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.

Tonic for the Soul – The Flower Carpets of La Orotava

The murder of the mouse played on my conscience; we had cash flow problems due to late payment of overdue earnings; there had been a water burst in the banana plantation (which had at first resulted in seriously poor pressure, then the water company ‘fixed it’ leaving the area without any water at all), but sitting on a pavement outside a palm frond fronted ‘guachinche’ (makeshift bar) in the company of Andy, Pamela from Secret Tenerife and her friend, Jose Mesa with the sun on my face and a cold ‘Dorada’ in my hand during the La Orotava Corpus Christi celebrations proved the perfect antidote to what, up until that point, hadn’t been the greatest of weeks.

It’s amazing how a cold beer, or two, on a sunny day can help you see the world through rose tinted spectacles again, especially when you also happen to be immersed in an atmosphere as warm as the sun’s rays. The Corpus Christi daytime celebrations had the air of a summer fete; full of smiley happy people enjoying the world famous floral carpets and themselves.

A couple of circuits of the carpeted streets had flooded our senses with the most wonderful sights, sounds and smells:

Freshly cut moss, herbs, delicate perfumes from a million petals, barbecued pork, candy floss, hot caramel; the bells of the Iglesia de la Concepción ringing out joyously, competing with jaunty riffs from a group of Asturian pipers and drummers; an image of Jesus Christ made from volcanic sand with a second image, ghostlike, hidden in the design; three nuns admiring a floral carpet of a boy and a lamb; fiesta Queens smiling and posing for anyone who asked: chic elegant young ladies wearing white lace headdresses and picture postcard streets filled with the most vibrant, imaginative, beautiful and painstakingly created floral carpets.

It was, quite simply, a perfect day and a tonic for the soul.

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.

Carnaval Tenerife: The Morning After the Night Before

Last night I must have bumped into someone dressed as Sylvester Stallone, cos I feel as though I’ve been pummelled by Rocky Balboa for 15 rounds. Mind you, it isn’t all down to over indulgence at Carnaval’s opening party.

It was one of those days when everything seemed to be happening. A deadline for a regular walking feature was looming close and calima and high clouds on Tenerife for the last couple of weeks had ruled out the chance of any decent photos, until yesterday. So the day started with a three hour hike along an old merchant’s trail on the island’s northern coast. Trouble was Spanish TV was screening the Tottenham v Man Utd game, so we had to hot foot it home for that; the sweat barely had time to dry under the rucksack straps.

Man Utd had hardly managed their last gasp escape when it was time for an early dinner of Mediterranean pitta pockets (a semi home made concoction of flat breads filled with mozzarella, cherry tomatoes, red onion, sweet pepper, fresh basil and oregano which is lightly fried in olive oil). Delicious and quick; essential given that Carnaval’s opening parade was due to start at 20.00 (or so it said in the official guide).

Andy and I work on the basis that nothing, but nothing starts on time here – it’s a pretty sound principle, so we didn’t drive to Puerto until nearly 20.30. Unfortunately, by that time, there wasn’t a parking space to be found in, or near the town. The nearest spot we could find was in the La Paz district above the town, a 15 – 20 minute walk to the centre, most of which is down stairs; it’s okay going down, but a killer on the thighs on the way back up. We eventually reached the town centre about ten to nine and guess what? The parade had only just started.

There were about 1500 people in the parade; dancing troupes in wildly colourful costumes, cute kids in even cuter costumes and the stars of the show, the Carnaval Dames and Carnaval Queen wearing…a smile and not much more.
The only problem was that the drivers of the floats carrying the queens seemed to think they were in the Daytona 500 (I suspect because they started late and were trying to make up lost time). Each one sped past the spot where we were standing, giving me just about enough time to take one photo per float before they were gone.

It did mean, however, that the parade finished quickly. We legged it backed to La Paz, drove home (now about 22.00), stuck on some Ministry of Sound, poured a vodka sprite, laid out all our potential fancy dress clothing and decided it was time to think about what we were going to wear to the opening street party.

Two hours later, two ghoul/witch/monster thingys were striding through the banana plantation next to our house on the three kilometre walk into town.

It was near one in the morning by the time we hit Plaza del Charco; probably still a bit early for seasoned Carnaval veterans, the streets hadn’t filled to the point where it takes an aeon to move anywhere (that happens about 03.00).

After that, we salsa’d our way (or, in my case, a stiff legged, British version of it) around the three streets where the partying takes place, checking out the weird, wonderful and occasionally, lewd, rude and highly amusing costumes all around.
The thing about Carnaval is that it’s such an incredible high. Even when it reaches its peak and you’re jostled and bumped by the swaying mass of friendly beaming creatures around you (at one point I became far more intimate with a trumpet around someone’s waist than I was comfortable with) it’s impossible not to be swept away, almost literally, by sheer wave of joy that engulfs the place.

Somewhere at very-early-in-the morning o’clock, my legs screamed that enough was enough and we decided that it was time to wend our weary, but ecstatic way back home.

As always, the first night of Carnaval exceeded all expectations. It was hard work and, at this point, I’m not sure I’ll survive the week, but it was great fun, honest, despite what my body’s telling me today.