First, the good news: Garachico is lovely and our hotel, the San Roque equally so. This quaint old town has only partially succumbed to the rigours of tourism. Quite how it has managed to avoid bartering its soul for first pesetas and latterly euros is a mystery to me, but it has. There are a few tacky souvenir shops and some restaurants whose wares I suspect wouldn’t win Gordon Ramsey’s approval, but, other than that, the town has retained its charm.
Part of that charm is the views of the rugged coast, where the breakers come crashing in with a force that commands respect. The former harbour was destroyed by a volcanic eruption and is now a collection of rock pools and tidally fed swimming pools. They provide a great spot to stand and watching the seething ocean, as it forces its along the ruts and crevices of what was once a thriving commercial harbour.
The bad news is that I’ve seen more of Garachico than has Sarah. She’s been laid up in bed, suffering from an ongoing dose of what is probably food-poisoning, an intestinal souvenir of the lovely Playa de las Américanas. Well, all of the other tacky beach resort clichés were accounted for there, so why not also the dodgy meal that leaves you feeling as if you’re tied to the toilet by an elastic rope?
I wouldn’t say she’s suffering from a bad case of the runs, but if you need the toilet in order to pee for a couple of minutes, it’s best to book early to avoid disappointment.
My bowels are thankfully not in uproar, so I took Eloïse for a tour of the town this afternoon, including an ice-cream, while Sarah tried to sleep it off in the room.
The room, by the way, is stunning. It’s huge, there’s a jacuzzi bath in the bedroom and a separate shower in bathroom, if you can call it a bathroom, given that there isn’t actually a bath in there. I’ll call it the shitting room, since that has been its chief purpose since we took up residence.
The staff creep into your room, the moment your back’s turned, tidy the room, replace towels and arrange your things. It sounds as if it could be annoying, but it’s not. They’re extremely attentive here and the dinner, as experienced yesterday evening, was excellent.
Room service was inevitable this evening, as Sarah doesn’t feel well enough to go to a restaurant. Even if she did, there’s little chance she’d find anything she fancied eating.
Tomorrow, we move on to La Orotava, which isn’t very far from here, so Sarah should be able to make the journey, even if she’s still not feeling well. Let’s hope her nether regions are back to normal by then, though.