Throwing a Party La Gomera Style

I’ve been to quite a few shindigs since I moved to the Canary Islands and I don’t think two have ever been quite the same. The most bizarre was a barbecue in a museum in Puerto de la Cruz which was enjoyable in a surreal way, but my favourites are those held by my friend, Jo in Garajonay National Park on La Gomera.

I like these Gomeran parties in the hills partly because there are absolutely no pretensions connected with them and also because they’re very community oriented. Most of the food and drink has been made or distilled by someone present. That factor lends a quality that you would never find in a suburban Abigail’s Party affair.

The one I attended recently was a good example. The day started off with a sort of casual planning session over breakfast as we came round from a bout of ‘catching up’ with each other over a few glasses of vino the night before. Jo had very kindly given up her room to Andy and I whilst she shared the guest bedroom with Sri Lankan Sarah (visiting from Doncaster). Honorary northerner Keith (visiting from Exeter) was consigned to the second spare room which also happened to be the pantry where all the booze was stored, so no great hardship for him there.

The party was due to start at 3pm and throughout the day preparations came together in a slow casual manner between a series of outfit changes from the women present that would rival an episode of Sex and the City (one for breakfast, one for cleaning and cooking, one for a post cleaning beer and then one for the party itself). I’ve learnt from past soirées that the smartest plan of action is to offer to do something creative in the kitchen. As Jo’s cooker is an antique specimen with hobs that have a mind of their own and hardly produce enough heat to barbecue a fly, it keeps me out of the road and away from cleaning duties for most of the day.

The ‘something creative’ was to make a couple of trays of empanadas (little cresent shaped pies), spicing up the usual tuna, tomato, onion ingredients with a mix of spices, a splash of soy sauce and a few other ingredients from Jo’s kitchen cupboard as Taj Mahal provided a mellow soundtrack whilst the others bustled about prettying up the terrace and themselves (all except Keith…on both counts). To be honest when you’ve got a terrace overlooking an unspoilt valley, it doesn’t really need a lot of prettying up. The views distract from anything else.

After the empanadas were out of the road Andy got creative with some Serrano ham and olives whilst Sarah and I set up a production line to make mini two-cheeses montaditos topped with olives and sun dried tomatoes and then a bowl of tumaca (tomato, garlic, olive oil, pepper mixture for spreading on hit bread) to complement the Serrano that hadn’t been artistically arranged by Andy. A couple of shop bought tortillas and a mountain of fresh crusty bread finished off our contribution.

After that it was time for a beer as other guests began to arrive adding their own contributions including Berliners (little doughnuts with jam), home brewed red and white wines; a huge and quaffable carton of cider (also home brewed) that seemed bottomless, cumin flavoured cheese, guacamole, couscous and intriguing hibiscus flowers soaked in syrup which are supposed to be added to cava (they look pretty, but actually spoil the crispness of cava).

From then on it was just a matter of mingling, chatting with a load of interesting people and sampling each person’s goodies as the afternoon turned to evening, then night, then early morning. There’s no talk about who’s got the biggest house or the flashiest car. Material posessions that aren’t functional aren’t important on the edge of the rainforest. The only rivalry evident is related to who has made the most potent home brew and the only bullshit about is where it belongs…in the fields.

In the end not a lot happens at these parties. We eat, we drink, we chat, we laugh and we feel wonderfully relaxed. But most of all for a short time we feel part of a tiny close-knit community in a remote valley on a little island near Africa. And that alone is something very special.

The first Buzz of Carnival in Puerto de la Cruz

Last night I saw something that sent a shiver of excitement down my spine and brought a tingle to my tastebuds; something that seductively whispered ‘carnaval is here’ in my ears and had me licking my lips in anticipation of the maelstrom that was about to assault the senses of anyone who had the courage to plunge into its all-consuming madness.

I’m not talking about seeing the carnaval stage taking shape or the mini taster parade to announce this year’s carnaval queen candidates…no, I’m talking about a force that was responsible for pulling me out of a decade of being a pescatarian and back, grunting with desire, into the world of the carnivores again.

I’m talking about a food stall extraordinaire…Mesón California.

Forget the wussy bite-sized montaditos of the Madrids and the Barcelonas of this world; at Mesón California you get Desperate Dan-sized, jaw testing versions. Check out the picture if you think I’m exaggerating. These are montaditos for real men – and women of course – and being carnival, also for ghouls, vampires and slutty nuns and nurses etc.

Its erection is the sign for me that carnaval has arrived and I’m positively salivating at the thought of my annual pilgrimage to worship at this exquisite shrine to Spanish street cuisine.

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.

Romería de San Marcos – Tenerife’s Version of Pamplona’s Bull Run

Food Missile Attack

Admittedly there’s a bit of poetic licence in the title. The way to escape the big horny bovines in Tegueste is to simply step out of their way as they lumber through the streets pulling imaginatively decorated carts.

Yesterday was our second visit to the Romería de San Marcos in Tegueste and it’s rapidly becoming my favourite romería on Tenerife. As romerías go, Tegueste’s offers something a little bit different. Although every member of the family, from tottering abuelas to tiny tots and the pet dog, is kitted out in traditional cossie, the overwhelming atmosphere at Tegueste’s fiesta is a young and vibrant one. It’s almost part trad fiesta and part carnaval.

This was my favourite float design.

Another difference with this fiesta is the design of the processional carts. In most romerías these are beautifully decorated, but in Tegueste they also reflect traditional life in these parts.

We’re experienced enough Tenerife fiesta goers to know that although we illegally parked when we arrived, half on half off the pavement, within 20 yards of a couple of Guardia Civil officers, we wouldn’t return to the car to find a parking ticket – we hoped. Normal rules go out of the window on fiesta days.

We’re also experienced enough to know that there’s no point finding the perfect spot for an uninterrupted view of the procession, because as soon as it starts, Canarios in their droves swamp your position. I used to devise strategies to try to outmanoeuvre them, but in the end have had to admit defeat and now we stand back and let my 150 mm camera lens get me closer to the action.

Even that’s not foolproof. In a crowd of people who make me look as though I could be a basketball player, the tallest Canario in the world will always stand in front of me. And so it was yesterday. This guy was also inexplicably linked to my lens so that no matter what direction I pointed (left, right, down, up etc), he moved to block my shot even though he wasn’t aware of my existence.

I wasn’t bothered. After the first circuit of the procession and the bulk of the boiled eggs, papas, popcorn, chunks of bread spread with chorizo paste and pork steaks were distributed to the excited crowd, I knew it came around again. By the second time most people have headed to the main plaza so I could click away at will whilst Andy had her pick of the last of the food goodies being handed out by the carts’ occupants.

Drowning in a sea of fun...

After the procession, the party moved to Tegueste’s pretty church and square where the rear of the plaza is lined with kiosks selling beer, rum and pinchos – three essential fiesta ingredients. There’s a real juxtaposition here. At the church in the front of the plaza, a statue of San Marcos is carried thorough the crowd to the sound of church bells. At the back, thousands of young fiesta goers, most wearing their particular traditional costumes (representing different islands) with style and pride, bump and grind to thumping dance music.

We opted to hang with the younger homechicos at the back of the church. We made our way through the dancing masses, squeezed in at the bar at one of the kiosks and ordered a beer and a couple of pork pinchos. For once the music was dance we recognised and chicos and chicas gyrated energetically in the hot sunshine (Tegueste is often hot and humid, despite being a hop, skip and a jump from La Laguna and its ‘cooler’ weather).

Almost at the same time Andy and I turned to each other and said:

“Fantastic – actual dance music for a change,” and by doing so clearly jinxed the DJ’s choice of music.
Within another couple of tracks, dance was replaced by the usual electro salsa, sending the crowd into a bigger frenzy

However, despite me moaning about the music at fiestas on Tenerife always being salsa, salsa and more salsa, the atmosphere in Tegueste was so infectious that it was impossible not to be completely seduced by it.

By the time we left at 5pm, the party was in full swing and it was tempting to stay, but we had the car…and I was desperate to see if we really had escaped the wrath of the Guardia Civil.

Click Here For More Photos of the Fiesta

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.

Fiestas of San Juan in Tenerife: A Magical Night

When you’re going to be sharing a beach with upwards of 17000 other revellers, it takes some serious tactical planning to choose the right spot. We’d been here plenty of times before and knew that a wrong decision can put you in the flight path of the hordes of sea bound San Juan-ers intent on reaching the shore to bathe in the magical Midsummer waters.

As the sun goes down, the candles are lit

This year we got it perfect. A small palm tree with a view of the stage and the bonfire and equidistant from the sea and the toilets (you have to take all things into consideration when planning a campaign of this magnitude) acted as our base.

The Noche San Juan celebrations in Puerto de la Cruz are always a major event with families descending on Playa Jardín from around 6pm. We like to get their early to stake out our patch, dig our hole, decorate it with flowers and candles and chill out before the evening’s entertainment hits full swing. That usually means nosy-ing at what else is going on; like the guy in the worst swim shorts ever…I mean Speedos with skulls on them…where are the fashion police when you need them. The oddest person on the beach was a very smiley elderly woman with badly dyed black hair. She wandered up and down the beach pausing to smile at the decorated excavations, ours included. Nothing odd in that except she clearly had an obsession with pink. Pink T-shirt, pink ankle socks and get this, she also was licking away at pink ice cream.

Sunset at San Juan

You’re always guaranteed a good show in Puerto and this year was no different. Somewhere around nine the first of two traditional Canarian bands started and as darkness descended candles were lit all across the beach and the magical night really got into its swing.

With San Juan, the atmosphere heats up as the night progresses. The sand fills up with people around you and laughter and singing fill the night air. There’s always an ‘arty performance’ included and I reckon any savings on this year’s event must have been made here. Whereas last year’s involved an elaborate show and a horde of acrobats suspended above the waves, this year’s offering was one bloke swinging from a high pole above the castle, but it seemed to be the only concession to the ‘creesees’. The firework display to music might not have been on a Tatton Park scale, but it was still spectacular.

Hot night on the beach

Ironically what really ignited this year’s fiesta was the rock band Los Salvapantallas from La Palma. I say ironically, because what usually rings the bell of most Canarios, young and old, is the island’s traditional music, so it was a surprise to see the crowd go wild to the best of 80s rock anthems. By the time the band struck up a rock version of ‘Mamma Mia’, the beach was a bikini clad boogie land.

The band’s electric guitars were still screaming by the time midnight arrived and Andy and I stripped down to our swimwear and negotiated our way through the crowd to the magical waters and another first.

I can honestly say that I’ve never stood waist deep in water at midnight with hundreds of bathers all of whom had their arms in the air clapping a rhythm to ‘We will, we will, rock you…” as multicoloured strobe lights raced across the sea lighting us all up. It was one of those delightfully bizarre little moments.
The water this year was much more temperate then previous years, so a lot less goose pimples and shrivelled bits…which was a bonus.

Rocking the Beach

The band were so popular that they were called back for 4 encores before the official entertainment ended and the bongo drums and guitars were brought out around us. Before we knew it, it was 2 am. The atmosphere was still seductive, but we wanted to see ‘el baño de las cabras’ (goat bathing) in the harbour the following morning and so reluctantly dragged ourselves away.

I had one last thing to do though.  I wanted a shot of the beach from the jetty which reaches out from the Castillo San Felipe. I left Andy and set up my mini tripod and within a few seconds was surrounded by a group of sloshed Gomeran lads who, spotting that I wasn’t Canario, were keen to educate me about the fact that Canarios weren’t Spanish, they were Canarios, which was a lot better.
Funny how having a couple of beers and a few glasses of rosada does wonders for language skills. Whereas I have some days where my Spanish speaking seems to fly out the window, with the lads I had one of those times where I was able to understand and converse easily.
Don’t ask me how, or why…it was them directing the conversation, but in the space of a few minutes we covered La Gomera and silbo, the Scots wearing skirts, Catholics and the use of Durex, homosexuality and finally the English versions of Spanish swear words before they invited me to a party at their house which I declined.

That’s the Noche de San Juan; full of fun and odd little experiences; I love it…but if anyone saw a group of lads wandering across Playa Jardín shouting “mootherfoooker’ at each other it had absolutely nothing to do with me.

The Midsummer waters

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

Oh My God. Is That Really a…?

If you’re an animal lover, don’t look too closely at this picture.

A bit insensitive considering there were actually goats at the fiesta

When I first saw it, I did a double take. I mean, there’s one thing being able to recognise the animal on your plate, but the animal that you’re wearing…I suppose though it’s not that much different from those old fox stoles, except that in this case it is actually more practical than ornamental.

Back to the Real Tenerife

Look at that lot...following her like a flock of sheep

I suppose one of the reasons that I experienced such a culture shock in ‘Little Britain in the Sun’ was that a couple of days previously we’d been to the Romería de San Marcos in Tegueste; an experience which you could say lay at the complete opposite end of the spectrum.

Whereas the streets of the tourist resort we’d visited were unnaturally quiet, the streets leading to the centre of this great little town, which only sees a tourist if they’ve taking a wrong turning, were packed to capacity.

We’d been to Romerías in various places before; thinking we’d seen the biggest in Garachico and La Orotava, but Tegueste’s was something else. Although this didn’t have as many carts, the ones that were being dragged by oxen through the streets were the most elaborately decorated of any we’d seen to date…and of course other towns don’t have ox drawn ships. But it was the number of people which took us by surprise; there were thousands, maybe tens of thousands, and most were kitted out in traditional Canarian costumes. There was a real party atmosphere in town and the bright sunshine made the colours on the girls’ rainbow patterned traditional skirts even more vibrant than usual.

Smiley Happy People

In the streets around the plaza movement was almost impossible; it was like taking a hedonistic magical mystery tour where the crowd took you along on a slo-mo rollercoaster ride which involved avoiding herds of goats, lumbering oxen and boats on wheels whilst happy smiley people tried to ply you with wine and force you to eat papas arrugadas and chunks of carne fiesta. There’s such an incredible buzz at these celebrations and your senses come under full scale assault. I love them; these sorts of things are part of the reason I live here.

This is what Tenerife is really all about.

Carnaval on Tenerife – Trapped in a Crazy World

A real Monster Mash

This might sound like an exaggeration, but there was a point at the closing night party where we were positively trapped by Carnaval. At the top of Calle Perdomo in Puerto we were surrounded by an undulating sea of colour and painted faces which stretched into the distance in all directions. Movement was impossible. Carnaval had us firmly in its grasp and we surrendered happily.

It is points like this that the weariness accumulated by a week spent at the occasional street party and all of the parades completely dissipates. Carnaval is a drug for sure. It gets into your veins and injects you with a natural high. A friend of ours who stays in Puerto every year had stayed out till 7 in the morning a few times, feeding on the buzz of the animal. By the time we met him for the Carling Cup final he could have completely dispensed with any make up as he looked like a zombie. Extra time and penalties nearly did for him as the adrenalin boost from the previous night/that morning’s carnaval party wore off.

It was a great closing night; one of the best. It had been a beautiful day in Puerto; in fact after the rains which had delayed the election of the Carnaval queen, it had been a good week for weather. For once during Carnaval, the fun loving weather gods had kept the straight-laced ones at bay and the closing parade was a sunny event where the sun shone as brightly as the smiles on the participants’ faces.
The parade takes place from around 16.00 mas o menos and lasts for about three hours, giving us enough time to get home, eat, and try to figure out what to dress up as.
I had three attempts: a cowboy (boring), A big game hunter (didn’t have a gun) and finally a vampire.
Andy knew she was going to dress up as a witch, but had a clothes crisis about what skirt looked the more witchy under a longish jacket; until we noticed that the best effect was when she was mid change i.e. sin skirt…well it was carnaval; to be wearing more than what is basically underwear is overdressed for many carnaval goers.

If there’s one thing I’d change at Carnaval, it would be the music in the so called ‘clubbing’ area. I enjoy Latino, but I like a bit of pulsating dance as well (even if my attempts to move to the groove are embarrassingly like a ‘dad dance’) but all the dance areas stick pretty much to Latino sounds all night.
There was a point on Saturday night which was quite illuminating about the Canario psyche. There was some decent dance music being played in the ‘dance tent’ and the younger Canarios were bouncing away happily. But even in this area, they couldn’t seem to go more than a couple of tracks before changing back to a Latino base. At one point they actually stuck on a track which I swear was a ‘murga’ number (murgas are the satirical clown like bands which fill TV screens on the run up to carnaval – not the most musical of sounds and certainly not rave material) and the crowd went crazy for it. At that point we realised that if we wanted to hear some variation in sounds there was only one thing for it; head to the gay area. That’s where the best costumes usually are anyway. And it was there that we got trapped, drinking cheap beer amidst a throng of mutant flowers, giant penises, an ‘is that a man or that a woman’ in full length see through body costume, gimps and tribes of Indian Braves jumping up and down singing along to ‘I Will Survive’ and the soundtrack to Grease. There are more boring ways to spend your Saturday night, but there aren’t many more bizarre.
For the closing night party there were as many people as I’d ever seen at carnaval. The road from the harbour to Plaza del Charco, up Calle Perdomo and back to the harbour was a solid mass of thousands upon thousands of people in fancy dress. The words of a British ‘swallow’ we’d bumped into at the parade came back to me.
“The town’s very quiet this year,” he’d said.
It seemed an incredible statement, given the fact that there had been carnaval parties nearly every night, but it’s the perception that some visitors can have when they come to Puerto and keep ‘British’ hours.
Time as it always does at carnaval did a bit of a magic trick and what we thought was about 2.30 turned out to be closer to 5.00. We decided to attempt one last circuit then turn our back on Carnaval for another year.

This is what Carnaval does to your complexion!

It’s been a tiring one this year (nothing new there) and lots of important things (work) were shelved for a week, but taking part in Carnaval is important, if not essential, in understanding what makes Tenerife tick. It’s also incredibly good fun even if my body felt as though it had been through the Spanish inquisition.

We’d been hugged and bumped till we were black and blue (actually that was my face paint smudging); on numerous occasions various people (all men – I think) have exposed their genitals (fake ones…err, I think; although there was one disturbingly realistic vagina) and at one point I even received a proposal of marriage. All in all a typical carnaval experience and even though it was another unforgettable occasion and I wouldn’t miss it for the world, I’m glad it’s over…I desperately needed to rest.