Weather on Tenerife – Another Storm Warning for Tenerife

Just when we thought it was all over, we get another storm warning for high winds. The worst were due to be at high altitudes, but gusts of 80 kph were forecast for the coast.

Whilst we tweeted about gloriously hot weather all week and oodles of sunshine, to scepticism from certain southern quarters who shall remain nameless, we waited for the inclement weather to hit, reading reports of rain in various parts of the island.

Well the inclement weather hit last night in the form of a loud howling wind which made sleep a bit of a fantasy. In truth the gusts were nowhere as strong as February’s, but what they lacked in strength, they made up for in noise aided and abetted by the cat’s accompanying wailing – ‘let me innnnnn, let me innnnnnn…’

Because of the direction the wind was coming from (SW) it was also hot and the sky was crystal clear showing a busy sea of sparkling stars. If I hadn’t been so knackered I might have appreciated their beauty a bit more at 4am.

This morning we woke to sunshine again, the lightest of April showers despite there being hardly any clouds (although to the west we could see some quite angry formations lingering), a rainbow arcing from Los Realejos to the sea and fresh snow on Teide.

And for all those doubters out there, here are the photos to prove that it is still sunny in Puerto de la Cruz.

Now if only I could find that pot of gold...

April and more snow on Teide

Tenerife Carnaval 2009 – Let’s Get this Party Started

A truly beautiful Carnaval Queen

With the pressure on our ‘schedule’ eased a little because of the rearranged election of the Carnaval Queen, we were able to enjoy Man U beating Blackburn and actually have time to eat some dinner, before slapping on the face paint and setting off on the trek into town at around 23.00.

For those who don’t know Tenerife, there are two Tenerife’s. There’s the one built predominately to cater for people looking for a sun and fun holiday and then there’s the rest of Tenerife; what we call the ‘Real Tenerife’. In the former, Carnaval is little more than a footnote which can pass by almost unnoticed. In the latter it’s the biggest event of the year and you might as well write off trying to do anything other than selling your soul to the gods of fun for a week. Even in Puerto de la Cruz, which is first and foremost a Canarian working town, the differences between these two Tenerife’s can be illustrated depending on which side of town you happen to be in.

The approach into town passes the La Paz area and Avenida Generalisimo where there are a clutch of hotels. On these streets nobody is wearing fancy dress, so Andy, kitted out as Cleopatra, and me as Willie Wallace (Braveheart) stood out like sore thumbs, attracting strange looks from visitors sitting at the bars and restaurants we passed. It’s only when you get near to the older part of town that you enter the magic kingdom that is Carnaval and the streets fill with belly dancers and vampires, so many batmen that the bat mobile would have to be traded in for a bat bus (but strangely no jokers), smurfs, sexy nurses, nuns with slits in their habits up to their armpits, cavemen, clowns, witches, zombie nurses, cowboys, Indians and assorted superheroes enjoying a well deserved night off. In this surreal land, it’s the ‘civilians’ which look out of place and we learned very early on that to be part of Carnaval, rather than to watch Carnaval requires simply throwing on some sort of fancy dress costume, even if it’s only a false wig, or a hat from one of the stalls surrounding Plaza del Charco.

And an almost equally pretty runner up

By midnight, when we reached the plaza, it was filling up nicely with revellers in costume, but it was strangely silent. There was no live band, no pumping dance music from the stall in Calle Perdomo, just hordes of people in fancy dress milling about looking as though they were waiting for something to happen.  The only music was provided by a gang of mime artists, all lads of about 16 – 17 years old, who were circuiting the plaza, stopping at anyone not in fancy dress to jump up and down and hum loudly something that sounded suspiciously like a riff from ‘I will Survive’. This is the things I love about Carnaval, the bits which are slightly trippy and surreal.

The lack of music was because the Gala involving the election of the Carnaval Queen was still taking place beside the harbour, so we wandered through a new addition, a ‘Dance’ tent (so in terms of dance area that makes it, the plaza for live music; Calle Perdomo for dance music, the square beside the harbour for dance music for teens and now a dance tent – isn’t it great?) to the main Carnaval stage where the Carnaval Queen was just being announced to the accompaniment of a barrage of fireworks. The judges chose well; this year’s Carnaval Queen, Elsa Eichner is a beautiful girl with a smile which would light up a dark room with no windows.  (see our CARNAVAL PHOTO OF THE DAY)

The fireworks were also the sign for Carnaval to really let loose and no sooner had the explosion died down when the boom of the fireworks were replaced by thumping drums and a Latino dance beat which announced Carnaval 2009 was underway at last and the assorted trannies, monsters, angels and creatures of the night could begin their week long party.

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.