Can You Stand the Heat in Tenerife’s Cooler North? The July Fiestas

There are two days in the year that I could tell you what the weather is going to be like in Puerto de la Cruz way in advance. The first is Midsummer’s Eve (always cloudy) and the second is embarkation Tuesday.

For every year we’ve been here, the day that the Virgen del Carmen is taken on her annual sea cruise during the July fiestas has always been a sizzler. In fact a sizzler is an understatement.

It’s usually hallucination levels hot and yesterday was no exception. Ironically the hot weather alert had been lifted yesterday, but nobody told the sun which battered us with searing rays as we plunged into the madness a.k.a embarkation Tuesday during the July fiestas in Puerto de la Cruz.

The smart thing to do at the July fiestas is to travel light, wear as little as possible and cool down in the harbour water as often as possible – early on though; the water which is turquoise in the morning is dishwater brown by 5pm.

We’re suckers for good natured mayhem and embarkation Tuesday is a perfect example of this. It is wet, wild and frantic fun and to get a real feel of what the day is all about it’s essential to embark on a fiesta circuit – from the harbour to Plaza Charco to the water pistol killing fields of Calle Perdomo and then to the open air rave and then harbourside where people are thrown into the water with little disregard for what they are wearing (only the younger people luckily – one thing I’m glad I’m too old for). A loud thumping soundtrack accompanies the route with Latino changing to dance changing to traditional Canarian.

If you’ve ever been to India, it’s akin to the assault on the senses that you experience in cities such as Mumbai, except in Puerto you can add the sensation of touch as nobody, but nobody escapes the attention of the water pistol gunslingers (note: – they have to hang up their guns to use the public loos)

For eight hours Andy and I completed circuits to soak up literally everything that was happening and stopping off for refreshments (beer, beer and more beer) when the heat demanded it. Sit too long in one place at the fiesta and someone with a WPMD (water pistol of mass destruction) will notice that you’re too dry and rectify the situation, so street food taken on the move is the only way to eat.  At various times, whilst we watched each other’s backs for water bandits we stopped for  best pinchos I’ve tasted in Puerto served at one of the kiosks beside the harbour; pumped up the sugar levels with some fresh and crispy churros and carbed up with cheeseburger and chips.

By the time the Virgen del Carmen was due to make an appearance, the town resembled a battlefield and being in the heat for hours was taking its toll on some.

Every year by this time I’m so hot, sweaty and exhausted that I think ‘stuff it, I’ve got enough photos of the Virgen, I don’t have the energy to stand and battle with tiny Canarian grannies for a good position’. And then, just when she’s due, mas o menos (that means an hour beforehand) we spot a space with our name on it. From then on we re-enact our annual battle with Canarian families who magically grow in numbers magically seconds before the San Telmo and the Virgen appears and are bundled onto their waiting boats as the townspeople sing, clap and cheer with heartfelt emotion.

It’s an exhausting day, but it’s an experience which tells you all you need to know about the sense of community that exists in the traditional towns on Tenerife. It might be boisterous and loud and overwhelming (and not everyone’s scene), but it is compelling fun.

Having A Gay Old Time in Puerto de la Cruz – Tentación 2009

Yesterday saw the end of Tentación 2009, the gay, lesbian, transsexual and bisexual week in Puerto de la Cruz.

There had been a number of events over last week including ‘Pink Fiestas’ ‘White Nights’ the ‘Day of the Nudist’ (which took place behind closed doors, so god knows what went on there).

The week was rounded off by a Gay Pride Parade which livened up Avenida Familia Betancourt with rainbow cloured flags, 1970s glamour girl haircuts, and pouting beauty queens in dresses with plunging necklines and thigh exposing splits… the women in the parade seemed dull by comparison. Actually that’s not strictly true, but they were overshadowed, or even over eye-shadowed.

Here are a few shots from the day.

Ticker Tape Start to the Parade

Wasn't this Guy in Live and Let Die?

Maybe a Smile Would Crack the Make-up

In Puerto it's not only the Girls who dream of growing up to be Beauty Queens

Check out some more piccies here.

The July Fiestas in Tenerife – Fancy Some Wet ‘n’ Wild Action?

There was a moment yesterday when I felt like Neo being advised by Morpheus.

“This is your last chance. After this, there is no turning back. You take the blue pill – the story ends, you wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill – you stay in Wonderland and I show you how deep the rabbit-hole goes.”

We were standing at the apex of anarchy with our backs to the relative tranquillity of Plaza Charco. In front lay two streets; both were swirling cauldrons of bronzed flesh each moving liking a single organism. Our ears were assaulted by house, dance, trance, trad Canario and that odd whistling El Hierro music – we were on the edge of the abyss and there was only one way to discover whether it was the portal to heaven or to hell…we swallowed the red pill and jumped in.

You might think that my intro is a bit exaggerated, but believe me there were moments on ‘Embarkation Tuesday’ in Puerto de la Cruz when I felt that we were engulfed in an open air hedonistic mad house as our senses were assaulted by a relentless barrage of noise, colour and smells as upwards of thirty thousand people danced, drank, ate, fought running battles with hi-powered water pistols and threw themselves, or were thrown, from the harbour ramparts into the cooling and usually calm harbour waters.

Even when you're planning on getting wet, you've just got to be colour co-ordinated.

I could imagine Father Dougal turning to father Ted with that goofy look of his and declaring:

“It’s all a bit mad isn’t it, Ted.”

Embarkation Tuesday is the highlight of Puerto de la Cruz’ July Fiestas and is generally an excuse for the townspeople to cut loose and party like it’s 1999 (or whatever people party like it is these days).

Carnaval street parties might be lively affairs, but if anything Embarkation Tuesday is wilder…it’s certainly wetter. It’s unlikely that anyone is going to try to throw you into the harbour if they don’t know you, but I always keep my back to something solid when I’m taking photos just in case. What is guaranteed is that at some stage someone is going to take you out with a well aimed jet from a water pistol.

“Aaargh,” Andy shouted at one point. “Somebody just shot me in the boobs.”
“Wow,” I answered, impressed. “Must have been a damn good shot.”

Look out behind you!

The truth is that after a few circuits under a sun whose fierce rays could fry eggs on lobster thighs, you’re almost begging people to ‘shoot’ you in an attempt to cool down. Had I not had my camera around my neck, I’d have welcomed a detour into the refreshing embrace of the harbour’s water.

As the afternoon progresses the party gets wilder, the music gets louder and the beer flows faster. There’s an almost ‘dare’ element to attempting to walk down streets like Calle Perdomo where gun battles rage and there’s always a danger of being taken out by smart bomb from above (aka as a bucket of water thrown from a balcony). We spotted one just about to be tipped over us and did a sharp detour to the other side of the street just as the people around us were drenched by an explosion of water.

At one point in the midst of the madness I had an anxiety attack and wondered where all the other ‘extranjeros’ were and where did they get all that white meat for the ‘pinchitos’ that were sizzling at the entrance to every bar – were the two linked? (Southern Comfort – the movie, not the drink – is responsible for this paranoia that occurs every time I find myself in the middle of a frenzy of music, eating and drinking and I’m not a ‘local’)

We had decided that we weren’t going to queue for hours to see the embarkation this year. We done it year after year and it’s always a test of stamina, but at around 6pm we spotted an almost empty prime position on top of a wall beside the harbour and were seduced into thinking: ‘it’s a wall, it’s only a couple of feet wide – nobody else can squeeze in there.’

Boy, were we wrong. Canarios, like nature, abhor a vacuum and despite the danger of the wall collapsing, or someone falling, they piled in behind us, inching forward at the least sign of weakness. It’s always the way, you have to come to accept it, but it’s rarely done with malice or anger.

Many Hands Make Light Work

The Virgen and San Telmo eventually turned up to be loaded onto their boats at around 8-ish to shouts of ‘No Pasa Nada’ and after a day of drinking beer, eating spicy pork and chicken pinchitos and being machine gunned by water pistols on numerous occasions we were able to retire, exhausted, to the calm sanctuary of our house.

Embarkation Tuesday is great fun, but there’s an underlying seriousness to the day’s events and the loading of San Telmo and the Virgen del Carmen onto their fishing boats is a deadly serious affair. If I’ve made it sound a bit crazy, then good. Like I said it’s great fun, but if you’re the slightest bit fainthearted, take the blue pill and enjoy it from the fringes.

See more photos of Puerto’s day of madness here.

Romería de San Isidro Labrador: More colour on the streets of La Orotava

Why was I the only person standing on this side of the street like billy-no-mates while all the popular people stood opposite smirking at my obvious insanity?

The answer was simple – the other side of the street was in shade, my side was in full sunshine and the sun was seriously hot.  I didn’t know if I could last the pace; already my bonce felt oven-cooked and I could feel the dizzying effects of dehydration despite taking occasional glugs of lukewarm water; a couple of hours of this and surely I’d end up as a pile of bleached bones cluttering the immaculate streets.

Glug, glug, glug...

But from my position I could see all the way up to the Casas de los Balcones and down to the Plaza de la Constitución. When the camels arrived their angle would be towards me. If I wanted good photos, I’d have to put up with the frying.

A group of people joined me on my side of the street a few feet away, but as they had set up makeshift shelter under a rainbow canopy, relocated some stools and a wine barrel as a table from the rural hotel opposite; they dealt with the sunny side of the street with quite a bit more panache than me.

The Romería de San Isidro Labrador comes only a couple of days after the Flower Carpets and just when you think you’ve seen La Orotava’s best show, the town comes up with another lavish spectacle. This one kicks off with the arrival of the festival queens in full traditional costume atop camels. It’s a spectacular start to the romería, even if the queens look as nervous as kittens on their temperamental carriages.

I just love this guy's expression

These fiestas are all about eating and drinking and it made me smile to see that even as people were going to join the processional carts which are filled with food, they were stuffing their faces with ice cream and crisps.

Once the Romería gets into full swing it becomes an overwhelming cavalcade of colour, sounds and smells. People shout to have their photos taken, children thrust ‘papas’ and boiled eggs at you, men offer chunks of barbecued meat and goatskins filled with wine; dancers twist and swirl along the narrow streets and musicians pluck at timples and instruments made from olive oil cans. The sunshine made the traditional rainbow coloured skirts and scarlet bodices positively zing with vibrancy. It was a feast in every sense of the word and I snapped away, pausing only to munch on potatoes and a type of crackling as seventy or so ox drawn carts lumbered by.

Traditional...but chic

I’ve been to a number of romerías, but I think La Orotava’s is my favourite. The historic streets are a perfect backdrop for the parade of traditional costumes, but there’s also something sophisticatedly stylish about La Orotava’s romería which reflects the town’s noble history. I came away from the town once again completely wowed by this wonderful island of Tenerife.

See more pictures here

Tenerife Carnaval 2009 – The Opening Parade

With the rains affecting the election of the Carnaval Queen, the postponement of the opening parade till Sunday evening was a godsend, giving us time to regroup and re-energise slightly before going back into Puerto de la Cruz to battle for a prime spot to watch the opening parade. Every year we’ve tried different areas, but have never really quite got it right. The lighting is usually too dim – it’s commendable that street lighting is dim on Tenerife in an attempt to cut down on light pollution, but it does make photography, unless you’ve got super-dooper equipment, difficult. Then there’s the ubiquitous little Canarian woman who turns up at the last minute and we let her shuffle in front of us because she’s hobbit sized and not going to spoil the view; only to find that two minutes later she spots her Shrek sized family, overfed on gofio until they’re big enough to blot out the sun, and shouts them over to join her, completely blocking any view we had.

You'd never know it was a winter's night

So finding the perfect spot can take a bit of planning. On Sunday we decided to try the Ranilla district. The streets are narrow there which has two plus points. They’re not wide enough for any doe-eyed old Canarian woman to squeeze in front of you and it means that the dancers in the parade are right beside you – good for close ups with an ordinary flash.

Surprisingly, the streets in the Ranilla district weren’t that busy and we were able to find a good spot easily and sat on the pavement’s edge to await the parade (our legs not able to support us for too long after the demands of the previous night).

In what must have been a first for Carnaval, the parade actually started on time. Actually it was about twenty minutes late, but on Tenerife that’s akin to being seriously punctual. Maybe it was because the parade had been postponed and some of the groups had commitments at other Carnavals around the island, but there weren’t as many flamboyant dance groups as in previous years (See Photo of the Day #3). That’s not to say it wasn’t great fun. The Canarian abuela (granny) next to us howled with laughter at some of the costumes – the biggest shrieks came when someone carrying a huge inflatable penis and testicles passed. They might not like spice in their food here, but they don’t mind it served up in other ways.

It only took just over an hour for the exotically dressed troupes of dancers (the kids’ ones being escorted by proud beaming mums) and floats with the Carnaval Queens – infant, adult and third age – to pass by and despite the theme this year being ‘Africa – Land of Tribes’, and many groups having a tribal theme to their dress, there wasn’t much of the ‘blacked up’ black and white minstrel element that I’d been expecting. No doubt that’ll be saved for the High Heels Marathon on Friday (anyone offended by political incorrectness should maybe think about giving that one a miss – or at least putting away their principles for a night).

I’m glad we made the effort to go and see the parade, but I have to admit to being secretly pleased when it finished early and we were able to head for home and slob out on the sofa a couple of hours earlier than I’d expected.

Now we’ve got a rest until the Burial of the Sardine on Wednesday and a decision about whether to tranny up or not this year. Not that I’ve got any qualms about slipping into a little black number, but I was gutted when I saw how much like an old slapper I looked like last time I did it.

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.

BUT…glug…I DON’T…glug…HAVE A…glug…GLASS!

Following the summer fete atmosphere of Corpus Christi, the Romería de San Isidro Labrador and Santa María de La Cabeza in La Orotava was a much more rumbustious affair. We’d been to the San Roque Romería in Garachico before, but this was a much bigger event. Up to 75 decorated carts pulled by lumbering huge beasts, rumbled and rolled through La Orotava’s quaint streets, followed by an assortment of gaily dressed men, women, lads, lasses and various donkeys, horses and other creatures.
The first surprise was seeing the fiesta queens leading the parade on the backs of a couple of camels (or were they dromedaries?). Where they looked elegant at the flower carpets a couple of days previously, here they looked decidedly edgy and smiling for the cameras came second to actually staying on their irritable carriages .
From 13:30 oxen drawn carts filled the streets. Children in traditional costumes leaned over their wooden sides handing out papas arrugadas (delicious salty potatoes), gofio cakes, eggs, almogrote sandwiches and, bizarrely, bags of popcorn. However, the real goodies were to be found at the back of each cart where the men folk turned savoury chistorria sausages, pork kebabs and slabs of meat on makeshift barbecues, filling the air with smoke which stung eyes and teased nostrils. Vino del País (potent country wine) was also being distributed from the backs of the carts; a fact which sort of explains why the longer the romería lasts, the livelier it becomes.

One of the things I love about the fiestas here is that they’re not exclusive. If you’re there, you’re part of it and nobody minds that you’re clicking away with a camera; quite the opposite in fact. Everybody wants their photo taken. I tried to focus on a ridiculously cute donkey and four girls jumped in front of the camera.
“Saca un foto, saca un foto,” they screamed.
Two lads in scarlet embroidered waistcoats, breeches and designer sunglasses didn’t want to be left out.
“AQUI, AQUI,” they shouted.
As Canarios danced and sang (I could be way off base here, but it sounded to me that there are only about three songs in the Tinerfeño repertoire) their way through the afternoon, the distribution of food and wine became more enthusiastic. At one point I thought I saw a man kissing a guinea pig. It turned out he was quaffing wine from a goatskin pouch. I have to admit to being disappointed, but I lined up the camera anyway. As I did, a hand grabbed my arm.
“Vino, vino?” A smiling young man held up a bottle of red wine.
“No, gracias,” I replied, but he wasn’t having any of it.
“Si,” he insisted, pushing the bottle my way.
“Pero, no tengo un vaso(but, I don’t have a glass).”

Apparently that wasn’t a problem. The bottle was at my lips before I knew it. By this point it would have been seriously rude to refuse, so I opened my mouth and swallowed for what I was worth, hoping that I wasn’t going to drown in his generosity.
“Bien,” he shouted after he’d poured about a quarter of the bottle down my throat. He laughed, patted my shoulder and moved on to bestow his gifts on some other unsuspecting soul.

It occurred to me that my British trait of thinking I was being polite by not accepting everything that was offered to me was way out of place here. In fact it’s rude not to accept the overwhelming amount of food and drink that comes your way, even if it means that by the end of the day you’ll be a fat, but happy drunk. Okay, I can sign up to that, but next time I’m bringing a glass.

Let’s NOT do the Timewarp again – The last day of Carnaval part 2

Although the theme of Carnaval had been fear, we’d already done the ‘monster’ bit and decided to forego any mask or wig which turned trying to eat, or drink, into a logistics nightmare. So for the final party I dressed up as a traditional cowboy (I know, not very imaginative – but it was practical) whilst Andy opted for a Doc Holliday look (Val Kilmer style).

The first sight that greeted us as we arrived in Plaza del Charco was quite enchanting. A shocking pink 50s style convertible with a sound system much, much younger than the car was blasting out some Buena Vista Social Club sounds and a lone couple were salsa-ing sexily next to the car. It was a cinematic image and I felt for a second that I could’ve been on the streets of downtown Havana. Then the music changed to the Bee Gees and the spell was shattered.

One of the wonderful things about Carnaval is that it’s a party where everyone’s welcome, whatever their age. The Plaza, with nightly live bands, tends to be favoured by older Carnaval goers. Calle Perdomo’s beer and spirit kiosks and sound systems attract a twenty-something age group while thirty-somethings congregate in the area around the Pandora bar. A square enclosure beside the harbour is the preferred domain of the teenagers – within easy access of the burger and churros stalls. Even the town’s car park gets in on the act with an alternative Carnaval thing going on; car boots are converted into makeshift bars and sound systems piled high on the back of pick-up trucks turn the tarmac into an open air rave. However, each area isn’t exclusive. Like many people, we flitted from one to the other depending on where the best music was being played.

The odd thing though is that the music doesn’t vary greatly between any of the different venues. It’s all a variation of Latino/salsa; even the Hip Hop has Latino rhythms; it doesn’t matter whether its Billo’s Caracas Boys, Daddee Yankee or David Bisbal, they’ve all got that salsa beat.
Now, I hate dancing…no, that’s not right. I would love to be able to dance, I just can’t. I’m too self conscious and have absolutely no rhythm. I just know that I’m going to look like an embarrassing forty-something year old doing the ‘Dad’ dance. So I avoid even trying. However, the thumping salsa beat even got to me and I found myself shuffling my feet thinking of what someone had told me about salsa’s roots; that the short, sharp steps were as a result of restricted manoeuvrability caused by chains around slaves’ legs.

If only the DJ’s hadn’t changed tack and switched their Latino music for American and British sounds.
Don’t ask me why, but the influx of non-Spanish music here seems to have stopped somewhere around 1979. Suddenly the sexy sultry sound of Carnaval changed to the dated sounds of a British 40th birthday bash as salsa gave way to a ‘Grease’ medley, followed by a bit of Queen and then Saturday Night Fever and then, worst of all, a Spanish version of ‘Follow Da Leader’ (Sigue El Líder, I think). And amazingly, the thousands of Carnaval goers in Calle Perdomo all seemed to lap it up. In front of me a girl gestured for me to join in with the actions.
“ARRIBA…ABAJO…A LA IZQUIERDA…A LA DERECHA…”
She screamed at me as I kept a fixed grin on my face while thinking. ‘I’m of the baby boomer generation. We listen to Amy, Green Day, The Kaisers, Faithless; not this.’

Just when I thought the music couldn’t get any worse, ‘Sigue El Líder’ was replaced by ‘Let’s do the Timewarp again”.
Andy and I looked at each other. At that point we knew that it was time to leave. For us, Carnaval 2008 was over.
And anyway, it was the Manchester derby the next day and we wanted to have some energy left to watch that – What a big mistake that turned out; we really should have stayed at Carnaval.

Don’t Rain on My Parade – The last day of Carnaval part 1

If there’s one thing you can guarantee at Carnaval, it’s that at some time it’s going to rain. Some may see this as a heavenly judgement on the hedonistic nature of the beast. On the other hand it just happens that Carnaval generally takes place during the rainiest month of the year, February.

This year it looked as though we’d been lucky and the rain stayed away…that is until the final day and Carnaval’s big closing parade, the Gran Coso.

By Saturday morning the outlook looked gloomy. The sky was filled with heavy swollen clouds, literally ready to rain on our parade, which would clearly put a dampener on proceedings.
For most of the day the rain drizzled down, more Manchester than Tenerife, but then just before 4 pm, the parade’s official start time, a miracle no less. The angry clouds parted like the Red Sea to be replaced by blue skies and bright sunshine. For once the weather gods smiled on Carnaval.

In typical Tenerife fashion, the parade started late, but the sunshine brought out beaming smiles and sparkling costumes all round as fairies, Egyptians, native American Indians, Geisha girls, belly dancers et al swirled, spun and salsa’d their way along Puerto’s seafront. A delegation from Düsseldorf were seated in a stand opposite us. I only mention them because a couple of the delegates nearly got into a fight with each other just before the parade began. One was trying to manoeuvre his way through the packed stand to get some beer, the other wasn’t in the mood for budging, leading to a ‘handbags at dawn’ scenario. It was something and nothing, but it was the only aggressive scene that we witnessed throughout Carnaval. Shame on them that these supposedly honoured guests nearly cast a black cloud, albeit a small one, over what is a happy, friendly and trouble free event.
The infectious nature of a parade soon lightened the atmosphere amongst the Düsseldorf delegates and for three hours men, women, girls and boys danced their way through Puerto’s streets.

The general rule of thumb for many participants at Carnaval is to wear as little as possible, both during parades and at the parties afterwards, which is maybe one of the reasons that Red Cross volunteers accompanied the parade handing out free condoms to the crowd. I was taken by surprise and, given my age, slightly flattered when one volunteer leaned toward me. Then reality bit as he gestured for me to move before he thrust a handful of condoms into the hands of a bemused and clearly embarrassed young German lad who was standing behind me.
At around 7pm, the arrival of the Carnaval Dames and Queen signalled that the parade was almost at an end and the glitzy showbizzy aspect of Carnaval was over for another year…now it was just the final night’s party to survive and then we could catch up on some rest.