Colonial villages, black sands and honey rum
Discovering the lesser-known side of Tenerife
Welcome to Santa Cruz! Here’s a little treat for you — Judy poured a shot of honey rum for us.
So where are you from? Guapa, you’re from South America, right? -Judy asked Karen, sensing her accent.
Yes, I’m from Colombia.
Y tu, señor? — Judy looked at me.
I’m from Poland.
Colombia and Poland! What a combination! Never had a couple like that here!
Judy paused for a second, pensive, and then raised her voice again.
It’s mostly the British and the German here… they make a lot of noise… too much, too much! They come to Tenerife and think they are at home. They come to Costa Adeje looking for cheap beer and cheap entertainment. They don’t speak Spanish, they expect us to speak English! Madre mia, last time they taught me English was in high school and look how old I am! — Judy rolled her eyes. The same resorts are in Ibiza, Sharm El Sheikh or Mykonos. You can be anywhere, which means you are exactly nowhere!
Judy didn’t look like a high schooler but she was youthful, with a zest in her eyes and energy that filled the whole bar. She appeared to be in her mid-thirties. About 1.70m, with a stocky build, she was a force to behold. When not attending customers at the bar, Judy was giving orders to the waiters, directing them to the right table.
Thankfully — Judy raised her finger and paused — Costa Adeje is not Santa Cruz. In Santa Cruz, we have fewer tourists, and at this time of the year, it’s mainly locals. We’re more authentic than the South. We’re friendlier. We have more sabor. The North is much, much better — Judy summed up.
Indeed, the first thing you think when you hear Tenerife might be all-inclusive resorts, British and German tourists flocking in search of half-priced booze, occupying the boulevard till the early hours of the morning. Before we came to the Island, these were my thoughts as well.
Tenerife is the largest of the Canary Islands, located in the middle of the archipelago, which is 100 km west of the coast of Morocco. It is shaped like a tobacco pipe and divided into distinct zones. The south of the island is known for its golden beaches and numerous all-inclusive tourist resorts that line the coast and get jammed with countless holidaymakers in the winter and summertime. Imagine southern Florida during a year-round spring break.
The middle of the island is dominated by Mount Teide, a 3,718 metre-high active volcano, the highest point in Spain and the islands of the Atlantic. Its Martian landscape featuring volcanic craters, lava channels and barren ochre plains is loved as much by geologists as sci-fi film crews.
The North is markedly different from the rest of the island. The north-western part of Tenerife, the mouthpiece of the pipe, is a mountainous area covered with evergreen, ancient laurel forest, the Anaga Rural Park. The shores of the north are rugged, dotted with monolithic rocks jutting out of the sea and scattered black sand beaches. There are no tourist resorts, but many hamlets, where the villagers live unhurried lives as if time stopped fifty years ago.
We set our mind on the North when coming to Tenerife, precisely because of the natural landscape and the authentic feeling of its towns we heard so much about.
The morning after our drinks with Judy, we took off to explore Anaga. We went to the bus stop outside of our hotel and hailed bus 946 that was heading north. The locals called the green buses guagua and use them to travel throughout the island.
About twenty minutes into our trip, the driver of our guagua turned east and started ascending the mountain range that looms over the Anaga park. We were following a winding road that enveloped the peaks; at every hairpin turn, the bus tilted a little, exposing the valley below us. Colourful houses were dotting the slopes, farmers sitting outside on their terraces.
We passed Taganana and the guagua started descending. In front of us, the Atlantic Ocean emerged: waves crashing the monoliths that punctuated the shore. We got off in Almáciga and walked down to the beach.
The beach was surrounded with tall and rugged mountain peaks, above which dark clouds were looming. The ocean was violent, loudly crashing the shores. The sand was black, the shade of anthracite that was gleaming at closer sight. Far in the east, you could spot two lonely jagged rocks poking out from the sea, the Roques de Anaga, which feature on many postcards from Tenerife.
I looked around me with awe. The beach looked wild, rugged and natural; the view was breathtaking. Certainly, it was not a view I was expecting when coming to Tenerife. And there was no trace of hurried tourists racing to reserve their sunbeds, nor kids fighting for ice-cream.
We went to a nearby restaurant, Casa Africa, to enjoy a meal with a view.
Que belleza! Beautiful pictures! – Judy gasped looking at our photos from Anaga. We were again in La Tasca, back from our trip to the northern coast.
Have you seen Los Roques? The landscape is absolutely amazing there… I’m so proud of my island.
We showed our photos from Los Roques. This is what I was telling you about! The North is beautiful…
Judy turned around and reached for a bottle with golden liquor inside, on one of the top shelves.
Here, have another one, it’s on the house – She poured us a shot of honey rum each.
Judy, tell us, what’s the deal with honey rum here? Seems it’s on every table – I asked.
Well, ronmiel is the drink of Las Canarias, it’s the drink of our islands. This one is made here, in La Tasca… Judy paused.
Ronmiel is what vodka is for you in Poland – she winked.
It was 11pm and the bar was getting busier. The rush of clients brought commotion; the waiters started hastily serving dishes to the customers. Judy too needed to attend to others.
Do you know where you should go tomorrow? La Orotava, now that’s a real gem! I was born there, it’s my home town. So many beautiful buildings, the city gardens, and the people are really friendly.
As Judy turned to another customer, we started planning our upcoming trip.
After another bumpy guagua trip, we arrived in La Orotava dizzy and keen for fresh air. We dashed into the streets, eager to discover the town.
The moment we reached a tall church in the centre of the old town, a procession came out of the building.
A priest and two altar boys were heading the column, all three dressed in black robes covered with white plain chasubles; eight men were carrying a sculpture of Holy Mary. Mary was on a wooden platform and covered with an ornate silver pagoda, holding baby Jesus in hand. The procession moved slowly, the carriers tilting from side to side under the weight of the platform, the priest was giving blessings to the crowd, which was chanting religious songs. It all seemed rather surreal, the intensity of the event made it look like a scene taken out of a movie. Or perhaps it’s my heathen ways and religious irreverence? It’s equally likely I haven’t been to a church so long that an ordinary mass sets off in me feelings of wonder and excitement.
As we later realised, it was the day of the Fiesta de la Virgen de la Candelaria, and the church, la Iglesia de Nuestra Señora de la Concepción, was holding its celebrations. The procession was the people’s way to commemorate their patron and to gather in this once-a-year festivity. Their devotion seemed rightfully apt.
During the remainder of our stay in La Orotava, we wandered along the cobblestone streets lined with colourful stone houses, explored some of the homes, which the owners turned into art galleries and opened to the public, and chatted with sculptors and painters about their life on the island and their art.
On our way back to Santa Cruz, we stopped in Puerto de la Cruz, a large port town on the northern shore of Tenerife. Our brief visit was rather uneventful; we wandered down to the city beach, also black sand like in Almáciga, and admired the view on the Atlantic Ocean. Shortly after, we made our way to the bus station. The guagua to Santa Cruz was waiting for us.
Amigos! How was Orotava? Did you say hi to hometown from me?
We were back at La Tasca to enjoy some of Judy’s honey rum on our last night in Tenerife.
We loved it. Like we loved the whole of the North of Tenerife, I said.
Karen and I spent the rest of the evening sharing our impressions with Judy. The minutes rolled by and turned into hours as the shots of rum entered the double-digit territory. We left the bar in the early hours of the morning.
