Sunday 7^th Jan 2018

Taxi arrived bang on time (6.00am) and the drive to Manchester airport was eventless: clear starry sky, no traffic or people. Airport very busy and we were safely in the departure lounge after a dramatic 10 minutes of taking everything from my case, which held all the electrical goods, and then my shoes and belt had to come off before being zapped in a cubicle and frisked electronically manually. Another passenger, woman my age with a kind friendly face, looked on sympathetically as the handheld machine circumnavigated my body. ‘It’s better than the alternative’ I said. She nodded agreement. I felt immediately that there was something about her that I liked. We were destined to be together and I was right, she stood directly behind us in the queue to board and then sat next to me on the plane. She was from Bury, her husband, who didn’t speak much hated flying and as we left the plane she thanked me for talking to her and making the flight more enjoyable. It’s strange I can’t remember now what we discussed other than black pudding. But what else would you talk about with someone from Bury. The next time we met was when we were standing waiting for our luggage. By the time our luggage came, an hour later, we were close friends. I think I might even have offered them accommodation in Sheffield if they ever felt the need to get away from the gloom of Bury and Lancashire. We never found out why the luggage took so long and the Jet2’ staff were of no help. This is my first and only criticism of the company so far.

The hire car was ready and waiting and we were on the road to Peurto de la Cruz in no time at all. The drive up the east coast did not impress us: barren rocks, factories, oil terminal and windmills and the Tenerife drivers drive Spanish style. In a word loco/ mad! Furthermore the weather was not what we expected. Things got even worse when we missed the turn to Peurto thanks to the mad drivers and my lack of knowledge of the road system and headed into the capital Santa Cruz at rush hour. Managed to do a u turn round back onto the main road out of the city but then missed the turning to Peurto again and we were on our way back to the airport. This time I blamed the car for not knowing the way. It was a Seat Ibiza for god sake!

When we found the road things got worse still, it began to pee it down and we were driving in the clouds; our ears were constantly filling and popping as we navigated up and down 1 in 3 hills. Eventually got to Peurto in the dark thanks to the airport baggage handlers, the car, the weather and last but not least my useless navigational skills. Monday walkers thank yourself lucky I don’t lead walks.

Found our hotel, fairly easily for us, half way up a road twice as long as Fir Street and twice as steep. Lovely walk down into town but had to rope on for safety. I’m joking! Hotel Don Candido lovely and the staff (especially Isiah) were great. My newly acquired Spanish vocabulary came in handy as soon as we entered the hotel and I was able to explain that blacky the thing that greeted us as we opened the door was (perro) a dog. I was hoping for a penguin (pinguino) so I could really show off my Spanish but Anne will have to wait until we go to Loro Park. As we navigated the streets and one way systems etc we noticed a café bar not too far from our hotel and so we made our way further up the hillside to the Café Park a bar frequented by Germans and run by an amazing German lady called Isobella from Manheim. The cervaisa, vino and food are great but it’s Isobella who makes the place stand out: she gives everyone a a kiss when they enter the place, pay and leave and to be sexist she’s sexy (Anne’s word not mine) in a very pleasant way. Went to bed in a better mood than I expected after a rather traumatic day