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.

The first signs of Xmas on Tenerife

I hadn’t been looking forward to it, but with the first rains due any day now, the time for procrastination was long over. The orchid tree had become an unruly mess and was sprawling over the herb patch menacingly like a schoolyard bully. It’s not the sawing and chopping that puts me off, in fact I love the whole ‘Tool Time Tim’ element.  It’s the getting rid of the disaster area debris afterwards that adds a real comatose inducing aspect to it.

Every branch has to be cut into manageable pieces with a pair of secateurs and put into garden refuse bags; a painfully long process which leaves me with blisters and aching hands. On the brighter side, it does give a much needed boost to the woodpile. Even here at a 100 metres or so altitude, there’s a noticeable difference in temperature from the coast and during December to March, evenings can be on the cool side; a good excuse to fire up the wood burning stove.

I’d been going at it for a couple of hours, the pile of branches stubbornly refusing to diminish. My motivation, like the strength in my hands, was on the point of taking a vacation when a loud squawking in the distance told me that a flock of parrots were heading my way. I never tire of seeing parrots, so it was the perfect excuse to down tools for a few seconds to watch their multicoloured fly-past. This time there were six of them; large lime green ones heading for the hills, no doubt escapees from Loro Parque (a zoo on the other side of Puerto de la Cruz).

Brief interlude over, I picked up the secateurs and with a deep sigh turned to face the chest high pile of branches again to find that I had another avian visitor, a more unexpected one. Sitting on the branches, just a few inches away was a robin with the most vivid red breast. An incongruous vision in the warm sunshine on an island near the coast of Africa. But then, the festive season is just around the corner. Already Christmas lights are starting to spring up around the town. There’s chestnuts roasting on open braziers beside the harbour for the fiesta of San Andrés, so why not a robin in our garden. All that we need now is for it to snow on the volcano (usually happens toward the end of November) to complete the picture. And if I ever finish getting rid of those damn orchid branches that’ll be the Yule time log on the Christmas cake. Chestnuts, robins, snow on Mount Teide and a roaring fire – and it’s warm during the day. You just couldn’t have a more perfect combination.