Return of The Good, The Bad and The Unusual

THE GOOD

And here’s what you’ve all been asking yourselves:
“Why in God’s name has he not gouged his eyes out and run naked through the streets decrying the infidels?”
Good question.
The answer is that once you head inland and leave the urban blight, Gran Canaria can be achingly and breathtakingly beautiful. I could continue to bore you with endless, although quite accurate, cliches but, as they say, a picture is worth a thousand words. And so...

Roque Nublo: highest volcanic rock in the world, worshipped by the indigenous people (for obvious reasons) and over 80 metres high - that’s Peace Tower height. And yes, those are people in the lower photo.

Roque Bentagya: also worshipped in olden times. And again, yes, that’s a person in the lower photo. I wish I could truthfully say it was me, but my ever-worsening  vertigo stopped me WAY before that point. Some fellow French oldsters and I simply sat and watched. “Fou!” I stated as my companions nodded sagely.

La Forteleza: Gran Canaria’s version of Masada. At one time these pillars were actually lived in and they’ve also found altars & fortifications. All that came to an end in 1438, when the Spaniards arrived. According to legend, when defeat was inevitable, the chiefs hurled themselves from the summit rather than be captured. No word on anyone else. Even without the story - awe-inspiring.

Pico de las Nieves: highest point on the island. Often shrouded in clouds, but for me... 

In the above photo, you can see Roque Nublo, Roque Bentayga and, in the far background, Tenerife.

Random Stunning Landscapes: as I said, everywhere you look (when you can at last manage to take your eyes off the road for more than a split second), there’s serious eye candy. This is what I imagine Wyoming & Utah must be like, but crammed onto a tiny island.

Villages & Towns: these are scattered everywhere, and many are picturesquely clinging to the sides of mountains. What the hell did people do when there were only rough dirt tracks and no vehicles whatsoever? Fortunately, the vast majority have retained their character & charm. Hallelujah!

 

Hiking: supposedly there are over 400 hiking trails here and I’m frequently stumbling across both signposts and shorts&boots&backpack clad “serious” hikers (you can tell, trust me). While I’ve only done a few, they’ve all been quite enjoyable, although, as with the biking, many of the ones I’ve seen (and obviously not done) are, as they say, “challenging”.

This is Bandama Crater, which I hiked around - with my heart in my throat quite often since it drops off on both sides of the trail. It’s MUCH bigger than it appears. That’s a house at the bottom and a hotel on the right side.

Caldera de los Marteles: yet another goat track that just kept going down & down, while I scrabbled  down & then clawed my way back up. Imagine my surprise when someone behind me yelled and then zoomed by on mountain bikes.

Playa Gui Gui: supposedly an idyllic, deserted beach. This is the “easy” route. I never actually made it there, since it took me an hour and a half to climb up and I realized I’d have to climb all the way down and then back. How good could it really be?

Going up

Looking back down

This is what I would have had to walk down to get to the beach.

BONUS: if you’d like a preview of what’s coming up in “The Unusual”, just zoom in on my fellow hiking enthusiast. And yes, we had a lovely chat. 

I was going to add the weather to this list, since it had been at least 25 degrees and sunny every single day since my arrival, but then last weekend The Apocalypse descended. It’s usually fairly windy during the day here, but then it dies down in the evening. On Friday night however, it actually seemed to pick up, and when I awoke on Saturday an eerie fog had enveloped everything and the wind was howling. No problem - a day off and since I had no-one to ask, I thought it was simply some common phenomenon. By Sunday, I got bored, figured “What the hell?” and decided to drive up into the Mountains to check out the highest village on the island. (Yeah, I know. Don’t even bother saying it). 

Well, obviously I survived, but just barely. I had to stop 3 times along the way for fallen trees, not to mention flying debris. At last reached the village and tried to walk up to “La Emita de la Cuevita” - a “charming” grotto church according to the guide book and a Devil’s Toenail if ever there was one.

C’mon man!

Unfortunately, I literally could not walk forward and had to stand there watching and listening to hydro wires whipping back & forth over my head. Fun times. 

Long story short: all caused by the “Calima”, a ferocious wind from Africa that literally engulfed the Canary Islands in a giant sandstorm. Check these photos I took 2 days apart - same beach, same time of day:

Okay then. If you haven’t gotten the idea yet, you’re never going to get it, although I could easily add about a hundred more photos just as stunning. Enough already. As Caitlin once told me when I asked her if she’d been reading my masterpieces, “But Dad, they’re soooooo long!”

Bottom line: Gran Canaria has some VERY redeeming qualities, and hypothetically, you could come here, race from the airport to the hills and convince yourself this was, well, like Sao Miguel. But when it comes right down to it, it isn’t. 

Next Time: Bride of The Good, The Bad and The Unusual. 

The Good, The Bad and The Unusual

THE BAD

I hate to do this to you, but I’m gonna start with The Bad, just so you don’t leave with the sour taste & sinking feeling I had to endure when I arrived.
Where to begin?
Honestly, there’s just so much wrong with this place that it’s hard to know which sins to highlight. Don’t get me wrong. I knew Gran Canaria was  “touristy”, but just as (to my chagrin) I had woefully underestimated the damage in Sri Lanka and Baja, I was completely unprepared for The European Elephants’ Graveyard. Worse still, I’d come from Sao Miguel, which remains virtually untouched and untrammelled. Even if I tell you that there were 4.5 million “visitors” here last year on an island you could drive all the way around on the beautiful 6 lane ring road in 2 hours, it still wouldn’t prepare you for the devastation. The entire East coast, starting at the capital, Las Palmas (which is, for all intents and purposes, just a big city with a tiny, quaint historical center and a very long beach), is a giant industrial area/strip mall. But it’s the South coast that’s the real jewel in the crown. Allow me to demonstrate:

This is a Google Earth shot of Maspalomas, where I’m staying. I mean, just look at the size of it - all hotels, tiny condos, restaurants and shopping centres. The San Augustine one near me has, aside from  all the usual suspects, a raft of bars &  restaurants, including, but not limited to an English pub, Italian, German, Greek, Swiss, Swedish, Indian, Chinese and We Serve Everything. But that’s nothing. The Yumbo Centre in Playa Del Ingles has all that plus at least 2 drag bars (more on that later).
Here...maybe this will give you a better idea of the idyllic atmosphere:

             My fellow vacationers - kindred spirits all.

And all the way down the coast, it’s more of the same, as I discovered on my first bike ride along the busy highway. Everywhere there’s even the smallest strip of sand, the plague has taken over.
Here’s Puerto Rico. Note just how teensy-weensy the beach is compared to the buildings. And yes, they go all the way back to the superhighway - and beyond. Dreamy.

 Here’s what it looks like in real life:

                                   

Now imagine that going back half a kilometre on both sides. Ah, nature! And this scenario is repeated at least 5 more times in less than 30 kms, ending in Puerto Mogán, the “Venice of the Canary Islands” (I kid you not), which does have a cutesy, and very expensive, central quarter

but whose canals are as dry as a bone and resemble nothing so much as sewage drains.

Just in case you were wondering, at one time there were indigenous farmers and fishermen here, but, as was their wont, the Spaniards made short work of them upon arrival. Aside from some abandoned caves, this is what’s left:

Very fitting, no?

Before I tell you about my next nightmare -  the biking and driving - a little background. Like Sao Miguel, this is a volcanic island, so it has ridiculously steep hills from the coast to the centre. However, for whatever reason, it has been cleaved into innumerable valleys/canyons. The results:
1. Instead of just going up, you go up & down, up & down, back & forth, etc.
2. The only way to build roads is by carving them out of the mountainside. Best case scenario: they’re actually 2 cars wide, paved AND have a guardrail. In reality...

                                   

As you can plainly see, there’s not much room for error.

For the gaggle of serious Freds here - resplendent in their full kits and riding only high-end bikes - this is heaven on Earth. For a geriatric sissy, it’s hell on wheels. Honestly, it’s impossible to decide which is worse - my agonizing, never-ending climbs up or my terrifying descents, feverishly gripping the brakes with cramped hands while I wait for my tire to explode from the overheated rims. Now add traffic, including petrified, unskilled tourists, crazed motorcyclists and innumerable, gigantic trucks and  buses (no railways here) and perhaps you can see why this is not my ideal cycling destination.

As a point of reference, the Gatineau Parkway’s STEEPEST pitch is 7%. Some hills here are 25%!

Just waiting for these losers to catch up.

Basically, the driving is a classic case of “too much of a good thing”. 

Initially I thought,”Wow! Wouldn’t this be great on the Norton!” 

But then you realize, just as Sarah and I did when we got directions for the “scenic” route from Las Pozas to Mexico City, that going around and around gets very tiring very quickly and you’re left with nausea and the feeling you’ll NEVER actually reach your destination. Same here, but with the added bonus of knowing that if you, or someone else, makes a mistake it could easily be,”Adios caballero.”

Okay, enough. I realize I promised to regale you with The Good, but I’m both too tired and too lazy to keep going or shift everything around. It’s also hard to imagine that you’d have the stamina to continue. So tough titty. I will return - eventually - and your patience will be rewarded. The Good is VERY good. 

Next Time: Return of The Good, The Bad and The Unusual.

If Food Be The Food of Food, Then Food On

Oh, I know what you’re thinking right now.
“Surely to God he’s not going to devote an entire post to food!”
That’s because (with 2 notable exceptions) you’re not a Brownie. It’s not that we’re obsessed with food. Oh no, it goes WAY beyond that. But as Patricia Brown would say, “If you don’t understand, I couldn’t possibly explain it”. Therefore, time for the tales.

I didn’t go to the Azores on a food quest, but I had done some research, and once I discovered Debbie & Michael were Azorean Restaurant Virgins, the die was cast.
Our first stop was “A Tasca”, which I had feverishly read about, since it has a reputation as the “ go to” eatery for locals in Ponta Delgada. Unfortunately, when we arrived I realized that I had forgotten my glasses (there’s a first time for everything) and the menu was in Spanish, so I did what I always do in these situations: I threw myself on the mercy of the server. In this particular case, it was an inspired decision. Our waitress was the Perfect Storm - flawless English from her 10 years living in Boston, deep & abiding maternal instincts and bossy as all get out. She quickly ordered me octopus and the Catch of the Day. When I was bold/stupid enough to suggest that perhaps I would like French fries with my fish, she simply turned, gave me a withering glance and said, “You’re getting the sweet potato”.
Okay then. As it turns out, her choices were perfect and don’t for a minute think she didn’t lord it over me for the entire meal.
“Good, right? Didn’t I tell you?”
See for yourselves.

Honestly, if I thought I could have gotten away with licking the plates....

Buoyed by our initial success, we next took a drive to Furnas, which is famous for its volcanic bubbling hot springs.

Yeah, yeah, absolutely fascinating. But what I was really here for were the cauldrons of food, which were placed in special holes dug into the smouldering soil and left to simmer for 6 hours.

And once I saw Tony’s special hole, well... no need to explain, is there?

So off we went. I’d already cased Tony’s (no sense wasting eating time) and, while we didn’t get to meet Tony himself - a bitter disappointment, since I was relishing the encounter “Hey! Tony! Tony Baloney! How you doin’?” - the meal more than made up for it in both quality and quantity.

Honestly, have you EVER seen that much meat on a single plate? The only jarring note was the blood pudding , which literally had an indescribable taste, and not in a good way.

Time for the finale of our Holy Trinity - a drive to Villa Franca del Campo to sample the queijada, a tart originally made by nuns in the 1600s using a secret recipe that involves lots and lots of flour, butter, sugar, egg yolks, milk and a dash of quezo fresco (a special cheese). What’s not to love? Naturally, I had only intended to get one, but when the lovely lady behind the counter assured me that one “would never be enough”, I realized the error of my ways and bought the handy six-pack. How convenient. It’s hard to describe just how delightful these things taste by looking at the exterior, but if I tell you that when you take a bite, your taste buds are greeted with a creamy, gooey, rich interior, you might get a better idea.

I feel I’d be remiss if I didn’t at least mention our final feast, which took place at Gastronomo, a restaurant that Debbie had read was both vegetarian and vegan friendly. The meal was memorable -not so much for the food, although it was certainly more than adequate - but rather for the ordering.
Our waiter, who obviously prided himself on his grasp of English, assured Debbie that they did indeed have a “vegetarian” option, which turned out to be a huge fruit and vegetable salad. Although Debbie seemed quite content, one look at Michael, aka Monsieur French Fries, was enough to make our guy realize that “accommodations” would have to be made. There ensued a conversation worthy of an Abbott & Costello routine.
“So you want the salad?”
“Yes, but we also want French fries and sweet potatoes.”
“ Both of you? And you’re getting the fish?”
Hopefully you get the drift. In the end, he assured us he understood EXACTLY what we wanted. Well, maybe not exactly. Here was the end result:

Not quite as much food as we would have liked, but thank God we had time to order a second helping.

There, that wasn’t so bad, was it? And I promise I won’t do it again - at least until we get to Barcelona. Then all bets are off.

Next time: Gran Canaria: The Good, The Bad and The Unusual.