you know what they say about making an omelette without breaking eggs). When I looked down, there was a small hole in one but as I couldn’t be absolutely certain that it had only appeared that instant, I didn’t take any chances and put it in with the compost peelings. Clearly, I had inadvertently given the local ant population a midnight feast.

View of Los Cristianos from Montaña Guaza

Immediate action was called for. The ants were ‘tapped’ back up the wall until we could see where they were coming from and then rounded up from all over the worktops and herded back whence they’d come before spraying the wall with ant spray (sorry environment – short on time). We were planning to hike up Montaña Guaza after the meeting and so had to make up sandwiches, pack clothes to change into, hiking shoes and water into the rucksack. Not to mention, have some breakfast.
By 7.30am we were still in our dressing gowns and hadn’t even drunk our coffee.

Half a headless chicken hour later and feeling like we’d already put a full day in, we were driving at a nifty pace up the motorway until we rounded the corner just shy of Santa Úrsula (about 8 km into the journey) and ground to a halt. For the next 45 minutes we watched the clock race and the speedo’ crawl until we finally reached the Tacoronte turn off and took the exit. We crossed the bridge and headed back on the westbound carriageway.
An hour after we’d set off, we were back at the Puerto turn off and heading towards Icod to take the shorter, but considerable slower route over the mountain to the west coast.

It seemed like just about every other vehicle had developed a top speed of 15 kilometres an hour, causing much high blood pressure and an inordinate amount of swearing. Eventually we arrived at the southern end of the motorway and picked up speed, only to grind to a halt once more in the rush hour traffic heading into the south from the west side of the island.

We finally arrived in Los Cristianos at 10.50 am, the perfect time to not find a parking spot. A brisk ten minute walk later, we arrived at our meeting, 3 hours after we’d set off.

Meeting over, we drove out to Montaña Guaza and parked up. A quick change of clothes, a swiftly swallowed butty,

A barren landscape

some slapped on sun cream and off we set. We knew we were in for about a three hour hike so Jack set the pace like a greyhound out of the traps. All was going well until the directions we were following told us to ignore the path straight ahead and detour off into the barren, arid wasteland whose only identifying features were a grid of trails leading in every direction, none of them reflecting the instructions in the book.

After going miles out of our way, we finally tracked back to the path we’d left in the first place but by then the humidity and greyhound pace had sent me into light headed land from which I could not escape. No amount of ‘head between the knees’ would banish my near faint and I had to concede that I wasn’t going any further.

We got back home at around 6.30pm to find several ants on the worktop where they’d presumably spent the day running around, directionless and thwarted at every turn. I knew just how they felt.

Some days the Gods are just not with you.

We were hiking in the Chinyero Reserve on Tuesday and when we finished

Almond blossom in the Santiago del Teide valley in late January

we headed to the Las Fleytas bar and restaurant for our customary post-hike beer. The restaurant has a deservedly good reputation for tasty, plentiful food and is also known for its almond cakes.
With Richard and Nikki (and of course Basil, the Tenerife Dogs spokesman) as hiking companions, I thought introducing them to ‘almendras’ would be the perfect excuse for me to finally get to try one.

We ordered our beers and I hesitantly asked if the barman had ‘almendras’ as I wasn’t sure if that was what they were called.
He shook his head and said he didn’t have any.
Disappointed but now having the ‘taste’ for something sweet in our heads, Jack was despatched inside to see what they had that would serve as an adequate substitute. He re-emerged moments later with a broad grin on his face and a plate containing four large, circular almond cakes.

He later told me that the barman had said that they never have almendras for sale and when Jack had pointed to the cakes in the glass food cabinet under the bar and asked, “So what are these?” the guy had said, “They’re almendras”, before adding, “Oh! You meant you wanted these?”
Jack’s raised eyebrow must have been a recognisable clue because he then realised what he’d said and tagged on “almendras dulces” to the order.

I have to say, looking at the large, flat, biscuits I was very disappointed. I had expected soft, moist sponge with an almond essence and I dunno, maybe even the slightest hint of vanilla icing on top, or desiccated coconut maybe.
As it was, Basil got an unexpected few lumps of biscuit.

For biscuit lovers, it was probably perfectly nice. But for a cake lover, it was definitely a disappointment and a complete misnomer if you ask me.

Ever expanding developments on the coast and abandoned terraces in the hills.

Hiking in the hills above the south coast last weekend, the landscape was dominated by dried up terraces overgrown with brown weeds where only the lethal leaves of giant Agave plants punctuated the arid monotony.
A derelict farmhouse told its own story. Set into a hidden valley with the mountains at its back and the Atlantic Ocean laid out at its feet, its once crop-rich lands were today in ruins, a back-breaking life of toiling terraces long since abandoned in favour of the easier and more lucrative option of providing shelter, food and drink to sun-hungry tourists on the coast below.
You could see the attraction. Up here the earth was baked, the only rainfall coming from dense low cloud and the rarest of winter downpours. Just negotiating its contours on foot brought on a sweat, I could only imagine how hard it must have been to plough, sow, weed and harvest the unyielding earth.

Bordering the ocean on the coastline below, the developments of the last fifty years spread ever further westwards, closing gaps between resorts and swallowing small fishing hamlets into their hungry jaws. Down there the terrain was just as barren as up here but everywhere it was dotted with the green swathes of a golf course here and a banana plantation or a hotel garden there.
Despite the distance, I could hear the amplified instructions of an aqua aerobics instructor and imagined her class in their five star swimming pool, unaware that life even existed in the mountains that provided their holiday backdrop.

Further along the road there was a picnic laid out on long trestle tables and forty or fifty hunters were gathered. In all probability they lived quite locally, spent their working days serving in the hotels, bars, restaurants, shops and banks at the coast below and retreated up here at the weekend to don their hunting clothes and get back in touch with a way of life which seems mostly to have been lost. Apart from one or two notable exceptions, these guys all had huge bellies overhanging the waistband of their camouflage pants and were smoking big, fat cigars as they wandered the two strides distance they had left between their parked 4×4s and the tables containing their generous lunches.

I couldn’t help wondering if anyone had done research into the life expectancy of the Canarios over the last fifty years. I wouldn’t mind betting that, for all its severity and deprivation, the old way of life would have kept their grand parents a whole lot healthier than many of their descendants are today. It would have kept their hills a lot greener too.