Our last two island ports of call were Tenerife and Lanzarote. Having had a fine tour of Tenerife by car last time we were there, we decided instead to explore the town a little on foot. We legged it along to the auditorium, which is a pretty striking piece of work, set, like its antipodean inspiration, on a little promontory on the seafront. Curiously, the rocks to the side of the terrace are decorated with portraits of artists and composers, including Beethoven and - who else? - Elton John. From there we ambled up the hill to the huge local branch of El Corte Inglés. I forgot to bring a coat with me, and having bought a parka in the ECI in Madrid in 1979, thought I’d give it a try. (The parka was fine on the 1979 frame, but has failed to adapt with the times. It still fits Martyn, though!). If the parka has not moved with the times, prices sure have! I remain coatless.
From there we took a tram into town and walked a little. Like its neighbour, Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, Sta Cruz de Tenerife is an unprepossessing town. It has some grandiose architecture here and there, but is otherwise pretty boring in that respect, and the industrial docks add little to the attractiveness of the waterfront, but the snaggly mountain backdrop is impressive. Don’t write Tenerife off, though: if you scroll back to this time last year, you’ll see how enthusiastic we were about the Teide National park and the views from high up, looking towards the shore and the neighbouring islands.
Lanzarote was equally impressive. Eventually. We had booked a car, and were a shade alarmed when the ship moored on the other side of the docks from where we’d expected to find the car hire joint. On looking out from our mooring, hoewever, I could see a few dozen late-model cars, all in the car rental livery of black, white or metallic grey, or combinations thereof. Of car rental staff, however, not a sniff. Telephone calls got unobtainable or busy signals. One of the excursion drivers thought they’d send a mobile office. 09:00 came and went, unlike any mobile office, so we sat and waited, assuming that a Sunday in Lanzarote entailed relaxed opening schedules. When 09:30 had bin and went, we asked someone else, who advised us to enquire at the tourist office at the Marina. A longish walk later, we found the tourist office, complete with a car rental desk, albeit unattended. ‘Oh, I expect he’s gone for a coffee’.
Well, soon we’d got our slightly beat-up car, and about an hour a half late, we were on our way. We drove pretty much the length of the island, and found the interior every bit as lunar as they say. Though arid and largely black, the volcanic landscape is a vast palette of browns, ranging from sandy to almost crimson. Lanzarote gets little rain, so agriculture relies on planting in thousands of little craters that concentrate any moisture that occurs. Many of them are surrounded or edged by little dry stone walls, and we read that the island produces wine, tomatoes and quite a range of other fruit and veg. Agaves grow quite abundantly in places, and there is a significant aloe vera industry, though much of the island supports little or no vegetation.
We had a sandwich per man at the Mirador del Rio, which offers fantastic views of La Graciosa and the islets beyond. The viewpoint is on a slight overhang at the top of a vertical cliff, so one doesn’t linger too long on the edge. Fortunately, there wasn’t a breath of wind.
[Memo for petrol heads: the car was an Opel Mokka with a gutsy little turbo petrol engine and a six-speed automatic box. The tall build allowed it to roll a bit (not quite to 2CV levels), and the short wheelbase gave it a choppy ride. Reversing, given the lousy rearward visibility, called for luck, divine guidance or a man with a red flag. We were lucky.]
On Monday we were awakened by the sound of Martyn’s water glass sliding off the bedside table: we are sailing into a hefty swell again, and the increasing wind is whipping up some white caps. Attendance at breakfast seemed healthy enough, though!
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