The Heart of Puerto de la Cruz

At the end of last week I had one of those days which reminded me how much I love living on Tenerife. Nothing spectacular happened; it was more of a general feeling of well being brought on simply by walking through the centre of Puerto de la Cruz.

It was a very hot day for November, hell it would be hot for summer, due to a calima (hot Saharan wind) descending upon us. On the north side of the island the mountain range shields us from the worst aspects of calima, most of the sand and wind, and lets the best bit, the heat, through.
Temperatures had jumped a few degrees making wearing long trousers to go into town a bit like staying fully dressed to enter a sauna.

A new bank card had been sent to me and my old card had expired, but the first time I tried to use the new one it didn’t work. Although an unplanned trip to my bank in town should have been annoying, a stroll along the harbour on a hot sunny day dissolves the frustrations – the place positively buzzes with life; the sort of life that for me sets Puerto apart from any other resort on Tenerife.

As the Tri Continent Fair comes down, the chestnut kiosks go up

The huge tents that housed the Tri-Continent Artisan fair were being dismantled in the car park. We’d only managed to catch the last day of the fair, but it was enough to see beautifully crafted products from South America, Africa…and Tenerife some sold by vendors who looked  as exotic as their goods.

Small chestnut kiosks were being erected beside the harbour to replace them. This is Puerto; as one event finishes something else takes its place. In the run up to the fiesta of San Andrés, kiosks selling roasted chestnuts and wine with attitude line the harbour. Whilst the men folk hammered and shouted instructions to each other, the women dragged mountains of chairs into place. Despite the whole harbour area being turned into an open air chestnut munching arena filled with plastic seats, there are never ever enough chairs for everyone.

Puerto de la Cruz harbour

Mornings are a hive of activity in Puerto. As well as the addition of the chestnut kiosks, there was the usual hustle and bustle of food deliveries being made to restaurants in Plaza del Charco combined with the town’s fishermen noisily signalling the end of their working day at one of the tiny bars beside the harbour.
The small wall at the rear of the harbour is the domain of Puerto’s older men. They sit in a line along it, lazily watching and commenting as the day unfolds.
I always get a warm fuzzy glow walking here on a sunny morn and not just because of the golden globe’s rays. It exudes a vibrant atmosphere that is so strong it almost feels it could take on physical form.
Sometimes one of the men will break into impromptu song, at others you can hardly hear yourself think as the old guys get loud and animated over a game of dominoes or cards. This particular day one stood up and at the top of his voice spontaneously shouted ‘Viva Puerto’.
I totally get why he did it, the atmosphere is so infectious that it does make you want to shout about it. If it wasn’t for being doused in British reserve I would have joined him. Instead I just smiled and said a little non religious prayer to the god of fate that we had chosen such a rich place to lay our hats.

For me that morning stroll through Puerto de la Cruz old town simply represented the best of what Tenerife is really all about. It’s something you just can’t manufacture. Like the man said ‘Viva Puerto’.

Follow the Yellow Brick Road to Puerto de la Cruz

It’s always been known as Tenerife’s sophisticated resort and yet I know a few people who think that Puerto de la Cruz is populated almost exclusively by third age British and German holidaymakers and there’s not much nightlife. I even know of one very well known guide book which describes the bustling Plaza del Charco as “…filled with cafes and (mostly elderly) tourists pottering around…” (It wasn’t ‘Going Native in Tenerife’ – we know better)

Hardly conjures up an image of sophistication does it? However anyone visiting the other weekend would have been left in no doubt as to why the town has earned its monicker. The streets were filled with ultra trendy visitors and residents enjoying the beautifully bizarre street art festival Mueca 2009.

"We're off to see El Mago..."

Andy covered the Saturday night proceedings in her blog ‘Mueca 2009’. The festival continued until lunchtime on Sunday when we reluctantly dragged ourselves out of bed in the hope that the high wire walk across the harbour, which was cancelled on the Saturday night, would have been rescheduled.

No chance. Sunday started as a bitch of a day weather wise. Skies were grey and there was a near constant drizzle. But we persevered and headed to Puerto’s harbour area. Whereas the town had been buzzing the previous night, on Sunday morning it felt like a wet, winter weekend in Blackpool. The artistic hairdressers sheltered beneath their little canopy looking dejected as we passed them on the way to see if the main performance of the day, El Mundo Oz, was still taking place. A few die-hards and their hopeful kids had taken their ‘wet’ seats outside the town hall and waited hopefully.

It didn’t look promising as the drizzle turned to actual rain and a sea (well given the numbers a large pool might be more accurate) of umbrellas opened. But god bless them, the performers announced gamely that despite the weather, the show would go on.

From the moment a slightly wet Dorothy holding a very floppy Toto started singing “Somewhere over the rainbow…” (in Spanish), I found myself transported back to being an excited kid again. As the storm (good bit of realistic character acting by Puerto’s weather I have to say) transported Dorothy to Oz I was completely caught up in the story.

"I just thought I'd try something different for a change..."

By the time Dot had met up with the Scarecrow, Tin Man and the Lion and they were gaily singing and dancing their way along the Yellow Brick Road (big yellow circles on the concrete) their enthusiasm seemed to have a profound effect on the weather. The sun broke free of the clouds bringing crowds of people out of the woodwork. As Dot bade her emotional farewells to her motley mates, the sky was as bright as the smiles on the faces of the kids in the audience and I found I had to wipe a tear from the corner of my eye.
With the sun shining, the town was transformed and the streets were buzzing again. At the harbour, the ‘Artistic Hairdressers’ were in full flow and some of their ‘victims’ added a surreal element to the spectators.

Oh, and yes there were elderly tourists pottering about, but the difference is that some of our elderly tourists were sporting luminescent Mohican hairdos…I guess that’s the sort of thing which explains why Puerto de la Cruz is considered Tenerife’s sophisticated resort?

Christmas on Tenerife – New Year’s Eve

There’s only one place to be if you’re in a traditional town on Tenerife on New Year’s Eve and that’s the main plaza.

'OOOOOOOH....AAAAAAH'

Our French neighbour had suggested we go out for a meal on New Year’s Eve, which sounded good…as long as we could be in Plaza del Charco in Puerto de la Cruz and beside the harbour by midnight.

We had initially planned to ask Jesús to come to the square with us, but his sprained ankle took him completely out of the picture; there was no way he could have made the walk into town. So a meal with Nicole and Jean Louis it was.

As we wandered around to Nicole’s house, we passed Jesús. He was sitting beside a little fire he’d built. Although I felt a wee bit sorry for him, sitting there on his own, he seemed happy enough…anyway he wasn’t exactly on his own, he had his adoring fans with him – AKA the Disney gang.

Jean Louis had chosen the restaurant Los Gemelos. They’d eaten there many times and recommended the food. If a French person, especially one who was involved with the catering industry in France, recommends a place, you can be pretty sure it’ll be hunky dory. Jean Louis also liked Los Gemelos because they didn’t take advantage of the fact that it was New Year’s Eve and hike up the prices.

DJ dance area

Another good sign when we arrived at the restaurant was that it was full of Canarians. Although probably every restaurant was full of Canarians as everybody heads into town in their finest gear to celebrate Nochevieja (quite the opposite from the family orientated Nochebuena).

Despite being packed to the gunwales, the staff were very efficient and meals were cooked perfectly to order. It was simple Canarian cuisine, but beautifully cooked and the portions were Desperate Dan sized. Andy and Jean Louis had steaks, Nicole a salmon fillet and I had pork chops. I rarely order pork chops in a restaurant. I’ve got this daft thing about it being a bit naff – a bit Sun reader on holiday, even though I think pork is one of the tastiest of meats.

Everything was going well until there was a slight misunderstanding as midnight drew closer. Jean Louis had been under the impression that we were going to spend New Year in the restaurant, so wasn’t keen to leave especially as the waiter had brought us a 4 little bags of ‘lucky grapes’ to be downed at midnight and a bottle of sidra. By this time the restaurant was near empty and the idea of spending New Year in a quiet restaurant as opposed to amongst the buzzing crowd at the firework display on the harbour didn’t appeal.
Andy suggested that Nicole and Jean Louis stay and have the sidra and that we’d meet them in the square later.

The lonely walk home

However, Nicole wanted to see the fireworks as well, so after a brief and slightly heated debate between the two of them we all left for the harbour.

I hope that they both felt it was the right decision. Despite the recession, there seemed to be more people than usual around the harbour and plaza and the usual Latino band were belting it out for all they were worth. At midnight we swallowed our grapes and then watched the firework display. This year’s was shorter than previous years because of the ‘crisis’ or ‘creeesees’ as they say here, but it still elicited plenty of delighted ‘oooohs’ and ‘aaaahs’. Jean Louis and Nicole stayed for a few dances and then headed for home, leaving us to wander with our couple of bottles of cava from the live stage to the DJ dance area checking out the music and also what stylish creations revellers were wearing this year.

At about 03.30 (an early one for us) we decided it was time to set off on the long trek back home away from the partying crowds, through La Paz and onto the quiet dark secluded roads through the banana plantation.

Incidentally, we stopped briefly in Plaza Iglesia where there’s always an alternative New Year gathering by some of the town’s younger scene (all in gowns and DJs of course) and as I was taking some photographs a young Tinerfeño tapped me on the arm and asked me to take a photo of him and his friends. The young Tinerfeños are always asking to have their photos taken at fiestas which really amuses me, cause it’s unlikely that they’ll ever see the picture. So just in case my unknown young friends in Plaza Iglesia stumble across this blog – here’s your photo.

Feliz año nuevo...whoever you are

Tenerife is still great value

"I Believe I Can Fly..."

The main Fiesta of San Andrés celebrations took place on Saturday. We spent the afternoon in Icod de los Vinos watching mad local lads careening down the town’s incredibly steep hills on customised tin trays and crashing spectacularly into walls of tyres at the bottom. It was like a sort of urban ski jumping without the snow.

In the evening we headed into Puerto de la Cruz and sampled some wines from small bodegas in the Orotava Valley from the little stalls set up around the harbour. Each stall also had some nibbles to accompany the wine, so we also tried some local goat’s cheese, gofio, chorizo pate montaditos and tiny papas arrugadas (literally, wrinkled potatoes).

Feeling slightly light headed from over enthusiastic wine tasting, we wandered across to one of the kiosks overlooking the harbour and ordered a plate of beef pinchos (tender kebabs) with bread, mojo verde and mojo rojo (Canarian sauces that are usually served with papas arrugadas) and a small carafe of country wine and ate our food whilst listening to the sounds of a traditional Canarian band.

Hot Stuff

When we finished eating we strolled around Plaza Charco where hordes of kids were dragging convoys of tin cans on string across the cobbles (a local tradition) making as much noise as they could manage, and stopped to listen to a steel drum band which was getting in some early practice for Carnaval. When a group of girls sauntered into the square and heard the drumbeat they broke into an impromptu and perfectly choreographed Carnaval parade routine and danced and laughed their way across the plaza.

After the band finished their set we headed back to the harbour which was bustling with a mix of stylishly dressed Portuenses (people from Puerto) and visitors, bought some roasted chestnuts and plonked ourselves down on the harbour wall to eat them.

It was one of those Puerto nights which makes me doubt whether there’s a better place on this planet than Puerto de la Cruz.

And the cost of the evening for the two of us – €15.

That’s one of the wonderful things about Tenerife. You can have a great time here for almost next to nothing.

Dancing…and all sorts of other things in the streets

“Buenas Tardes,” the voice stopped me in my tracks. Not because a stranger had just greeted me in the street, but because this stranger was over 6 foot tall and was a robot.
At any other time this would have caused me some concern and thoughts like, ‘this is it; this is exactly what the Terminator movies tried to warn us about,’ would have raced through my brain. But as I happened to be in the middle of MUECA 2008, Puerto de la Cruz’ street theatre festival, I merely smiled, mumbled a ‘buenas tardes’ back and moved on.

Although the Spanish Met Office had issued an ‘orange’ level weather warning for the western Canary Islands, and winds of up to 120 kph had been predicted for areas above 2000 metres. Puerto de la Cruz remained a blue sky’d oasis for the duration of the festival. We’d only managed to get a glimpse of the fun on Saturday night as two friends were in town which we used as an excuse to go to one of our favourite local restaurants, Cha Paula. As usual the food was first class; the best chipirones (small squid) in town, glistening pimientos de padron of which one on ten really did kick you in the head; cheese from El Hierro drizzled with spicy sauces and country wine which was far too quaffable to be good for you. It was so good that we lingered too long and the waiter started moving tables from around us.
“Sorry,” Andy apologised to him. “We were too busy talking, we didn’t realise you were shutting.”
“No, señora,” he held up his hands. “It’s not a problem. Sit as long as you like. It’s just that the bar upstairs is opening and they have darts. Some people are not very good.”
He shrugged his shoulders and looked up toward the open wooden balcony above. It was a surprise to hear that darts were popular with young Canarios, but we got the point, or rather as we didn’t want to get the point, we supped up, paid the ridiculously low bill and left.

By then we’d missed most of the street performances so Andy and I headed back down the following day. The town was even busier than the previous night. It was full of Domingeros, dressed in their Sunday finest. The street festival had attracted lots of young bohemians as well and the old town was filled with fireaters, jugglers and people playing all sorts of weird instruments. One man was playing what looked like a wok; quite melodic it was too.
Most of the action was taking place around the harbour. On one side lithe young lads spinned and twirled in front of a group of adoring chicas (and I thought break-dancing was way out of date). The bottom end of Plaza Charco had been turned into a faerie grotto of sorts and whilst most faeries entertained groups of bewitched toddlers, a couple of quite vain faeries preened, fussed, fiddled with their hair and pouted to the delight of the older kids and, as they were a particularly attractive pair, some captivated dads as well.
Whilst steel bands drummed and actors played out grim tales, the highlight was the Circo en el Aire; a troupe of acrobats who flamenco’d, twirled and swirled on, and above the harbour’s cobbled streets. At one point two of them enacted a dance routine suspended in the air by silk ribbons that was borderline erotic and incredibly sensual; not what you expect on a Sunday afternoon. It raised the already hot temperature a few notches I can tell you.

It was a wonderful, magical festival with a warm atmosphere which had more to do with the fact that the town was full of people with beaming smiles than the hot sunshine. It was simply Puerto doing what Puerto does best. It was one of those special days when the thought hit us head on like a juggernaut – this wonderful place is where we live.