ROCKING ROQUE

Before we start today's theme, a small announcement is in order:

Some of my friends have been asking questions about the plant adorning the lead picture in the last blog post. Good questions! This is indeed a spectacular specimen of the Canarian flora. Its flower, if straightened out, must measure almost 2 meters, I gather. This plant stems originally from the arid highlands of Mexico but is thriving splendidly in the heights of Gran Canaria. It is called Agave attenuata ("Swan's Neck Agave"). Given the pondus of its flower, you may understand that flowering is a one time event, occurring only after 8-10 years of the plant's life. After this glorious outburst the agave dies, but its drying skeleton will keep standing another year or two.

The flower in the picture is flourishing at the entrance to Café La Candelilla, located at about 1000 meters' altitude in the village of Ayacata. This café is the provisioning station for most hike and bike tours on the heights. Thus, the Swan's Neck has been wishing me well in the morning before, and welcoming me back after, many a strenuous day in the mountains. And this for the many years and hikes I have undertaken up there!

But did I not just say that the plant dies off after having flowered? "Yes", indeed, but the plant is too clever to let itself perish without a trace. During its long life, it is spinning off small brethren without interruption and a successor is ready to flower as soon as its forerunner is drying up. So there, all your questions have been answered, I hope.

After this it's time for the hike of the day, which deals with the impressive Roque Nublo. This is without question the most imposing top of Gran Canaria. It is placed on a badly eroded part of the Caldera de Tejeda, looking like a ship on the high see, standing as it is on an elevated plateau, with its utmost top  as chimney or lookout, or, if you prefer, looking like a fleshy red middle finger pointed by mankind at the Almighty in the sky.

Comparing the Roque to a ship on the high sea is not as far-fetched as you may believe. The trade winds are continuously chasing clouds over the island's crater rims and Roque is exposed to their strongest onslaught. If weather conditions permit, and you are standing on the right view-point, you can actually see the clouds crashing on its cliffs as if they were waves showering a large vessel. I have a picture here to prove my point, taken about two years ago.

Just like in the case of the Campanario, there a two ways to ascend this monument, the EASY way and the HARD way. The easy way is easy indeed, starting from a parking lot on the saddle between the two calderas, with a broad path winding up the hilly front. You want to locate the starting point on the picture above? You divide the photo into horizontal and vertical thirds, and the start lies where the lower and left dividing lines cross. People have been seen walking up that path in sandals or even barefoot.  THIS IS NOT RECOMMENDED! (speaking as a former sandal wearer, in my younger days of course).

The hard way consists of climbing the mountain from the inside of the Caldera de Tejeda, striving ever upwards, broadly with the gradient. This means treading narrow paths along often rather steep inclines but provides, on the other hand, sweeping vistas over the western part of the island and, weather permitting, Teide reigning over the coastal foot ranges. This time, Dieter, our guide from Free Motion, of Campanario ascent fame, chose the hard way, albeit with a twist, to be revealed later on.

Weather conditions were close to optimal yesterday, with hardly a cloud to be seen on the deeply blue sky watching over the heights. The first hour of the exercise was demanding, forcing us to build up stamina for the continued hike. We really had to catch our breath after this climb! The picture above shows us getting our strength back, whilst looking back at the task accomplished.

The reward came when we had ascended a more slightly rising slope, or rather plateau, abounding with greenery and flowers. Below us a small lake could be glanced and small brooks were ever present with clear water purpling its way downward within the greenery. It is difficult to convey these marvelous impressions in two dimensional pictures, but let me at least give it a try and present to you a panorama of the lake, as it folded out before my eyes this splendid morning. 

After another hour's hike we reached more elevated and open slopes showing the promised vistas of the western barrancos of the Caldera de Tejeda, together with its flanking lower ranges. In the upper right quadrant of the panorama below you can glance the village of San Nicolas and, further out at sea, the Teide. Why not click on the picture to get its larger version, the better to admire the details in the view? 

I deliberately took the panorama so you could look at nature as the naked eye would see it. You are disappointed at the tiny size of Teide above? Well this is how it appears if the eye is sweeping across the horizon, taking it all in at once. But let me not keep you frustrated. As we continued climbing upwards, Dieter chose a beautiful picnic spot for us, with Teide in plain sight, so let me present to you this sovereign among mountains (it is Spain's highest mountain, after all) in a setting more appropriate to his serene highness.

Fortified by this interlude in splendid surroundings, we felt ready to face the final challenge, accosting and climbing the "ship" itself, as it appeared more and more luring in between the pine trees. 

But when we finally arrived at the "ship's" foot, Dieter had a surprise waiting for us. Instead of climbing straight up to the major plateau, along the path that a decaying sign in the forest indicated, he led us towards the left and enticed us to circle the promontory on a cosy shaded path within dense pine groves. This certainly prolonged the hike by an hour or so, but showed me a trail that I had never trodden before, as many times as I had striven upwards towards Roque. Dieter's grand plan was to lead us around the promontory to its "back" and let us mount the final slope on the EASY road that was awaiting us there. So now we can safely state that there also is a MIDDLE way up the Roque!

At the altitude we were walking now, around 1600 meters or so, it became rather cool in the shadows. Even ice became apparent here and there, causing us to be careful when placing our feet. But this did not detain us from treading steadily onward, helped by Dieter's never-ending comments and jokes that led us to forget our impending exhaustion. But why do I bother writing about Dieter's encouragements, when you can see and hear them yourselves, simply by clicking on the video below?

Fired on by Dieter and by now eager to come to the end of the ascent, we finally made it to the important crossing, where all the paths join and lead to the narrow passage giving access to THE PLATEAU, on which the red final outcrop is squatting so prominently. Just another 10 minutes of strenuous climbing and we would be grasping the full majesty of the surroundings. To celebrate our pleasurable anticipations, a round-up of our group of "serious" hikers seemed in order.

And now on to the fulfillment of our expectations! Having burnished the last narrow steps, there we were, standing on the island's flat roof, if not its top, beholding the majesty of an enourmos red "boulder", placed so pronouncedly on the red expanse bowing to its prominence. The Roque is striving only some 100 meters up in the air, but it looks like many more; an impressive sight indeed! Have a closer look at the Roque by clicking on it and identifying the red hikers at its root, to get a better impression of its scale.

Looking at the Roque in its solitary majesty is helping to bring piece to your soul, inviting its union with the universe. You think this is a notion fetched too far? By no means; traditional island sources indicate that this was the foremost place of worship for the indigenous population, the guanches;  this was where the island population had its strategic meetings and important religious ceremonies were being performed. This is easy to understand. Were I king of the island, I would not hesitate to designate the Roque as the site of my coronation, for egging on my subjects in times of war, as as well as for performing my religious rites as pontifex maximus. This would most surely succeed in manifesting the authority and credibility of my régime. But enough of this daydreaming! Even to this day, whenever heavily weighing decisions are to be taken by the islanders, they tend to congregate here to make their strategic deliberations. 

Another intriguing aspect of this place is that the geographical center of the island (don't ask me how it has been calculated) is situated just under Roque's feet. A small circle, drawn in white, indicates its location, as can be seen below. When developing the picture to the left, I suddenly recalled that I had taken another one on the same location a bit more than a year ago. That hike was far more usual than the one done yesterday. The Roque (Rock) is not called Nublo (in the clouds) in vain. The ordinary condition, when standing on the plateau, is to see essentially nothing. Only occasionally, and if you are lucky, will Roque then mystically step forward from out of the clouds, only to exit out of sight again within minutes. So Manfred Ritsch, our Styrian guide from last year, had to lead us on a blind chase of the rock and its attractions, whereas Dieter, this year, could let us loose to discover the sights on our own, in a splendid sunshine not to be had on ordinary climbing days. 

Whilst we were off, exploring the surroundings, Dieter had his own errands to carry out. He is an accomplished amateur mineralogist, ever looking for precious stones among the prevalent reddish pebbles covering the grounds of this volcanic island. Within a period of 15 minutes he had quite a collection of black precious stones to show for his travails, as you can see in the picture. These were  obsidians he had found, a stone valued as highly for jewelry nowadays as it was as material for instruments in the stone age. When splintered, they have an extremely thin and sharp edge, rendering them eminently useable as arrow heads or knives. Did I say "stone age"? Don't be mistaken, the foremost chirurgical knives made nowadays have their edges made in obsidian.

After all this excitement on the roof of the world, I am quite at a loss of words to describe what followed. Suffice it to show two pictures from our (cosy) descent, which led us to the parking lot, where the easy path to the top begins. This route is as easy to descend as it is to ascend, which suited us well, after the morning's strenuous trecking uphill. The first picture shows the way back down to the cross, where we had taken our group picture. 

This final picture shows us on the broad path down to the parking lot, just a minute or two before getting all the way down. This spot provided us with a wonderful vista towards Ayacata, as well as the lower mountain ranges flanking Lake Soria and the Barranco leading to Aguineguin.

"Wow!", what a marvelous day that was! Can it get any better? "Yes", it can, if you care to click on the web address below, for a full picture show of this beautiful hike.

TO THE TOP!!!

I guess it is the child in me, but every time I see or hear of a mountain, I immediately feel the urge to climb and get on top of it. No wonder, therefore, that I have a particularly strong feeling of satisfaction when reporting about yesterday's exercises. This blog, as well as the next one, is about mountains and how to ascend them.

The mountains on Gran Canaria are not exactly ordinary (but what is ordinary on this enchanted island?). They are not mountains as we usually see them, even if they have the altitude.  To get you to understand what I mean, let’s digress a bit and talk about geology.

The island, as it stands before us now, is formed by and consists essentially of two massive volcanic craters, the Caldera de Tejeda in the Northwest and its southern sibling, the Caldera de Tirajana. Their respective rims are prominent in the island’s center, but their outer parts, towards the Atlantic, are but eroded away. In between the two central rims lies a highland, formed like a saddle and heavily forested by the indigenous Canarian pine. The pine forest is a delight to penetrate and pure pleasure to behold from above.

Here I am, standing on top of the world or, rather, on top of Pico de Campanario

The Caldera de Tirajana is the younger of the two; but does it matter, speaking in terms of millions of year of age? Consider instead that this crater from the outset was a huge mountain, formed like a volcanic cone and reaching more than 6000 meters into the sky; a bit like the Teide on Teneriffa (the highest mountain in Spain) or the Fujijama, just considerably higher. This massive cone blew up some millions of year ago and left behind it a gigantic crater, the remains of which now still can be beheld as the rim of the Caldera. In a similar manner, the Caldera de Tejeda was formed, albeit millions of year earlier.

The highest mountains in Gran Canaria are really just promontories on the respective inner rims. Roque Nublo dominates the Caldera de Tejeda, whereas the Caldera de Tirajana contains two prominent outcrops, the Pico de Campanario and the Pico de las Nieves. The three have an altitude of, in that order, some 1800, 1980 and 2000 meters. To my regret, only Roque and Campanario are accessible to the public, whereas Las Nieves is off limits, with military establishments close to the peak.

Campanario to the left and Las Nieves, flanked by a radar antenna, to the right

Yesterday’s challenge was to climb the highest accessible mountain among the three, the Campanario. Only one operator in Playa del Inglès is organizing hikes up to its top and that is Free Motion. Our trusted guide was, as before, “Der olle Dieter” who despite his almost 70 years never hesitates to put his foot down on even the most difficult of terrains.

I have to tell you that I have climbed the Campanario already five times before.  However, those climbs were only a limited success. The trade winds regularly cover the Caldera rim with clouds and lucky is the climber who is able to get his reward in terms of sweeping vistas, from the top, of the island all the way to the coast, or even to Teneriffa, with Tejde reigning like a sovereign over the clouds . Only once before did Fortuna favour me, even only with limited views, and I was hoping for even better luck this time.

There is an easy way and a hard way to climb Campanario. Until recently, the guides have always chosen the hard way, which means climbing the peak from the inside of the Caldera. This involves daring a rather narrow path cut into steep slope and overcoming a difference of some 1000 meters in altitude. This year, Dieter decided otherwise; had age started to sneak up to him? Probably not, he is still spritely as a youngster and it takes some stamina to follow his strides. Maybe it is us customers that have become older and less willing to endure the hardship of the “narrow path”.

Be that as it may, the route we took this time started from the dense pine forest of the high inland plateau. From there, you only have to overcome a limited difference in altitude, some three hundred meters, and the slope is correspondingly milder.

Our hike started in a glade, where the Spaniards living on the island usually have their picnic in summertime, looking for a refreshing reprieve from the coastal heat.  From the start, an easy-going camaraderie developed among us fellow hikers, all eager to gain the top of the world and admire it from there. Let me single out one of those newly won friends: his name was Ehrling. The interesting thing about him was that he, although being a Swede, spoke Austrian almost as well as I speak Swedish (Let others judge how “well” that actually may be). This was a funny guy indeed, in a discrete Swedish manner; furthermore, he was as eager a photographer as myself.

Soon we happened upon a comfortable path with an intriguing sign that said “Camino de Santiago”. Could there be a connection to the many roads leading to Santiago de Compostella in Spain? Indeed there could and was, as explained by Dieter. This path is crossing the island from South to North, through barrancos and over the tops, its purpose being to lead pilgrims from the South to Las Palmas in the North, to be shipped onwards from there to the corresponding paths in mainland Spain. 

After an hour’s comfortable walk as pilgrims, so to speak, suddenly there came our first big surprise of the climb: a clearing opened up in the forest and allowed us an unhindered vista over the western part of the island; and, surprise, surprise, above it all, like a mirage, appeared the white capped crown of Teide.

With cameras clicking away and happy outbursts waking up the birds, we got new stamina necessary for the other half of the climb. We had now to leave the comfort of the pilgrim track and to continue upwards along a narrow, but still passable footpath.

As we proceeded towards the top, again and again vistas of the Tejde and, increasingly, of Roque Nublo opened up among the pines, keeping us content and eager to continue. At one nice spot, Dieter stopped us and pointed to his favourite view of Roque, framed by pine trees like by a window. You can see for yourself below if this view is worth looking at.

These pleasant interruptions were the more welcome than the air had become quite cool and the path was getting increasingly icy. But nothing could prevent us now from pressing ahead, all of us looking forward to experience a marvellous view from the top.

And finally, there we were, standing on top of the world, or at least the island!

What did it matter that cold winds were chilling our cheeks! Did they not help us keep the air clear from clouds and providing us with unhindered vistas, from looking down to the dunes of Maspalomas to looking up at the majestic serenity of Tejde, accompanied by its sibling, the reddish Nublo. All too short was the time spent on this marvellous look-out; eventually, we had to leave with regret, but the memory of these sunny views will linger on and comfort us in bleaker days to come.

Back down we strolled, through the pine forests, to the picnic site where our bus was already waiting for us. Following Dieter’s knowing instructions, it rushed us to the cafeteria La Candelilla, in Ayacata, the starting and finishing point of many a hiking trip. Refreshments were in order!

Whilst sitting at that café and sipping coffee, I suddenly remembered that Dieter always feels the urge to point out an intriguing mountain range just opposite the café and mention that it looks like a snoring giant. Have a look at the picture I took for your benefit and let me know, whether his interpretation makes sense to you.

Whilst you are pondering this important issue, I’d like to reacquaint you with Ehrling, who kept us awake, during the hardy hike, with and laughing at his funky stories. Please have a go at the web address below, to hear him tell the story of how he tried to convince his Austrian friends of the delicate taste of Surströmmning (Swedish style sour herring).

You could not follow his tale, because your German was getting rusty? Do not despair: just click on the next address here, to hear Erling invigorating us with a beautiful song in Swedish.

Are you disappointed with the scarcity of pictures I have put in this blog? Well, there is a remedy also for this sad feeling. Here comes now the usual rounding up of the story, in form of a full picture gallery, with music and all, depicting the full story of this marvellous day! As a special treat for you readers, the pictures are being accompanied by the most glorious trumpet solo ever played. It brings tears to the eyes even to the most scarred veterans among us. It is amazing that a 25 old artist could express so fully what us old-timers feel and fear. A most suitable companion to a unique hike to the top!

OF WATERS AND WITCHES

On an island with an arid, desert-like South, like Gran Canaria, access to water is of utmost importance. In the old days, it was an issue of life and death. People did not use to live along the southern slopes, since rain was rare and stochastic and there was a dearth of springs. First higher up in the arroyos (canyons created through erosion of the huge southern vulcanic crater rim) could people survive, where springs created tiny oases of greenery in the middle of arid wastes. Still, there were periods of extended drought in pre-modern times, often lasting for a decade or more, forcing also those people to leave and emigrate, mostly towards Latin America, and coming back first when living conditions again proved more favorable.

All this changed when Franco, who used to be governor of the Canaries, commanded the systematic construction of reservoirs in the interior, together with tunnels and open conduits to lead the water south. To this day one can observe, on any slope close to Maspalomas, the open irrigation ditches that led water to huge tomato plantations and were still in function until about fourty years ago, when the tourist trade took over. The name of Maspalomas is indirectly related to this. The immense tomato cultivations gave rise to a lot of waste which was loved by pigeons. The workers in the plantations, being plagued by these insistent birds, would exclaim "Yet more pigeons!" (in Spanish "Mas palomas!").

The open ditches are left to decay nowadays and agriculture has been intensified instead in the southern arroyos and highlands. Water to the fields is nowadays led through huge black closed tubes that snake along the slopes, avoiding the large evaporation losses of the former open conduits.

There are as much as some 60 reservoirs on the island, providing a sustainable water supply for agriculture even over a prolonged period of drought. Filled to the brim with the precious fluid, they could keep the southern fields going for almost ten years of sparse raining before needing replenishment. This is precisely what is needed, since plentiful rain comes only between long periods of dearth.

But what about the tourist industry with its many thousands of visitors? Does it not use up all the water in the reservoirs in gigantic slurps, leaving only pittance to the farmers? Actually, all residential use of water on the coast is being supplied by huge de-salting plants that convert seawater to freshwater. This water is not potable. Drinking water comes instead in plastic bottles and consists of water from wells in the North. Up there, there is always ample supply of water, due to the humidity carried to it by the trade winds and unleashed over its slopes. This leaves the reservoirs to be used by the southern farmers and highland communities. All in all, the water supply system appears pretty much sustainable.

Due to the heavy rain earlier this year, and also last year, the reservoirs are completely full; and nature,  on the southern coast and highlands, is as green as never before. Does it surprise you that I am longing for excursions into this region of bounty? Yesterday, I partook in a nice Lake Hiking Tour, organised by Free Motion, to get a closer look at the major reservoirs. The guide was an experienced gentleman of relatively mature age, commonly called "Der olle Dieter". He proved to be a most agreeable and experienced fellow, having lived on the island for more than twenty years and knowing pretty much everything there is to know about the history and nature of this enchanted place.

The hike started at Embalse (Reservoir) de la Soria, the large lake on the lower southern slopes. As already said, it was filled to the brim. Watching its full length from the heights was pure pleasure. Just have a look at the title picture of this post! After having savored this watery vista, the real hike started and went ever upwards, along a broad and easily treaded farming road that reached onwards in broad swiping serpentines. Initially we passed through a light pine forests, interrupted by deep gorges and stony slopes created by the recent, or earlier, heavy downpours.

Eventually we gained more open heights, with broad vistas over the surrounding mountains. As a pleasant interruption, Dieter pointed out a rare bird that I did not hesitate to document for your benefit. Unfortunately I keep forgetting its name, so I will have to fill it in here later after having relearned its name from Dieter. Or maybe Dieter could help me out by putting it into a comment to this blog.

One of the highlights of the hike came at picnic time. Don't misunderstand me now, I don't mean the food, although we were quite hungry by then. It was the place we chose for our resting! It was a small round glade, green with grass, and known only to local people and of course Dieter; peacefully it stretched out, surrounded by reddish volcanic boulders, just waiting to be enjoyed by us during our resting period. Along one side of it, an intriguing configuration of stones could be admired, not unlike the labyrinths adorning the floor of old Gothic churches and small parks preserved from yore.

Of course we were eager to learn its raison d'être. It proved an interesting story, involving women of a certain age, engaged in healthy meditation aided by this quasi-heathen configuration of stones. But why should I tell you the details, since we have Dieter himself ready to do it for you readers. Clicking on the video below will bring him alive for us:

Reinvigorated by food and tales, on we went on our hike, towards the second lake on our journey, the Embalse de la Cueva de las Ninyas. Just before arriving at this jewel of a lake, we passed by a well known goat farm, located rather conveniently up on the heights, where food for the hardy animals can be found in all seasons, wet or dry. This year the goats do not have to stray afar for food, in this mountain world of lush greenery. Happy be those that will be buying goat cheese from this farm a year or two from now; this will be a rare delicacy, once it has fully ripened.

But on to Las Ninyas!

Our hike led us along the full length of this lake. It has a very nice picnic and camping area, which we made a quick detour down to the shore to investigate; the reward was glittering waves on green shores. At a spot almost at the farther other end of the lake it suddenly occurred to me that I had stood there before and taken a picture. This was two years ago, when the reservoir had almost dried up (it did so the year after). It may interest you to have a look at the situation "before and after". It really lets you appreciate the rain from the last few weeks, doesn't it! What a difference a bit of rain makes.

Whilst we contemplate this difference, let me finish this rather lengthy blog with a picture you may not see again soon. It is a 180 degrees' panorama of Lake Ninyas. Not the best of photographs, by all means, but it shows the whole lake at once and I am quite proud of having gotten my act together on this one.

I have the feeling that you would like to see the full set of pictures from this pleasant hike. So, here you have the full gallery, with music and all, yours for clicking with your mouse:

WATCHING THE ALMOND TREES BLOOM

Yesterday was the first of, I hope many, days spent hiking in Gran Canaria’s interior. I had originally booked for a trip to the top of Roque Nublo, an intriguing promontory that was sacred to the indigenous people of the island (the “Guanches”). However, the tour was changed, due to severe weather conditions. Instead, the hike was redirected towards visiting some charming places where almond trees are blooming.  This sounds easy going, but you should realize that almond trees are growing only between 800 and 1200 meters’ altitude, so hiking to see them is not exactly like walking on the beach.

You would be wrong in believing that these trees grow in large plantations, easily reached, for grooming and harvesting purposes, by the peasants owning them. In fact they are clinging on to hazardous slopes, in volcanic terrain that is rather cumbersome to penetrate. Neither are the flowers of these trees opulent like, for instance, the cherry flowers adorning Washington DC (described in my blog post “Washington in Bloom"). That notwithstanding, the trees are a pleasure to behold at this time of the year, being full of delicate flowers with fragrant and aromatic smells.

It may interest you to hear that almond flowers come in two distinct colours, white and pink. Trees with white flowers bear almonds sweet to the taste, whereas those with pink flowers carry a bitter variant, full of poisonous cyanide. The only way to know which type of almonds you are harvesting is to cataloguing each tree according to its flowers and keeping book of all of them until it is time to get the mature fruits off the trees. Come to think of it, I may have confused the colours. Better check with your friendly peasant when helping him harvest the trees, so you don’t collect the wrong variant!

The trip was organised by Happy Hiking, a hiking company where José Vanderveken, a long time friend, is a main responsible. With José I have criss-crossed the island numerous times already. Despite his exotic pre-name, he is a cordial Belgian, much appreciated by his many thousand customers. This time we were too many hikers for one guide so he split up the group in two. The group in which I partook was led by another old friend, Manfred. He happens to be a countryman of mine; even better than that, he was born in the very same Duchy that I call my native land, venerable Styria.

As an aside, did you know that the very first novel having a vampire as main character had its tale located in Styria, more precisely in the two castles of Riegersburg and Gleichenberg, close to my birth place. Moreover, the vampire in question was a woman, not a dreary old count from Transsylvania. The book is called “Carmilla” and I can recommend it to aficionados of vampire novels.

I see that I am starting to ramble into serendipity, a question of old age no doubt. Back to the main thread!

Our hiking tour started in light drizzle and rather cool air. However, we treaded mainly uphill and the exercise soon warmed us up. We started in the mountain village of Ayacata and headed upwards, more or less straight on, towards the foot of Roque Nublo. Our reward came with the several stops we made and the views this allowed us to take in. One place was my favourite; it provided a broad view of the valley of Ayacata, with almond trees spread out thinly around the village.

 

By then the rain had stopped and the sun started to lift our spirits. Upon arriving at the foot of Roque Nublo, no cloud was in sight anymore and we got a nice view of this red coloured finger the island is giving the Almighty. More about this, I hope, in a future blog, if weather conditions become more stable and enable a hike all the way up to the top without risk.

Instead, we retraced our steps and continued the hike in the region around Lake Chira, away from the civilised valley of Ayacata with its almond trees and instead losing ourselves in the friendly pine forests adorning most hills and slopes in the upper part of the island. As explained to us by Manfred, most of the pine trees have been planted during the past 50 years, in order to reforest an otherwise barren interior, suffering from the effects of ruthless logging during the early Spanish days.

Interestingly, the indigenous Canarian pines get their water supply exclusively from the air. Trade winds supply the upper regions continuously with wet low hanging clouds. The pines, with their long sharp needles, are “milking “ the clouds and get all their moisture from them. The surplus is running to the ground and benefitting other vegetation growing around the trees. Needless to say, the pine forests are essential for providing a stable water supply also for the agriculture on the island.

Towards the end of our tour, when the bus was bringing us back to civilisation, we made a last stop at one of the famous overlooks, from which one can admire the “Eagle Pass”, the utmost challenge for any serious bicycle user. Here came for me the glorious finish of our trip. The rocky cliffs around Eagle Pass shone in  a serious green, lushly covered with vegetation after the heavy rains as they were. I am glad that I came to Gran Canaria to witness this rare splendour. Have a look at the picture below. Isn’t the green almost outerwordly?

To get to grips with the scale of those "hills", double click on the picture to get it larger and try to locate the village of Fataga on its upper right, just behind the last rise and below the blue range on the horizon. Still, don’t let yourselves be fooled thinking that these are the mountains of Gran Canaria. These are merely the FOOTHILLS, standing like sentinels guarding the Caldera, along the rim of which are the main tops, ranging up to 2000 meters. With a bit of luck, you will be able to join me in climbing the second largest of those peaks coming Saturday. Let’s keep our fingers crossed that it does not rain that day and that the trade winds will blow off all clouds from the island when I will be standing on top of Pico Campanario and taking pictures for your benefit.  

WALKING THE BEACH

This post is about feet and legs. But don’t despair, dear logophiles, these body parts can be both intriguing, interesting and great fun to read about.

Let’s start with the intriguing part. Way back in 2003, I had an accident whilst hiking in Teneriffa (another one of those nice Canary Islands), with an important ligament in my right foot having been half torn. As a consequence, I could no longer raise that foot, which made walking somewhat difficult. I almost got persuaded to have an operation, but when the foremost foot surgeon in Belgium (Mr. de Halleux) explained to me what he intended to do, I realized that this was not for me. I thought that, instead, maybe the muscles could be re-educated to do the work that the torn ligament was not able to carry out any longer. 

Portal to the Beach

In that context I recalled the beach of Playa del Inglès. When I was on Gran Canaria for the first time, I walked along that beach one day, not realizing its wonders, since my mind was full of melancholy. I did not think much of the hike then and neither did I repeat the exercise during that stay. But with my foot aching and my mind busy with envisaging reasonable training schedules, it suddenly occurred to me that this could be THE PLACE for my exercises. “Why not give it a try and walk this beach back and fro barefoot for a week or two and see what this does to my foot” I was thinking and I rushed to buy tickets for a trip back to Gran Canaria for the second time after a ten years’ hiatus.


Seen in the light of possible reconvalescence the beach of Playa del Inglès is indeed a remarkable place. A stretch of firm sand, as made for walking, about five kilometres long; to your left (when starting to walk in Playa del Inglès) the Atlantic seemingly stretching unhindered for ever, but in fact bounded by the Sahara, which is just fifty kilometres away; to your right ridge after ridge of sand dunes resting in laid back leisure, burnished by the ocean breeze. As soon as I took of my shoes, on the first day of my return, my toes started to tingle and my feet started to walk almost by themselves, firm and wet sand driving them along, and gentle waves cooling them off, so that there never was a risk of tiring or overheating. 


You may be surprised, to hear that two weeks’ pure pleasure in hiking that beach for an hour every day restored the functionality of my ailing foot. It is as if the ligament never had been torn. A miracle if there ever was one! I trust you understand that I am now a true believer in WALKING THE BEACH. Since this remarkable recovery, I have been revisiting the blessed place at least once a year and I have never been disappointed with its remarkable healing properties. 

To count just a few of my ailments that this doctor has cured: Severe back aches, foot sores, bad winter cough and even a more or less chronic bronchitis I acquired in Brussels, the city of the bad winter air. How come that walking the beach is curing even lung afflictions? Well, good folks, this is due to the purity and saltiness of the ocean air that you cannot avoid breathing whilst doing some healthy exercises on the beach. With salty water on your toes and salty air in your lungs your health is getting restored almost without efforts; a leisurely stroll along the beach will do. 

Now comes the interesting part: I am not the only one having discovered the beneficial effects of strolling along. If you plan to follow my example and rush off to Gran Canaria, you better plan to get up early in the morning for your daily routine. I usually start the walk around 9 pm and have the beach more or less to myself. An hour later and I would have to share it with thousands and yet more thousands of fellow walkers. This is no surprise, considering the effectiveness and speediness of the cure. What surprises me is that at least half of the walkers have SHOES ON! This is as going to the doctor, but refusing to take medicine he has prescribed!

To finish this post in a half-joking vein, here is another piece of advice for your planning of the trip to Gran Canaria. Have your doctor or spouse measure your legs before you leave home. I have done so and found that my left leg is slightly larger than the right. There you have the ultimate reason for me staying in Playa del Inglès instead of in the more fashionable Playa Meloneras (which is located on the other end of the beach). When starting my walk from my hotel, I am going westward, with the ocean to my left. I think you get it now. I am all for pleasure in walking and every little help is appreciated.


Postscript: Many readers have contacted me about this posting. Given this general interest, I have prepared a gallery of my better pictures from this marvelous beach of Maspalomas and invite you to look at it at the video below.  [For reasons that escape me, some readers are unable to open it. For them, please click the word Video]

THERE'S A SMALL HOTEL ...

Its been a rainy day today so I have had plenty of time to prepare this new post. Bad weather doesn't mean no pictures however, since I have an inventory of photos from other trips to sample for your benefit.

Today's post is about a necessary, but often disappointing, aspect of travelling abroad, namely the choice of the right place to stay. As I already mentioned, I am spending my two weeks here in Playa del Inglès, one of those tourist places Spain has managed to stamp out of barren and unpopulated ground all over its coasts. The coastal region here in the South of Gran Canaria was to start with a barren desert-like slope, with only brushes and cactus to show for it. It took Franco to organise a system of man made lakes in the mountains together with tunnels and trenches, which rendered the desert arable. As result, huge tomato plantations were created, adorning the flats where hotels now abound. 

So there was no cultural background or inheritance to guide the heaping of cement upon cement, in the sixties, to shape a tourist town where tomatoes used to grow, a town like many other tourist traps in Spain. Fortunately, nature blessed Playa del Inglès with a treasure that the Spanish authorities had the good sense to preserve: a kilometer wide stretch of wide and flat beach, flanked by a charming hillside of desert dunes, full of sand blown over from the Sahara, which is just some tens of kilometers away towards the East. The dunes were declared a protected nature area. This has the pleasant consequence that you can walk on the beach, for about 5 kilometers, seeing only dunes and forgetting that you are surrounded by a forest in cement, built to house yourself as well as the other thousands of tourist coming to this place every week. 

More about the beach in a future post. This chapter is about housing. I am sure you start to understand that it is rather important to find a place here that lets you forget that you are staying smack in the middle of a tourist trap and that, at the same time, lies so close to the beach so that you don't waste a lot of time before pursuing your hiking pleasure on this unspoilt place. 

I am happy to tell you that I found just that. A hotel that lets you believe that you are staying in a palm forest, albeit being placed in the middle of all the concrete ruckus. All the rooms face a grove of mature palm trees, which are surrounding some nice facilities, such as, a pool and pool bar and some bungalows for families with children. Only when you step out of your room on your way to the elevator are you forced to take a look at the town. By a stroke of genius, the architect let the hotel show only its backside to the town, the front with all the rooms and balconies are facing in the other direction, ultimately looking at the beach, if you care to lift your eyes above the palm crowns. 

This hotel, by the name of Riu Palmeras, has been my trusted abode during essentially all my stays here in Playa del Inglès and I can but recommend it to others of a travel inclination similar to mine. If you would like to hear and see more about this agreeable place, why not have a look at a small video I prepared for this purpose. You can find it on Youtube if you click on the link below: