Igneous verses the Atlantic

The resort is suddenly quiet. it seems that a large part of the Essex contingent have left the Bahia Principe on Tenerife, to go back to their plastering and reps jobs and the like, in fact, if one were not concerned about the disgust such a comment might elicit, one might be tempted to describe it as a Mass Essex Odus. Luckily I am not one of those concerned about how my readers react to horrible puns, indeed these are this columns staple diet.

Another expedition long the coast yesterday, past the little Canarian village I now know to be El Peurtito, took place in an attempt to check out the golf course on the top of the bluff overlooking the sea. The failure to reach our goal was in no small part due to the very warm sunshine, the fact that we had walked over 4 miles up hill and down dale before finding that there were another two deep valleys to cross in order to gain access, and there was a bar in that pretty little Canarian village, just a short walk back down the hill.

This coastline has to be one of the best in the world. Fascinating rock formations create spectacular battle grounds between the mostly igneous volcanic rocks and the might if the Atlantic Ocean. The sea is winning but it is a gradual process. Then suddenly you come across a beach with sand and a few dozen locals sunbathing and surfing. They must all have walked some distance as there is no road within a mile. I have an example as my picture today.

Tiny beach south of El Puertita on Tenerife

Last evening back at the resort we were treated to the delights of the on-site Asian restaurant which was really very ordinary, and the plan to go there on our last night was firmly laid to rest by the sweet and sour chicken.  As that Nice Lady Decorator observed afterwards, “what do the Spanish Know about Asian food”. Very little it seems.

The resort is perfectly fine if one wants sunshine, decent wholesome food, and cheap drinks. This is all very well for a short period of time  when starved of any sunshine and with outdoor living a distant memory, a fleeting concept, but after some time the whole idea begins to pall. There are only so magnificent sunsets, so many appalling “musical” acts and so much poor red wine one can stand before the allure of a wet winter day in England begins to sound slightly less inhospitable. Luckily I think it would take a while, probably a year or so before that point was reached.

Today we are going to be more daring in our walking. We are setting off after breakfast to walk to La Caleta, a small town some 6 miles south of the resort where I have been promised more local culture. This is not 6 miles of flat Tarmac but across rocky paths traversing a dozen or so valleys but in spectacular scenery. I am promised that we shall make it by lunchtime but if no blog appears by 10am tomorrow, please alert the authorities and send out search parties. It will be serious because it could mean that I will not have had a proper drink on over 24 hours, so if you could warn them to being some beers it would be much appreciated.

Lets look on the bright side however. If I make it then I shall insist on a sumptuous lunch and then a taxi  to return despite that Nice lady Decorator’s insane assertion that we could have lunch and then walk back. I can do the lunch bit.

Chris France
@Valbonne_News