Sarah was thankfully feeling a lot better when she awoke from her slumber yesterday morning.
After a cautious breakfast, we hauled our suitcases to the car and were on our way. That is to say, we would have been on our way, but we couldn’t find the key to the car.
After opening our cases on the pavement and rifling through the pockets of our folded shorts, trousers and shirts, we started to get worried. I went back to the hotel and checked the room: no key. Sarah went back to the hotel and gave it another going over: still no key.
After several more minutes on the street, going through our stuff, Eloïse called to us from the other side of the street: “The key is in the yellow carrier-bag.” Huh? How could that be so?
We looked into the carrier-bag containing Eloïse’s snacks and treats for consumption while we’re on the road and, sure enough, there was the car key. Further enquiry revealed that she had seen the key lying in the hotel room and had put it into that bag as a surprise for us. She hadn’t told us that she’d done it, because then it wouldn’t be a surprise.
Relieved at no longer having to ponder what our next move might be, we left Garachico and wound our way towards the mountain village of Masca.
On the way, we stopped at a mountain pass to take a few photos and encountered the strongest winds I have ever stood in. I had trouble remaining upright as the wind buffeted me in all directions. My bare legs stang as the wind blasted them with flying gravel and my hands froze as I tried to hold the camera steady, waiting for a lull in the wind.
Back in the car, the vehicle rocked from side to side. I glanced through my side window at the woman in the passenger’s seat of the car next to ours. We exchanged glances as an uneasy smile spread across her face. The combined motion of both cars in the wind exaggerated the perception of a vehicle about to become airborne.
As we left the pass, the wind died down and we slowly made our way along the narrow road to Masca. I went as slowly as I could, keen not to thrown down the gauntlet to the car-sickness prone Sarah’s barely recovered stomach.
As we descended towards Masca, it immediately became apparent that our journey would not be in vain. It’s hard to do justice with words alone to the sight that greeted us. Masca, situated in the Teno mountains, is home to just 150 or so residents, but hundreds, if not thousands, of tourists pass through it each and every day. Just a few decades ago, it had no road and the only way to reach it was via footpaths, but today, touring coaches and endless cars make the trip to this now pseudo-remote backwater.
We had started out late, so it was already lunchtime when we arrived in Masca. A bite to eat was therefore the priority, so we stopped off at one of the village’s restaurants. The food was surprisingly good and served on a terrace that looked out across the precipitous slopes towards the mountains and the Atlantic Ocean. The view was simply breathtaking. In the distance, we could see the island of La Gomera across the water.
After lunch and a lazy walk along the paths that make up the village, we returned to the car and lapped up the scenic drive to Icod de los Vinos, principally to look at a several hundred year old dragon tree in the centre of town. It was an impressive sight and has stood in that spot longer than the town itself.
It was getting late in the day, so we had to push on up the TF-5 to La Orotava.
Dinner was at a traditional Canarian restaurant. As ever, I was eager to try something local. All of the dishes on the menu had brief descriptions and English translations of their name, except one: chocos. Like calamari, I was assured by the owner.
Well, why not? The name of the dish probably played a subliminal role in my choice, too.
To be fair, my chocos, when they turned up, were, indeed, a bit like squid, with that chewy elastic consistency. However, these were much bigger — only two on the plate — and much, much, thicker. It was like eating the cartilage from someone’s knee. They were tasteless, too, which left me with nothing to focus on, but the texture, which was like the sole of an old plimsoll.
Anyway, back at the hotel, my friend, Google, revealed that I’d been masticating on cuttlefish, the same molluscs that, when dried, are used by parrots and budgies to sharpen their beaks. They can keep it, too. That stuff is for the birds. I won’t be eating cuttlefish ever again if I can help it.
Today was spent wandering around the cobbled streets of La Orotava, with their narrow pavements and buildings adorned by impressively huge, carved wooden doors. The pavements of La Orotava are as narrow as the doorways of the buildings are grandiose. Honestly, you can barely walk a child’s buggy down the pavements of these roads.
It was a very cool day today at about 13°C. Actually, the weather is peculiar across much of Europe at the moment, with severe weather warnings in Portugal and mainland Spain. Here in the Canaries, the inconvenience is limited to cloudiness and unusually cool temperatures. Not too bad, considering.
Tomorrow’s our last day on the island before flying home on Sunday.