T and I have just
returned from a lovely New Year break. I must admit I had been wary of going to
the Canaries due to their reputation as the winter Costa del Brit: sunburn,
fish and chips, the pub and never miss an episode of your favourite TV programmes.
But La Gomera is one of the smaller islands and is not developed for mass
tourism. It became a hippy hideaway in the 1970’s and still has a little of that
atmosphere. There is only one large hotel and we were staying in it.
As the island
doesn’t have an airport that can take large passenger planes, you fly to
Tenerife Sur, transfer to Los Cristinanos Port and take a large ferry for an
hour. Then the journey gets really interesting. The island is an old volcano,
which has eroded into deep ravines separated by narrow ridges. There are few
roads and all of them zigzag up from sea level to the centre of the island at
almost 5000 feet, and then drop down, through precipitous hairpins, to your
destination along the coast.
The style of Hotel
Jardin Tecina would be familiar to fans of the ‘The Prisoner’, filmed at Portmerion,
Clough William-Elllis’s fantasy Mediterranean village in North Wales. It had a
jumble of whitewashed houses with terracotta tiled roofs set amid tropical
botanical gardens connected by a maze of ochre paths that ranged across a
clifftop. Our balcony looked out on purple bouganvilla, an African tulip tree
with canaries singing amongst its orange flowers, a banana plantation, the
shimmering sea and Mt Teide with white clouds at its summit. But unlike Patrick
McGoohan, you would not be seeking to escape, just wishing you had booked
another week.
The food was
mostly home grown and organic. There was a huge breakfast buffet, we overdosed
on tropical fruits, particularly papaya, and coconut yoghourt topped off with
dark palm syrup. There were chefs who would make you omelettes or crepes and a
station where you could make up your own tea mixture from a range of exotic
jars. There was pretty much everything you could want spread before you, from
cold cuts, cheese and salad to fried potatoes, bacon and eggs. In the evening
the buffet was filled again, this time with salads, fresh fish, vegetables,
meat and exotic desserts. It was not a good place for anyone on a diet.
We wandered
the large hotel site and went swimming in the saltwater pool beside the black
stone beach that you accessed via a lift that descended through the cliff face.
We visited the local village and walked though the banana plantation to the
next rocky bay where several old campervans resided and a couple of young
hippies lived in a cave. The weather remained warm, from 21 to 25 degrees, and it
only rained for a couple of hours one morning.
For several
days we rented a car, a small Fiat that struggled to ascend the steep hills but
was light and manoeuvrable on the switchback descents. The centre of the island
is covered in a unique laurel forest, the trees are densely packed together and
hang with moss; when clouds roll in they extract moisture from the air. After
the island was settled by the Spanish, some 500 years ago, this water was
transported to terraces on the sides of the high ridges where wheat and barley
were grown. These days many of the high terraces have been abandoned and root
vegetables and palm trees are cultivated instead.
The Spanish
killed off or enslaved the original inhabitants who had been there since
Neolithic times and were North African in origin. They worshipped the mountains
as deities and built stone circles and court tombs on the peaks but were no
match for conquistadores with guns and Christianity. Yet they left their mark,
having originated a unique whistling language that is still used today to
communicate in the mountains. And almost fifty percent of contemporary Gomerans
have Berber in their genes.
Our time on
La Gomera was bookended by two festivals. First was the hotel’s magnificent
Gala New Year Dinner: a six course extravaganza with free champagne and table
wine with dancing to follow. In Spain it is considered good luck to eat a grape
for each of the twelve bongs of midnight. But we were so happily replete that
we could only manage a couple each. Feliz Anno Nuevo.
On our last
full day we drove to San Sebastian to see the Cavalcade of the Three Kings. A
large crowd of parents and children in their Sunday best had assembled outside
of the small stone cathedral. In Spain children get presents from the Magi on
January 6th. They put their shoes by the door, so the Magi will know how many
children live at that house, and leave some food for them and for their camels.
If the children have been good they will get a present, if not they will get a
piece of coal.
We waited and
waited, the children got more and more excited. Then in the distance the sound
of a brass band and the swaying of something red, could there be camels? The
anticipation intensified further. At last, into the small square paraded a
school brass band. Everyone applauded. After them an entourage of young women
dressed Arabian style with full veils carrying red flags. And behind them strode
the first king: a young man with golden robes and crown, long white wig and
beard, behind him came another young man in purples robes carrying a silver
casket. They waved and walked around shaking hands.
Next came
Micky and Minnie Mouse, then another king with their entourage, followed by
Spongebob Squarepants and a Minion. After the third king came Mike from
Monsters Inc and Phineas Flynn. I think the cartoon characters got more
applause than the Magi. Finally into the square came an ogre with a large list
of childrens names and an assistant pushing a trolley full of coal. The ogre
growled and pointed to his list of names, the children howled and shook their
heads. The Magi appeared for a curtain call then went into the cathedral.
We left early
the next morning, already plotting our return. Somewhere on the journey back,
probably on the plane, I picked up a stomach bug. So the only blot on a lovely
week was to spend the first few days at home in bed with a temperature and the
runs.
The village below the hotel