Spending three weeks checking hiking trails and town walking routes across Tenerife resulted in socials algorithms flooding my streams with posts about Tenerife. Some reminded me of another reason I was happy to stop writing about the island after we left. Countering the volume of nonsense written (in English) is akin to Canute attempting to hold back the tide.
Traditional Tenerife in Garachico.
There’s much to absorb from our visit; a lot of work to be done to update our guides. We witnessed some changes since the last time we were there. Most for the better, a couple for the worse, albeit possibly temporarily. Fundamentally, traditional parts of the island hadn’t changed. It remained the place which charmed and occasionally infuriated us for fourteen years. Sipping a café americano in La Villa Centro Comercial in La Orotava, it could have been a week earlier that we left instead of years. It all felt reassuringly familiar, as did many of those little experiences which provide an insight into the quirks of life in the real Tenerife.
Driving the Tenerife way
The first time we negotiated a roundabout, Andy headed into the inside lane before being subjected to a cacophony of horns as she attempted to move back to the outside lane to exit. Long before we left, adverts on TV showed islanders the correct way to use roundabouts. It’s still not happening. It was the first and last time either of us ventured into that redundant inside lane. This refresher in Tenerife driving rules was quickly followed by reminders that indicators are used to tell other drivers to slow down rather than as notification of an intent to turn, and pedestrian crossings and any sections of road with white markings are okay to park on. One which made me smile was the car park in Playa San Juan, where a sign at the entrance clearly stated ‘no camper vans.’ At the weekend, we couldn’t get into it as it was full of, you guessed it, camper vans.
Driving the TF5, with a sensational view thrown in for good measure.
Titsa tales
Titsa is Tenerife’s public bus service. Buses are known as guaguas (wahwahs), a sweet little quirk in itself. This visit was the first time we’d caught a guagua from one of the stops along the TF5 autopista. These stops are located beside the motorway, on slip roads in some instances. At La Quinta, the bus stop is on an island between slip roads from and to the TF5. There is no pedestrian crossing to reach it. Passengers risk life and limb just getting to the stop. Once there, press a button and a sign lights up on the motorway to let drivers know to stop. However, if the bus is full, they sail past. On one journey, there was a medical emergency at one of these stops. Our driver, immaculately made up and Hollywood cool in her mirror sunglasses, stopped the bus, jumped off, and attended to a man who’d collapsed, leaving her passengers for twenty minutes until she’d dealt with the emergency before resuming her journey, still looking as cool as a particularly cool cucumber.
The bus stop at La Quinta.
Canarian approach to hiking
When there are Canarios on a trail, you can hear them coming from way off. They chat incessantly. It’s useful when a toilet break is essential. You know there’s plenty of time for a quick wee if you can’t hear them. We climbed from El Palmar to Los Bailaderos, pausing at the church there for the hikers’ staple of a ham and cheese sarnie. Just behind were a group of Canarian hikers who also took up residence in the church’s small plaza. Their approach to lunch was vastly different. One woman lit a cigarette, then produced a couple of bottles of wine which she passed around the group (no cups). It reminded me of a rural hotel owner on La Gomera who told us he’d hike into the mountains, find a nice spot, down a bottle of wine with lunch, snooze it off, then hike back home. It’s a far more civilised approach to hiking.
Canarian hikers at Los Bailaderos.
Not a barraquito
Heading a tick list of things to eat and drink on Tenerife was the island’s speciality coffee, the barraquito, a layered combination of condensed milk, Licor 43, espresso, frothed milk, cinnamon, and a twist of lemon peel. In the south, ordering is relatively simple, although it’s worth asking for a ‘barraquito con’ or ‘especial’ to ensure it includes Licor 43. Move north and things become more complicated. We knew some places call it a zaperoco, but we’ve always asked for a barraquito con. In La Quinta, we were told off (in a nice way) and informed what we really wanted was a zaperoco. The café in La Villa Centro Comercial backed this up, its menu confirming zaperoco has Licor 43 whereas barraquito doesn’t. Next time we ordered one, we ‘went native’ and asked for a zaperoco at a café in La Laguna. It arrived without any alcohol in it. Go figure.
These are zaperocos – spot the difference.
WTF
There are two ways to walk from La Quinta to the centre of Santa Úrsula. One is the route cars have to take, the other is a pedestrian footbridge, the quickest way to reach supermarkets, shops, bars, and restaurants. The approach to the footbridge is completely unlit. In some locations, it would be a muggers’ paradise. As we approached the footbridge, I registered a car parked facing the bridge with its headlights on. I didn’t really take any notice until Andy uttered a flustered ‘Disculpe!’ (sorry). I turned to see a woman, her bare backside lit up, pulling up her pants. She laughed, replying ‘No pasa nada’ (don’t worry). I’m baffled as to what she was doing. If she was caught short, why not use the bushes on either side of the car instead of squatting between the headlights, lit up as if she were on a stage, performing for anyone coming across the bridge?
I used to say that whenever we left our house in the north of Tenerife, we’d encounter something odd/quirky. It’s reassuring to see things haven’t changed.
