Five Cool Moments in My Life

2010 ended on a high. Not only was I ‘freshly pressed’ on the front page of WordPress over New Year which was a real buzz, I was also interviewed by Spanish newspaper ABC Canarias.

I was particularly proud of that because it came about partly because of recognition by a journalist on the paper that my articles captured the idiosyncracies of the ‘real’ Tenerife. That was a special compliment as far as I was concerned.

It felt quite rewarding to see the only decent photograph of me that exists appear in a Spanish paper. Hopefully I didn’t come across as too much of a geek; although as it was in Spanish, few Brits will ever know it existed.

It also got me thinking about other ‘cool’ moments in my life.

Here’s my top five.

1: Helping a Sheep Give Birth
My aunt had a farm in the Scottish borders that we visited every year. One time during lambing season when I was about 8 we came across a sheep that was having trouble giving birth. The lamb had turned around inside the womb and someone had to put their hand inside, find the lambs head and turn it around. My farm veteran 13 year old cousin’s hands were too big and my sister and female cousin were having none of it. I was ‘advised’ by my cruel elders that if I didn’t do it the lamb would die and it would be my fault.
With tears blinding me I boldly stuck my hand where I really didn’t want to. When that little lamb popped out and started bleating it was the proudest and messiest moment of my life.

2: Becoming Immortal in a Ghost City
Okay, it’s a bit cheesy, but becoming immortal in the ghost city of Fengdu in China has to be right up there. In truth it didn’t involve an awful lot – running up a long staircase without taking a breath – but it was a feat beyond most of the aged 70+ other people on the steps whose doddering nearly prevented Andy and I from becoming immortal. I’m not proud, but I had to I barge some of them out of the way in my quest to become immortal (add loud evil laugh).

3: Being Complimented in Sex and the City land.
Being in Times Square for the Millennium was pretty mind blowing in itself, but a seriously stylish guy and gal approaching me in a record store in Manhattan to compliment my shoes and ask where I’d bought them was just the bee’s knees. Giving out fashion advice in the heart of Sex and the City land was just the ultimate. Of course it was just the shoes. Nothing else about me was remotely fashionable – it was winter in NY and I was dressed for practicality. Apart from the über cool shoes, I looked more like an itinerant bank robber.
The shoes, by the way, were bought in Schuh in The Trafford Centre and I’ve still got them. Needless to say they don’t look quite as good these days, but they’re still the most comfortable shoes I’ve ever worn.

4: Yes Prime Minister
In a previous life I wrote reports and briefings about various things for government ministers. A lot of the time I never knew what happened to them after I hit the send button and mostly they were quite dry factual, analytical pieces. On one occasion I had to supply a brief for a politician giving a speech to the Chamber of Commerce in Manchester. I can’t remember why or even what it was, but I added a witticism to the brief and bugger me, the politician kept it in. I was pretty chuffed a couple of days later when the MEN included the line when they reported Gordon Brown’s address to Manchester’s business community.

5: You’re a Better Man Than I am…
A quarter of a century ago there was a girl at work that I had the serious hots for. But she was way out of my league and her circle of friends were smart, witty and interesting whereas I was a hick with an appalling taste in music not long arrived from a small Scottish island. One day she mentioned that she’d heard Hawkeye in MASH use a quote from Gunga Din and that she’d love to know the whole poem. So at the first opportunity I headed to Waterstones, bought a copy of Barrack-Room Ballads, learned the poem by heart and recited it to her in the office canteen during lunch hour. But was she impressed?

It was by far the most rewarding thing that I’ve ever done…as she’s sitting with her back to me typing away as I write.

Drink Up Me Hearties Yo Ho

One of the blogs I’m enjoying reading at the moment is Islandmomma’s take on life on Tenerife and in general – it’s full of interesting thoughts and experiences.

A recent blog I enjoyed a lot was about different alcoholic drinks being associated with special memories. It really rang a bell with me and I hope she doesn’t mind, but it set me off down a nostalgic and alcohol fuelled trail thinking about what memories various drinks conjured up in my head.

Unlike Islandmomma’s roots, my family were no strangers to alcohol, being very typical of the working class West of Scotland – nearly every night of my dad’s life was spent in the pub. A heavy drinking culture was the norm where I grew up and nobody really considered people to have a drink problem even though they might be bladdered every night. Ironically, it was those who enjoyed a drink at home instead of the pub who were treated with suspicion and considered alcoholics as drinking was all about the social life. Even now my mum still looks a bit uncomfortable when we uncork the wine.

Probably because of this, alcohol has been my preferred drug and since about the age of seventeen I’ve been a loyal worshipper in the church of the Reverend D. Wayne Love (anyone who gets that reference is automatically a soul brother, or sister). Whilst my drinking patterns have changed throughout my life – cutting down as I moved from a heavy drinking culture (Scotland) to a drinking culture (England) to a culture where drinking is far more moderate (here) – I still enjoy the demon drink. I particularly enjoy trying local brews when we travel and much of my own memories of various drinks are connected with different places.

Lanzarote – Red Wine
Of all the places we have visited, Lanzarote was my least favourite. We went there the year we were married and stayed near the harbour in Puerto del Carmen. The harbour was pleasant enough, but we couldn’t walk anywhere without being hassled by time-share touts. But Lanzarote is the place responsible for a liking for red wine. We were in a fish restaurant overlooking the harbour when I noticed two men lounging on the wall below us, a terracotta jug full of red wine between them. It just looked like the most sophisticated way to drink that I’d ever seen and immediately ordered a carafe even though I thought I didn’t like red wine.

Sri Lanka – Arrack
One of the reasons that Lanzarote might have been a disappointment was that we’d not long previously been to Sri Lanka which completely blew us away and which still remains our favourite location. We struggled to get any decent vodka, our preferred drink at that time, so had to settle for the local stuff, arrack. It turned out to be surprisingly quaffable; smooth and not overly sweet or harsh. A long, iced glass with ginger ale was perfect when served with stunning sunsets, palm trees wafting in the breeze and strange haunting calls emanating from the jungle.

Greece- Retsina
I love ouzo and we’ve had some great times in its company on various Greek Islands, but it’s retsina that conjures up special memories, particularly of the island of Symi. We’d catch a water taxi from the town – usually a glass of ouzo and water came with the price of the ticket – to the most beautiful crescent shaped beach where there was only one vine covered shack of a taverna. After a morning’s sunbathing, interrupted only by cooling swims and fending off curious goats, we’d head to the taverna, order mezes of whatever they brought us and a bottled of chilled retsina…then snore our heads off on the beach until it was time to catch the water taxi back to town. Bliss.

Jamaica – Red Stripe
So many memories, so many bottles of Red Stripe consumed watching cliff divers from LTU (a poor man’s version of Rick’s Cafe) and people like Toots and the Maytals and Yellowman in venues where the air was thick with ganja and we usually ended up having to rescue our blonde-haired friend from over-amorous Rastas -  normally as a result of her behaviour. You can’t sing along with Yellowman’s Vagina Song at the top of your voice and not expect the local Lotharios to think you’re game.

New York – Champagne
New York on the eve of the Millennium and the signs were there that the Americans were expecting some sort of an attack. We had to sign a form saying who our next of kin was when we boarded the plane to NY, not a comforting thing to have to do. The manhole covers in the street were sealed shut and we were surrounded by a police cordon in Times Square. It was the most alcohol free New Year  we’ve ever experienced. Not a drop passed our lips as we watched the world welcome in the new millenium over a period of 12 hours or so. Sometime after it was New York’s turn and the crowds began to disperse we headed back to out hotel and, due to a mix of being thirsty and relief at not being blown up, immediately ordered two bottles of champagne which we downed in record time in the packed lobby. I don’t really remember what happened after that.

India – Feni
I’ve got to add this one because it is one of the most disgusting drinks I’ve ever tasted, or more accurately, two of the most disgusting drinks as there are two varieties; palm feni and cashew feni. One of them is revolting and one is just unpleasant, but I can’t remember which is which. It’s the popular hard drink in Goa and therefore deserved to be tried. It’s serious stuff. We were told that two glasses would get you drunk; we had three each. Two to try the different flavours and the third to mask the taste of the second. Did it get us drunk? Well one us hallucinated a giant moth after the second feni and the resulting panic caused a knocking over of what was left of the third drink. But I can’t remember who did what, so I suppose that says it all.

France – Wine (of course)
One of my favourite alcoholic fuelled memories is of two weeks we spent with Andy’s dad and his wife at a wonderful old gîte near Dinan which had gardens the size of a public park. Whenever we were out and about exploring, we’d pop into a local shop and stock up on red wines, the more local the better.

Each night one of us would announce at some point early on ‘time to test the wine’. A bottle would be uncorked, glasses poured and a rating would be agreed. Being France even the most modest bottle was given four stars. The result, plus a brief description, was recorded in a notebook so that we’d know which wines to buy again. Wonderful summer nights were spent in the sun-kissed garden as hot air balloons drifted lazily overhead whilst we quaffed the day’s booty. We got through an awful lot of testing on that holiday and by the end of each night I’m sure our judgement wasn’t to be trusted. It was a very special holiday.

The thing with this blog is that I could go on and on and on and I can’t decide whether writing it is making me want to go and pour a long cool one or give it up forever. Still thanks Islandmomma for triggering my boozy trip down memory lane…slangevar!

Just stick to what you do best.

"Are you 100% sure that's the famous Millenium Drago Tree?"

Ayuntamiento (council) websites on Tenerife can vary enormously in quality…those that actually exist that is.

One that I would have expected to be on the ball, especially in relation to content which would be of interest to visitors, is Arona’s; the municipality which is home to Playa de las Américas, Los Cristianos, Costa del Silencio and Las Galletas.

And sure enough they recently launched a new website aimed specifically at visitors. It’s bright and simple enough to navigate around.

However, I think they could have left out the ‘And Don’t Miss’ page of the Cultural section. When I think of ‘Must See’ locations on Tenerife, Masca, the rock pools of Garachico, the Casas de los Balcones in La Orotava, the Millenium Drago Tree in Icod, Mount Teide and the old town of La Laguna all spring to mind; the Almácigo de Arona – a nine metre mastic tree – doesn’t. And the picture of it didn’t convince me that this was a ‘must see’ that, until this point, I’d never heard about.

Then I noticed the entry titled ‘museums’ which intrigued me, because I couldn’t really think of any museums in Arona offhand. When I had a look through the list, I understood why; none of the museums included were actually located in Arona. They were all in either Santa Cruz, or the north of Tenerife.

These are just me being picky, Andy will eagerly confirm to anyone that’s willing to listen that it’s a bad habit I have, but what did really get me started on my moan about the website was the picture that went with the Corpus Christi entry in ‘Events to Remember’ under the ‘Get to know Arona!’ section. The text is about the flower carpets in Arona Casco and the picture is…from La Orotava.

Now the municipalty of Arona has many ingredients which make it a very attractive destination for holidaymakers, but depth of historic culture isn’t at the top of the list, that’s the north’s domain…stop trying to nick it!

Hello, Hello, Hello…What’s All This Then?

A couple of days ago I read a report in one of the English language newspapers about the council in Icod de los Vinos being responsible for posting a couple of policeman outside the ‘El Mariposario’ butterfly park, who were apparently questioning visitors.

It would be a 'crime' if the park was forced to close

The paper didn’t mention what they were questioning visitors about, but it was suggested that the police presence was meant to deter potential customers from entering the park because of something to do with political infighting between council factions.

God knows how preventing people from entering the park would benefit the town of Icod in any way, shape or form. Quite the opposite in fact as the park is its only other tourist attraction after the Millennium Drago Tree. However, unfortunately this sort of ‘banana republic’ pitchfork politics isn’t uncommon on the Canary Islands where some individuals in power can take courses of action which seem to suit their own private agendas rather than those of their constituents. (Okay I’ve reread that and thought ‘so what makes them different from politicians anywhere else?’ I suppose the difference is that here it can take the form of little more than schoolyard antics)

We’d written an article about El Mariposario a couple of months ago and, as we were passing yesterday, decided to drop in with a couple of copies of the magazine in which it was published. It was also a good excuse to see if there really were policeman outside.

Lo and behold as we approached the entrance there was, as reported, a local boy in blue standing there.
Curious as to whether he was going to question us, I stood back from the entrance and took a picture of him standing at the entrance…nothing; no reaction.

Andy and I walked through the entrance to the reception and all he did was smile
“Qué tal’ (roughly translated ‘allright mate’), he said as we passed him.
A couple of moments later he followed. Although I think that was because it was drizzling outside and he was interested in talking to a dark eyed local girl standing in the foyer.

As Andy handed over the magazines to the receptionist, I turned back to the policeman.
“Is there a problem?” I smiled at him, playing happy daft. “Nobody’s trying to kill the butterflies are they?”
“No,” the dark eyed girl laughed. “He’s a friend.”
“There’s no problem,” the policeman smiled. “Everything is fine.”
“It’s just that I read in the paper that there was some sort of problem.”
“Oh, it’s just …” the dark eyed girl smiled and rolled her eyes. “…It’s just little politics.”

I don't think it's just the butterflies who are living in a cocoon

I like the Policia Local. The ones I’ve had dealings with have all been friendly and helpful. They’re a bit like old fashioned British Community policeman, like young versions of (if you’re old enough to remember) Dixon of Dock Green. This one was no different. If he was there at the behest of some politician’s puerile request, he looked apologetic and almost embarrassed about the whole thing.
As we left, both him and the girls bade us a ‘hasta luego’.

God, and maybe the ‘odd’ (odd being the operative word) politician in Icod, knows exactly why the policeman was there.

‘Little politics’ the girl had said. That’s exactly what it seems to be.