It wouldn’t be a Tenerife project if it ran to schedule so it’s hardly surprising that the new Garachico marina is evolving in it’s own sweet time. Back for another look just before Christmas it had moved on but still looked a lot short of the finished article.

The project started in November 2008 and the works board still proudly claims it will be finished by 10^th September 2011. There is a lot riding on the 33,150,000 euro marina, it’s seen as the driving force that will boost the economy of the former capital and main trading port for Tenerife. A huge volcanic lava flow wiped that out but as a small consolation left the spit of volcanic rock just off the coast, it’s now on most tourists must see tick list.

Anyway back to the job in hand, it has since been announced that the marina is nearly finished but the fancy last touches mean it won’t be ready to use until the summer. Looking across, the basics seem in place including the pile driven black metal posts that will secure the pontoons for boats to park up to. Down in Los Cristianos the adding of pontoons and underlaid fuel pipes took several months and that was on a smaller scale.

There was a flurry of activity unfolding before my eyes but the JCB digger was a sight to behold. Had it been set on fire, dipped in the sea to cool off and then left to rust? What a state it looked and it made noises to match as it clanked, screeched, and clanked along. There are plans for a new hotel near the marina, the sheer beauty and history of Garachico will make it a popular stop off point for private boats and the proposed pleasure boat trips will also gain from the rugged and towering coastline.

On the day of my visit the sea was decidedly choppy, reaching the natural channels in the rocks that make a superb natural swimming spot the chain and keep out notice were up. The warning seemed to just arouse people’s sense of adventure and there was quite a crowd along the rocky crests watching the hardy swimmers riding the surges as the tide swept up the channels and sprayed mist over onlookers.

Crossing over and into the main plaza there was a much more sedate scene, sunshine and shade shared the quiet well laid out square, even the bandstand and snack kiosk was running at half pace. A statue of Simon Bolivar, founder of Simonlivia (just testing, Bolivia) looked at the scene thoughtfully, maybe wondering about the finished look of the marina.

A cooling breeze had struck up and with a long way to go back to the south , I caught the next bus to Icod de Los Vinos to retrace my journey. It’s an uplifting thought that on my next visit I should be able to have a little tour around the open and thriving marina – I hope they save a little corner for that ancient digger.

Santa gets around a bit but even he had a smug happy look at the restaurant window on a crisp, sunny Vilaflor morning. Neal and Karen, the Bournemouth Section of the Armada Sur had joined me for a jolly jaunt into the hills and after a 40 minute Titsa bus trip to Vilaflor we grabbed a coffee outside a local hostelry half way up the main road from our crossroads drop off.

The combination of the warm sun and slight chill in the air fitted nicely with the peace and quiet, even on this main road up to Mount Teide traffic was sparse-mainly lycra clad cyclists testing their muscles. Just across from the bar is a mirador where we took in the fantastic view down into the heart of this sedate town that’s largely untouched by time. Turning down into the road through the jumble of houses we were soon in the plaza where the two churches sit side by side.

Hermano Pedro the local born goatherd was the first Tenerife religious leader to be made a saint and his image is everywhere. The Iglesia de San Pedro Apostle was eerily cold but full of beauty, I ventured up onto the creaking balcony which houses 21 cabinets showing the life history of the great man. Back out in the sun, walkers milled around and picked up guide leaflets for their long treks. Heading further down into town orange trees groaned under the weight of fruit and pots of poinsettias made the main street look even more wonderous.

A detour took us to another micro church  where a local was swinging a chicken as he got out of his truck, one swift smack and this rooster had crowed his last. Back at the crossroads near the statue of Hermano Pedro we found a sun soaked patio bar and snacked as we awaited one of the very sporadic buses. The mini Titsa turned up and we veered onto the TF 21 for a twisting, turning one handed rally drive down the corkscrew road. It was a bit hairy but the driver was very relaxed as he chatted to another passenger, we noticed a pink cuddly toy tucked in his storage locker – maybe that was to console white knuckle passengers.

Granadilla arrived with more level roads and after a short wait we caught the 484 bus to Las Galletas for a near hour journey through San Miguel, Aldea Blanco, and Las Chafiras. The sun was sinking low as we strolled around the coast, the tide was about as low as I’ve seen it there, and we were a little low after checking the late newspaper to find we weren’t rich thanks to the El Gordo Christmas lottery. On the big plus side the marina looked lovely in the dying embers of the day and it has been a good tour. Now what’s this Christmas thing everyone is talking about – should I be making some sort of preparations?

Everybody has a story to tell and I love to hear them. Social media can ping news around the world in seconds but there’s still no substitute for talking to people and finding out how rich and interesting their lives are. Tenerife is an amazing place for paths to cross and Santa Cruz always rewards me with some surprise finds on my frequent visits up to the capital.

Take last Saturday, my intention was a pre christmas tour of decorations and nativity scenes but I found loads more. The docks are always a rich source and even a scan of the daily papers for ships passing through merely scratches the surface. Cruise ships have been coming in mob handed lately but it was two wooden masts that excited me, peeping over the fencing put up to hide the road widening of Via Litoral. Heading across the quay side I stopped to inspect two cordoned off old fishing boats rescued from the ravages of the sea. Ripped open, splintered, and covered in old sea life, they wouldn’t see another voyage but they had clearly had some fine adventures. Up ahead I found the Stavros S Niarchos (above) proudly flying the flag for the Tall Ships Adventures.

Hailing a couple of crew members they broke off from their spit and polishing to tell me a little about the ship and dug out a publicity brochure to fill in some of the gaps. Basically it’s a training ship for team building and confidence for those wanting a holiday that tests them against the elements. Based in Santa Cruz from November to April they take on paying crew for each 7 to 18 night voyage, the Captain’s Christmas Special was due to depart the next day, hence the frantic polishing, skirting around the islands for a week. Crews have to pitch in and learn to steer, set rigging 100 feet up, and stand watch as well as cleaning the ship during “happy hour”  well it is scrubbing to music. As I walked away I could hear the reassuring creak of the bough and the strain of the mooring rope.

At a little jutting extremity of the quay I noticed a dark brooding iron vessel low in the water so edged a little nearer, the military style uniforms advised caution so I snapped from a discreet distance and angle. Just as well, turns out the Alcaravan is a Spanish customs ship. no lingering here I thought and anyway a jaunty modern three master with a Swedish flag was beckoning me onthe other side of the port. Passing the main gates on the way around I noticed several scribbled notes pinned on seeking passage to Africa and South America. They all offered to work their way with skills such as cooking and cleaning but one proclaimed themselves as an entertainer and clown. In my mind I could see how that skill might not be quite what was called for when the ship was being tossed around in a raging storm.

Swerving round to the other side of the docks I found the Alva a 1939 built cargo ship from Stockholm conveted to a school ship, lessons at sea seem quite popular. This one when fully rigged has 600 square metres of sail. Inside the 44 metre long ship there are 15 cabins with all mod cons. I grabbed a quick word with the captain and it seems that they too are based in Santa Cruz for a few months to take out 30 upper school students at a time on regular learning trips complete with teachers to ensure they continue their normal lessons. The Tall Ship Adventures were quite expensive, upward of 400 pounds excluding flights to Tenerife, but Swedish law means the students can only be charged for meals, the rest comes out of normal teaching budgets. With my curiosity satisfied and some more leaflets to read I waved goodbye with the pungent smell of the newly applied deck varnish stinging my nose.

Oh well that was probably enough for one day but back in the centre of Calle Castillo I saw a motorbike draped with world maps and flags stood near a local cafe and moved in to read some of the press cuttings stuck to the bike. The roaring steed was clearly on a epic round the world journey, up stepped the owner a Russian adventurer Yarets Vladimir Aleckseevich. Pointing to a sign he explained that he was trying to become the first deaf mute to motorbike around the world. The following “conversation” was a delicate mix of sign language, pointing, and flicking through his extensive catalogues of photos and postcards. Blimey this old Russian had certainly got around a bit, not an easy task with his limitations. What an amazing chap, you can see more about his journey at his website. I got the distinct impression that this was an open ended journey that would carry on until Yarets reached the end of his own personal road, good luck to you sir.

Finally with the nativity’s visited, the timbers shivered, and the miles clocked it was time for my own more modest journey, back down south to Los Cristianos.

Calm seas lapping at volcanic slabs, shingle dragging lazily along the sea bed, sandstone sculpted by time and nature, and fishing villages full of traditional delights. Another fine walk, this time on the east coast of Tenerife, just a short distance and a world away from the TF 1 motorway heading up north.

Los Cristianos was bristling with activity on this Saturday morning as groups of keen walkers flexed their maps, laced up their boots, and scanned the sky for tell tale signs of good or bad weather. I joined some friends for the brief convoy to Arico and the Tajao turn off, I don’t think I have seen a village so blessed with tempting fish restaurants and bars. After a coffee launch at Bar Rocas we headed part way up the slip road before plunging down the rocky pathway where eroded sandstone shapes towered over us. The sun was set fair in the clear sky and the path soon opened up onto the beach just beyond a peg shaped stack marking a small cove.

The sea shimmered and the suface looked like glass broken only at remote outcrops where lone fishermen tried their luck, it was such a lovely setting they probably weren’t too concerned if they got a bite or not, the tranquility was reward enough. Scaling the brow of a hill we could see piles of slate to one side and families playing in rock pools down at coast level. Further along an organised camp site looked neat and tidy with small cabins and motor homes stretching inland, other had settled near the waters edge using natural shelter from the rocks to make an impromptu chalet.

Each new climb was greeted with further views of rocky fingers protruding into the sea and volcanic patterns that would make any artist envious. After a while a distant church loomed into view with a sprawling village ahead of it, this was La Jaca. A few early afternoon locals sat outside their homes enjoying the cool breeze, the small crescent shaped harbour was a perfect place to stop to raid our water and sandwiches. The fishing boats hugged the back wall and a protective rail and metal steps into the sea were modern additions to encourage swimming, and a shrine to the Virgen de los Pobres (virgin of the poor)  was well tended with flowers Fed and watered we moved on over the hill and carefully crossed a concrete damm where a barranco met the incoming sea. Up the other side we were in La Listada and were drawn to the church (Iglesia de la Virgen de Los Pobres) local families greeted us warmly and one sent a small boy to unlock the church so we could look inside. Outside Poinsettia (the christmas plant) burnt brightly, a perfect finishing touch.

Abades lay further ahead and the wind turbines whirred gently up near the motorway, for us it was time to retrace our steps with a few variations. Going higher up this time we joined a roughly pebbled road that only seemed to serve a few large houses. They all seemed to have big alsations straining at the leash through the gates – maybe they had smelled my turkey rolls. Pushing on the return trip was quicker and well timed as we saw a few clouds rolling in from the west. Just before we reached our starting point I noticed the shipwrecked Russian boat, Runaway Serf, that has been in the Canarian news for the last few months. It looked a bit of a rust bucket but its hull proudly displayed names of calls on the way from Moscow. Strassburg, Geneva,Lisbon and Cadiz had all been visited but the last name New York could prove a port too far – especially as motor is awaiting repair by local helpers. Russian journalist Andrei Novoselov is living on board and hasn’t even got any desert island discs to listen to.

Anyway back at Bar Rocas a busy afternoon was underway, the upstairs restaurant, highly recomended by some of my friends, was filling up and this Tajao crossroads seemed quite a focal point. After three hours of brisk walking the Dorada was very welcome, I will certainly pass this way again – maybe I can cadge a boat lift to New York!

Aah a pleasant peaceful morning in La Sabinita up above Arico – well apart from the mobile advertising boards known as rally cars zooming up the road. To be fair it was a big rally day in Tenerife and they were warming up for the big event as they tore through the main village street and it didn’t really disturb our pre walk coffee at the Casa Lala bar. Craving more walks I had met up with a group of 25 keen social walkers in Los Cristianos and our convoy had headed high up the TF 625.

There was a bracing breeze but it was balanced by warm sunshine and just a scattering of clouds. Parking up at the start point a little north of the village we were on the brow of a hill looking down to the wind turbines in Arico, some say they are intrusive but I find them quite restful and serene. This is wine country and vineyards were plentiful but bare of their fruit in the coarse jable soil with metal pipes feeding water where the stone channels had once done the job. The first steps were downward and once protected from the breeze it got much warmer as we passed over small barrancos that parted the pine trees on their way down to the coast.

The pathway was partly concreted and pretty sturdy where it was just tightly packed soil, handy as access to several houses that were built into the side of the hill making full use of solar and wind power, impressive stuff. Then came the inevitable upward climb as the course weaved around in a wide circle, the terraced hillsides became a familiar pattern as we dipped and rose. Clouds were gathering higher up but not with enough threat to worry us, a joint complex of fincas (farms) loomed ahead and as we got nearer I was surprised to see the maintenance man from my complex painting a wall – it’s a small island.

Stopping for a rest and water we found seating on rocks overlooking the path and must have looked like an ambush waiting to happen,but we were friendly natives. The final stage brought us onto sturdy roads as the clouds linked up and a last push rewarded us with the familiar coastline as we came down onto the car park where we started. Just a bit over 2 hours, shorter than most of my walks but a good way to get my legs moving again and enough to make me determined to tread more tracks soon.

A swim and a cold shower after jumping out of bed soon seemed a world away as the latest Tenerife heatwave cooked me as I strolled down the hill to the Los Cristianos bus stops. Even five years after moving down from Puerto Santiago on the west coast I like to pay regular visits to make sure it doesn’t change too much. Titsa buses don’t always get the air conditioning right but the 477 direct bus felt super chilled as I sped up to Alcala, my first stop and home to my former Western Sun office.

Heading down to the plaza I noticed the concrete area by the bay was busy with sun worshippers and swimmers, it has been revamped since my days swimming there with several railed stairways into the water, there was also a life guard on duty on this latest visit. In the plaza I met up with Richard from the Lions Club outside Bar Plaza and a new K9 dog charity shop that was doing a brisk trade even though it was a work in progress. The previous weeks high tides had made a visit and retreated without any tell tale signs, it’s always a lovely relaxing place to visit with plenty of cheap bars.

Eager to cram plenty into my day I caught the bus on to Los Gigantes (top) and met the lovely Jo in the church plaza for a catch up. Asturias was pretty busy, relaxing looking at the rocky hillside ringing the plaza brought back old memories of fiestas and foam parties. The clear blue sky was buzzed regularly by an emergency helicopter, in such a busy walking and fishing area there is always an awareness of natures power. The next days papers seemed to suggest that the chopper may have been looking for any escapees froma narcopatera (drug boat) found deserted that morning at nearby Fonsalia.

Refreshed I attacked Cardiac Hill and made a few calls before walking along the coast road above Playa Santiago. I had been warned to look out for a new inshore lighthouse, it turned out to be a cleverly fashioned support pillar on the redeveloped rest area just below The Patio Bar – another old haunt. One of the main reasons for the trip was to check out progress on Callao Salvaje’s new beach about 30 mins back towards the south but as I had time I walked on to Playa de la Arena to get the hourly bus from there. By now it was late afternoon and below on Arena’s black sand beach the crowds were thinning out and the beach crew were packing away sun beds and clearing rubbish. I noticed one guard found a 200 pack of giggies and a stray bra, so if you see a lady with nicotine withdrawl swinging wildly, point her in the direaction of lost property.

Callao Salvaje is a strange place, a mix of large grand houses behind high walls, hotels, and new modern apartment blocks. What’s missing is a good quality beach, the old shingle one has always lacked facilities, sand, and easy access but after many false dawns work is well under way on a complete makeover. The pace of change has been slow but the signs are encouraging with landscaping and flower beds in place, huge mounds of imported sand await levelling but hopefully that can be finalised well before the end of the year.

The sun setting was my cue to complete my homeward journey with the Titsa 473 bus spot on time on the hour. Arriving back in Los Cristianos a few beers seemed in order after a hot busy day so I treated myself to a slow walk back up the hill with a few coolers on the way.

A few days of wild seas around the Tenerife coast left San Andres and Las Galletas with a big mopping up operation, even Las Tarajales (above) was lively but the show must go on and with my Bournemouth friends Neal and Karen over that meant the traditional Titsa bus trip in search of the beautiful and the bizarre. Puerto de la Cruz was the start point so we caught the 9 am number 343 express from Las Americas bus station and our speedy driver had us nudging Puerto in just under 90 minutes.

Normally it’s a few degrees cooler up north but the sun was stoking up at 30 degrees as we jumped off at La Paz. The mirador deserved a visit to scan the sea below, it was surprisingly calm and there was little sign of any damage. Zig zagging down the walkway it seemed fairly quiet, a strange living statue hadn’t quite worked his angle out and seemed a cross between a tramp and one of Robin Hoods merry men, but the scrawny parrots being held out for photos seemed far from merry. At the bottom of the hill Playa de Martianez had a good scattering of swimmers and sun worshippers, a totem of gurning masks looked like the Armada Sur after a CD Tenerife defeat, their creator and seller was having a crafty kip on the beach.

I like to give my friends a guided march on these visits and we did Puerto proud scurrying through the back streets venturing out to Playa Jardin past the El Penon football ground and the public swimming pool where a big gala was taking place. All that splashing made us even thirstier so we adjourned for a cold drink in the church plaza. With plenty of time on our hands we flashed the bono bus tickets and made the 10 minute journey up to La Orotava, normally it feels a bit chilly there but if anything it was hotter than Puerto especially with another route march around the back streets. Even without the annual flower carpets display La Orotava is extremely pretty, the Jardin Botanico provided a shady respite, I hadn’t been in there before and although only small it was a place of concentrated beauty.

After feasting our eyes in the mighty Iglesia de la Concepcion it was time to feast our stomachs and the bar restaurant La Duquesa came up trumps with a filling mix of albondigas (meatballs) and Canarian potatoes with plenty of bread and mojo sauces. The next stretch was downhill to the Iglesia Santa Catalina and along through a newer area of thoughtfully developed housing that didn’t look out of place in this historic town. Of course after all that walking down comes the inevitable uphill turn, well a bit more sweat wouldn’t hurt us and more by luck than good geography we came out not far from the bus station.

Back in Puerto de la Cruz we sat outside a bar with cold drinks lamenting the lack of curious people to entertain us, we usually attract them like a magnet. As if reading our minds a young man lurched into view, gave a parked car a free hose down and then tried to enter the bar at the same time as trying to sell the owner a lighter, needless to say he wasn’t on the guest list and moved on only to fall between two more parked cars before scrambling up and stumbling on. It was at this point gazing at the clear blue sky that i noticed an Indian chief staring down at us from the top corner balcony of a housing block. I think he used to be on a lower floor but then he became Hiawatha. Just time to drain our glasses before boarding the Titsa back to the south, we parted company there for a quick wash and change only to emerge later for some food at Malabar in San Telmo and a few late night Doradas – lovely.

Who needs a reason to go off wandering in Tenerife, sometimes it’s just nice to re-visit some favourite places, there’s always something new to see, and sometimes it’s good to look closer at places I may have taken for granted. With this in mind I arrived in La Laguna, stepping off the tram at La Trinidad a cool breeze blew down the road and the temperature flashed up as 24 degrees, quite a drop from the sizzling south.

Wandering through the main pedestrianised streets the number of tourists exploring was well up on normal, I found myself heading for the Torre de la Concepcion, a familiar landmark at the top end of town. It seemed years since I last scaled the tower that dates back to 1697 but noticing the clock about to register 1pm I held back to let the bells ring out, my ears could manage without a close up accoustic blast. It’s a bargain one euro to climb the five flights of tight twisting stairs to the bell gallery, there is another level higher but its sealed off, the masonry looks a bit crumbly these days. The breeze was even fresher in the tower as it blew in between the old stone balconies but the views were rewarding, out to the mountains inland, across to the north airport without its cloak of low cloud for once, and out into town over the bustling streets and changing skyline of the Bishops Palace pushing on with its restoration since the big fire. Back down at the entrance lobby a large sign advised “No Ringing Bells Or Throwing Rubbish from The Tower” you would think people didn’t need telling! The tower is open daily, except Mondays, from 9am to 5pm.

Back in town I stopped for a coffee and a drink and watched the world scurry by, La Laguna centre is a lovely historic collection of buildings showing off the best in canarian architecture. Even the Tourist Information Centre is inside the Casa de Los Capitanes Generales with its ornate fountain and plaza overlooked by old timber balconies. as I headed back to Santa Cruz on the tram (just 1.05 euros) I passed the modern campus of the University, developed with sensitivity and style to fit in with its older surroundings.

Plaza Weyler was my chosen destination coming into Santa Cruz, I still can’t work out where the lady sits on the tram strumming a chord on her harp as she announces each stop. Wow the heat hit me like a wave, 33 degrees in the capital but the plants and flowers in the plaza looked wonderfullywatered and well tended as always. My green fingers were twitiching and my feet led me off the short distance to Parque Garcia Sanabria the secret garden of Santa Cruz. The park gets regular criticism in the media for neglect, true the fountains were off and some parts look a bit worn but a works department van was parked in the main artery and a couple of men were trimming the grass. Not a massive area the park is packed with surprises, leafy walkways lead to strange sculptures, small plazas with historical murals on sturdy benches, and wonderous plants and flowers.

At the front entrance the flower clock is a real beauty and the kiddies train a little gem that sadly I’m too big for. The cafe and its large terrace is a perfect place to take a rest and it was here I discovered a poster and listings for free family film shows on week nights at 9.30 pm through the summer to 2 September. I hope it gets the support it deserves, what a wonderful way for a family to round off a summers day, they even have a burger and drink for 3 euros offer. Heading down into the centre of Santa Cruz I passed the large metallic sculpture in Plaza Patriotismo and for the first time realised the metal shapes were fish, that made me smile, another find and further proof that even familiar Tenerife places are worth a closer scrutiny.

A quick glance at the port and the ongoing work on Via Litoral before I strolled back to the bus station, lucky me the 110 Titsa express to Los Cristianos pulled in and for the second time in a day I made the trip in just under an hour and for a mere 5.10 euros on my bono ticket.

Looking down at my feet the path was dry, angular and rocky, looking up the sky was almost clear blue with a baking sun, but looking around Camino de La Hoya was green and fertile with clear signs of an agricultural past. Quite a contrast but as the walk went on it was clear that water was never far away from me and had been a key ingredient in attracting early settlers to this route that links the municipalities of Arona and San Miguel. Having not tackled the Path Of The Hollow, to give it a loose transaltion, for years my memory was a little patchy as I caught the 416 Granadilla Titsa bus from Los Cristianos. Just 30 minutes later and one euro lighter on my bono ticket I had passed through Cabo Blanco and Valle San Lorenzo on the way up to La Centinela restuarant and mirador. This stylish modern eaterie is the meat, fish and chicken in the sandwich between Arona and San Miguel and also the doorway to the twisting descending path. Despite the heat of the morning I had a coffee in La Centinela so I could admire the  panoramic view that would greet diners later in the day.

Taking the first few steps downward below the restaurant bay windows I wondered how many  walkers had amused their well watered watchers with stumbles and slides, the initial steep incline had little grip and I was glad to hit the firmer path. Of course I took my time to get going as the views were crying out to be photographed, in the distance Montaña Roja jutted out into the sea at El Medano and a quick swivel of the neck revealed Los Cristianos and Las Americas through a parting of the mountains. Spreading out like a patchwork the terraced slopes confirmed the ingenuity of early settlers. The pathway showed signs of horseback visitors, I did my best to avoid taking evidence of their passing with me.

Looking down on this landscape is Roque de Jama a protected national monument and a stunning example of past volcanic action. Its flaked and splintered cone is a beacon for miles around and another inspiration to the walkers below. The floor of the valley is a rich source of pummice but it was also an area of trade and commerce as people met at the various springs to top up on water. Near the end of the walk natural troughs and channels are carved into the red imperneable rock collecting the rain and moisture that runs down through the fractured rock above. The spring was barely a trickle on my visit and the water looked stagnant but I could hear the dripping further up, enough to know that a short shower would soon refresh this as it has done for thousands of years.

Heading up and off the track I was back on a main road linking to San Miguel, a restored rural house, Vera de La Hoya and an old tile kiln were part of the Caserio de La Hoya, one of the earliest settlements. Pipes along the road side gurgled with cold fresh water as I sweated like Lee Evans in a sauna, time to make a choice, retrace my steps or head on to San Miguel along the Sendero de Tamaide. This narrower and less clear walk skirted a barranco but there was the option of descending down to another natural spring so I made like a goat and took the steep uneven track downward.

After scrambling over some boulders I was staring up a large rockface with streams of water running down like a baby version of Barranco del Invierno in Adeje. A rickety wooden bridge seperated me from my path upwards and a thin wild cat sprinted up the rocky steps  ahead teasing me with the promise of an easy climb, what a furry fibber.Rising up  from the cooler leafy basement I could make out the main road ahead and another steep walk, this time on concrete, into San Miguel. Looking back I could just see La Centinela beyond Roque de Jama and onward the spire of the San Miguel church pulled me towards the cold beer that awaited. In total the walks took nearly two and a half hours but it whizzed by as my Titsa bus, one an hour at weekends, took the high road before heading down into Los Cristianos.

It was like being slapped in the face with a wet fish, in the nicest possible way,  jumping off the Titsa bus on the Garachico coast road a cool salty breeze laced with foam from the crashing waves was just the cooling greeting I was seeking. The south of Tenerife was in the grip of a calima with humidity pumping the temperatures into the mid thirties so an escape to the north seemed a great idea.

An early start saw me in Icod de los Vinos for 11 am after a 90 minute ride on the 460 Titsa bus for just 3.65 euros on my Bono ticket. The route always pleases my senses, up through the lovely villages of Santiago del Teide and around the tight roads that cling to the mountains with a sheer drop below. I have owed Garachico a proper visit for years, brief stops on the way through just left me hungry for the full feast, since my last pass through a year ago little seemed to have changed with the new marina but a leaflet picked up later assured me it would be open for January 2012. the 33 million euro project started in 2008 and should give a big boost to local fishermen and the sporty boating brigade.

The rock is the big star of Garachico, a volcanic deposit spat into the sea when a huge eruption of lava engulfed much of the town in 1706, it had played peek a boo with me as my bus travelled along the high road into Icod but close up it was a powerful reminder of a turbulent past and a defiant marker for the future. Climbing the stone steps up to the Ex Convento de Santa Domingo de Guzman I found a shady green plaza in front of the old building. Built in 1601 it’s now a geriatric hospital, exhibition hall, and auditorium as well as a neat spot to survey the sea. A small fountain trickled sedately and lizards scuttled across from plant to plant, one patient at the hospital snoozed in the shade, I was tempted to join him but pushed onwards back down on the Paseo Maritima.

The waves were lively but not threatening but there were plenty of signs of their full power, an old water mill Los Molinos is preserved for visitors, the last remaining one after others were pummelled by the sea, even the football ground had large breaker like protection just a roads crossing from the sea. Nature does balance things up, the El Caleton rock pools are a wonderful collection of channels and fissures in the rocks, free for sun seeking bathers to enjoy. Health and safety in the UK would have them sealed off but in Garachico there are not even any life guards, just a colour coded safety flag plus stone steps and metal stairs into the churning water and then it’s down to your own common sense. There is also a more formal man made pool but the natural way looked much more fun.

Turning away from the sea and up a side street I was rewarded with the Plaza de la Libertad and what a rich treasure that turned out to be. The Iglesia De Nuestra Senora De Los Angeles and the Ayuntamiento building were impressive but shelling out a paltry euro I entered the Ex Convento De San Francisco which dates back to 1524 (that’s nearly half past three). The concentric cobbled corridors were lined with cabinets full of rare shells and fossils, exhibition halls led off displaying various art works, and the courtyards just brimmed with beauty. Up on the first floor the exhibition Canarias – Volcanes En El Oceano was continuing its educational tour and although closed for the afternoon the library offered another service to well served locals.

Heading back out to the sea front I ventured another euro to make the short walk onto the tower roof of the Castillo San Miguel. This had survived fire and lava since its birth in 1575 and the rusty canon and anchors just below stood testament to its valiant efforts to repel pirates. Nature had of course proved to be a more formidable opponent and even now the slopes of the cliffs show the path of two of the main lava flows, there were seven seperate prongs of the volcanic activity. Grabbing a cold drink left my in perfect time to catch the 363 hourly bus back to Icod, just one euro and ten minutes and I was back in a rather deserted home of the drago tree. Retracing my bus trip back south I broke the journey in Tejina for a few cool drinks with friends before pitching up in Los Cristianos for a few late Doradas at a party packed Merry Monk, well it was still very humid in the south.