Now I Understand Denbah Bah, Memories of The Gambia

We met Denbah Bah on a beach in The Gambia after we’d decided to go for a romantic stroll along the soft sand in the moonlight.

Denbah was a police officer assigned to ensuring that dozy tourists didn’t get themselves into trouble…whilst walking along a beach in Africa in the dark no doubt.

On a balmy night under a glittering African sky we wore light clothes whilst Denbah was wrapped up as if he were on ski training in Finland…in winter.
“Because it’s cold,” he answered when we asked about the need for a khaki cagoule and long trousers.
We told him that if he felt the cold in those tropical surroundings, he’d die if he ever visited Britain.

We struck up a friendship with Denbah over the next couple of days and he invited us to travel with him to his home in a village inland whose name I can’t remember – if I ever knew it in the first place.

First stop was the village shop. Coarse sacks of rice acted as surprisingly comfortable chairs as we were introduced to the shopkeeper and Denbah’s younger brother. The shopkeeper’s hospitality threw up an awkward moment as he brought us water to drink in brightly coloured, scratched Tupperware bowls.
Water from an unknown source in Africa, do you drink or not? Being British there was only one answer; the risk of causing offence is worse than the risk of catching some tropical disease.

After the shop Denbah took us to his home and en route told us about the scourge of Africa, green tea, which he made sound as though it some narcotic qualities which rotted the brain and made you sloth-like.

His small home was filled to bursting with family and friends, no doubt curious to see the two naïve tourists dressed in clothes more suited to a Greek beach.
As we sat and chatted, tiny hand after tiny hand reached through a curtain that acted as a door to the back of the small house and stroked my leg.

“They’ve never seen a white person before,” Denbah explained. “And your leg is so hairy. It feels funny to them.”

The children queuing outside to take turns in touching my alien body giggled.

Then it was Andy’s turn to be the object of attention.

“What age are you?” Denbah asked in an openly direct manner that made Andy squirm and me laugh.

“My God,” he exclaimed when Andy told him…after making seasonal adjustments of course (clearly I’m being a gentleman here and not saying). “But your skin is still like a young chicken.”

I guess he meant it as a compliment.

Anyway we had a fascinating and unforgettable day, including getting caught up in a jail break, and I could ramble on about it forever. But there’s a reason why Denbah Bah popped into my head.

Last night whilst talking on the phone to my mum in Scotland last night she asked what the weather was like.
“Not so great,” I told her. “It’s just started chucking it down. It was sunny most of the day but the temperatures have dropped to around 22C. So it’s a bit cool.”

“Twenty two degrees, twenty two degrees,” she laughed. “You think that’s cool?”

At that point I realised that sometime over the last seven years I’d become Denbah Bah. Anything under 24/25C feels on the fresh side to me.

If I ever have to return to Britain outside of summer, and maybe even during, I’m going to die.

Sunday on Tenerife – From rising snow lines to plunging necklines

Whatever happened to lazy Sunday afternoon? There hardly seemed a second yesterday when we weren’t rushing from one place to the next. Actually rushing anywhere on a Sunday is clearly an inaccurate statement as the Tinerfeños take to the roads by the town load and despite what anyone will try to tell you about locals driving like madmen on the roads (motorways apart), on the country roads most drive at the pace of a snail…with a bad limp.

Is this really Tenerife?

First stop was Las Cañadas del Teide to see what last week’s snowfall had done to the lunar landscape. It turned out that everyone else (well everyone who wasn’t escaping cold, grim snow covered northern Europe for Tenerife’s beaches) had the same idea.

It was party time in the crater and the road was full of locals parking wherever there was a hint of a space, irrespective of how much their car was blocking the road, turning the crater road into a single lane affair. Huge picnics were unpacked from the back of 4x4s as well as body boards, inflatable beds, sun visors and black plastic bags…anything in fact that could be turned into a makeshift sled. Sledging down a mountain probably isn’t an activity most people would associate with Tenerife.

We would have stayed longer except that the mighty diablos rojos were playing at 16.00, so our trip to winter wonderland was cut short and we headed back down through scenery that seemed more Alpine-esque than Canarian to watch Giggsy roll back the years and score an absolute corker of a goal which sent us back to the top of the Premiership.

Gladrags, but no handbags in 'glamorous' Puerto de la Cruz

We barely had time to get home and make and eat dinner before we headed back into town to watch the presentation of the candidates for this year’s Carnaval Queen beauty contest. The theme for the Puerto de la Cruz Carnaval this year is ‘Africa, Land of Tribes’ and after an opener of some authentic African dancing the show strayed into ‘Black and White Minstrels’ territory (it was always on the cards) before the candidates for infant Carnaval Queen and then the adults were ‘exposed’.

The adult girl’s dresses ranged from the exquisitely elegant to the borderline trampy (okay I’m being generous here…the dress had crossed the border and was deep into red light territory); there were creations where necklines plunged to almost meet hemlines; there were backless numbers…God, there were even nearly frontless ones. It will come as no surprise when I tell you that it was a well attended event. Luckily for the girls the weather was kind to them. Had the event been held last week, there would have been an impressive display of goose pimples on show, but it was a beautifully mild night, so no quivering bosoms (damn).

We didn’t stay till the end; these events can drag on a bit, but the one and a half hours we did stay was a reminder that the organised Carnaval events involve a hell of a lot of standing around. The fact that my legs were aching and my back was stiff after a relatively short time also told me something…Carnaval is less than two weeks away and I’m nowhere near match fit.

The first signs of Xmas on Tenerife

I hadn’t been looking forward to it, but with the first rains due any day now, the time for procrastination was long over. The orchid tree had become an unruly mess and was sprawling over the herb patch menacingly like a schoolyard bully. It’s not the sawing and chopping that puts me off, in fact I love the whole ‘Tool Time Tim’ element.  It’s the getting rid of the disaster area debris afterwards that adds a real comatose inducing aspect to it.

Every branch has to be cut into manageable pieces with a pair of secateurs and put into garden refuse bags; a painfully long process which leaves me with blisters and aching hands. On the brighter side, it does give a much needed boost to the woodpile. Even here at a 100 metres or so altitude, there’s a noticeable difference in temperature from the coast and during December to March, evenings can be on the cool side; a good excuse to fire up the wood burning stove.

I’d been going at it for a couple of hours, the pile of branches stubbornly refusing to diminish. My motivation, like the strength in my hands, was on the point of taking a vacation when a loud squawking in the distance told me that a flock of parrots were heading my way. I never tire of seeing parrots, so it was the perfect excuse to down tools for a few seconds to watch their multicoloured fly-past. This time there were six of them; large lime green ones heading for the hills, no doubt escapees from Loro Parque (a zoo on the other side of Puerto de la Cruz).

Brief interlude over, I picked up the secateurs and with a deep sigh turned to face the chest high pile of branches again to find that I had another avian visitor, a more unexpected one. Sitting on the branches, just a few inches away was a robin with the most vivid red breast. An incongruous vision in the warm sunshine on an island near the coast of Africa. But then, the festive season is just around the corner. Already Christmas lights are starting to spring up around the town. There’s chestnuts roasting on open braziers beside the harbour for the fiesta of San Andrés, so why not a robin in our garden. All that we need now is for it to snow on the volcano (usually happens toward the end of November) to complete the picture. And if I ever finish getting rid of those damn orchid branches that’ll be the Yule time log on the Christmas cake. Chestnuts, robins, snow on Mount Teide and a roaring fire – and it’s warm during the day. You just couldn’t have a more perfect combination.