Wednesday, 2 September 2009


The bells in the tiny church of La Caleta are chiming 8 o'clock. Once they go silent, all I can hear is the distant muffled sound of Wednesday evening traffic in the avenue below, where the digital thermometer I've been watching all week is still hesitating to venture below the 26 degree mark.

Sitting here on the hotel balcony, feet up, watermelon juice to one side, Hemingway to the other, I can see the ocean waters as if lying still and on the horizon, the last few sun rays of the day shining through the rain falling over our neighbour, La Gomera island.
That pretty much sums it up. Life in Tenerife I mean. Or, life as a tourist, I should say.

Bar a walk to the local shop to stock up on mineral water and the odd visit to the nearby beaches, our routine here consisted pretty much of buffet breakfasts, lying by the water all day, and in the evenings walking down to the waterfront at Playa del Duque for a seafood dinner (papas arrugadas on the side, of course). Or beautiful Morrocan food and sweet mint tea at the Paris Marrakech.

I know that's pretty sad, and that I should have made an effort to leave the 1 mile radius around the resort to explore the island's nature and local culture. But when you live in cold and grey London, quarantined from the sunshine and the ocean, any second you can spend at the beach or by the pool is a treasured one.

But six days relaxing by the pool in this paradise island didn't feel like much, really. Time went by so fast and soon it will be time to go back to being squished in the tube at morning rush hour.

Oh wait. The sun is now coming down from behind the clouds in what is shaping up to be an amazing sunshine. It is our last day in Tenerife and it wants to say goodbye properly.

I will miss you too, Sunshine. Hasta luego.

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