A walk into the green

It was one of those walks – not meticulously planned but with a desire to spend some special time with a special person, don a rucksack and just GO! Admittedly, there was the general idea that we would head down to La Fajana, up to El Tablado then probably up towards Roque Faro and hopefully catch the bus back. Or maybe just down to the sea and back. Clearly a plan which would amply suffice.
The route from the finca down to La Fajana is a well marked one, once on the GR130. It would be difficult to go wrong. Which is precisely why I chose to try and find my way through the unmarked and unofficial section which is not maintained or cleared.
In mitigation, it does make a welcome shortcut and we have done it before several times. In fact, we have even cleared it ourselves. But now it was winter and seriously overgrown and, as we peered down a twenty metre drop wondering how we could join the official path, the cacti had the final word. What a pity – we wouldn't see the lovely cobbled track, laid by noble fellows donkey's years ago.
Ah well, my walking companion was patient enough to not complain when it came to retracing our steps. And the added bonus was that the usual path took us by the mirador which allowed us to see the dramatic sight of La Fajana 400 metres directly below us.
We carried on our walk almost down to the village where we hung a left, crossing the barranco and then headed up the other side towards El Tablado. Here we paused for a bite to eat, enjoying a sit down at the new mirador. From here we could enjoy the view of where we had just walked and the tip of the house.
With rucksacks now a little lighter, we set off to Rosa's bar for a coffee and chat. Rosa never fails to surprise me by the fact that she always remembers who I am and welcomes me as if I am her errant niece. These days, her back forces her to walk with a deep stoop although her sprightly sense of humour is perfectly in tact. How are you Rosa? I asked. 'Ever lower,' she replied with a wry grin.
Waving our good-byes and wishing her good health, we set off up the road and out of the village.
Walking on the road is not always great fun and we were pleased to dive into the bushes where a signpost promised us that this was the way 'Roque del Faro.'
Trudging upwards, we passed goats munching the greenery at the side of the track and houses which had strayed from the village. A couple of times we crossed the road which was taking a more circuitous route than the steep track.
After a goodly time, houses, goats and roads all deserted us and we were alone in the greenness. Occasionally, as energy threatened to flag, we were allowed a peek at the view from where the bushes parted. It was nothing short of awe-inspiring to realise how far we had come and to be in a place which, from the finca, had only ever looked like impenetrable green-covered rock. We even enjoyed some flat sections – always a cause for excitement! (And to sing and dance along in a very stupid manner).
But the best moments, from where the photo was taken, where when we were in our secret world of green. From here, there were no tell-tale signs that the island was even inhabited: we were alone and time was something that did not belong here.

Village of the Little Cross

This is a lovely little hamlet called La Crucita - the Little Cross. It is in the north just to the east of Gallegos - which is the village next to us in Franceses. For reasons you can probably guess, it is often overlooked. But it is one of our favourites.
It is one of those places that looks - to me - as if it has been put it there for a bit of a dare.
If you are thinking of visiting, then I suggest (unless you want a longer walk) you drive down to Gallegos, a village which is an education in itself, and walk across. That way you won't miss the most amazing collection of caves on the way. There are more there than I have seen anywhere else on the island, practically multi-storey.
And by the way, if you are lucky enough, you will meet some wonderful people in La Crucita. It seems they are always pleased to see you, smiling and nodding as if it is you doing them a favour instead of the other way around.
One time in particular, I paused to admire a front garden filled with all sorts of vegetables.
'Would we take some beans?' an old man working the land wanted to know.
Of course we would, we replied. He then invited us into his house - he had something to show us. It turned out to be a large calabaza - a pumpkin - and he insisted that we should take this too.
But that's La Palma for you, people give.

Fancy footwork

I suppose it was only a matter a time but it still took us by surprise.
Our lovely neighbours informed us last week that we were required to help 'pisar.' It's a word I haven't come across so far.
Pisar? I queried. She motioned a stepping movement with her feet and said 'las uvas' - the grapes. Ah yes ... now I understood ... pisar means to tread, like don't tread on the grass. But this was treading the grapes.

'Surely they don't really do it with feet,' I thought with a certain degree of horror.

Oh yes, they do.

La Fajana

This is our local beach of La Fajana de Garafia. Generally, it is not a sandy beach (although sometimes there are patches of sand) but rather a rocky beach. To me, it is a wonderful place for a whole number of reasons.
When it is rough, I am amazed at the way the Atlantic rushes in to our shores with such enthusiasm and then breaks its neck on the rocks. Only to rush off and do it all again.
I am amazed at the way anybody every made a road down there. In the degree of difficulty it ranks as about 49.75 billion trillion.
I take my hat off to the eleven people that live down there, working in the banana plantation.
I pay tribuite to the people of El Tablado who would carry great stems of bananas down to the old port in days gone by (several times a day) and to the people who practically risked their lives getting provisions on and off the ships in the old days.
Oh, I could go on. The place is an amazing example of the determination of man in the face of apparent impossibility and of nature at its dramatic best.

Sleeping on the Job

Meet Pancho, the finca feline. But he wasn't always called Pancho of course.

When we first came here and cleared the waist-high weeds at the front of the house, the mice were fairly disgruntled at being evicted but more than happy to set up home in the casita. This was not entirely to our liking and we asked our neighbour if he could get us a cat or kitten.

He would be pleased to do so, he told us. But it couldn't just be any ordinary cat - it had to be a good hunter. He had one in mind for us whose father, he told us, was as big as a tiger.

One day, he presented us with Pancho, a tiny ball of fluff with big eyes.

'If you think it's ugly,' said the neighbour, 'just let it go.' The country people here are tough.

But since when has a kitten been ugly? So of course we kept him. But for some reason we assumed he was a she (cute, cuddly, all the female attributes). And so we called her Francesca after the area in which we live, Franceses.

Francesca grew up and not only became an intrepid hunter of mice, lizards and rabbits, but grew body parts that girls don't have.

So Francesca became Francisco.

'Ah,' said our neighbour, 'all Francisco's here get the nickname Pancho.'

So that's how Pancho got his name. Here he is keeping guard.

Dragon's Blood

Many things are written about the dragon tree. Some say it gets its name from the scars around its trunk and its spiky head. Others say it is because of its blood red sap. And yet others will tell of legends .....
Historically, the natives of the Canary Islnds made shields from the bark of the tree and the medicinal properties of the sap were known way back in Roman times when the dragon's blood sap was used for all sorts of homeopathic medicines.
It is now a protected species. This one, sitting at the edge of our drive and looking like a fairly calm dragon, was just getting ready to bed down for the night.
But who knows what happens when the sun goes down.

Line up

Here are a few prickly little fellows lining up around the edge of the cactus, apparently for a better view.

Usually, the cacti do not produce as many fruits, or tunos, as this per hand, so this little lot really are quite a handful. In another month or so they will start to ripen, turning through shades of orange, pink and red. Then you can eat them.

Make sure you don't touch them though, even with a glove. When they are ripe enough the tuno will break off easily - either use a device such as super-long chopsticks that you can buy or make, or if you can get close enough use a pair of tongs and twist them off. If you do it right, the 'neck' should not be torn or broken.

It's vitally important to get all the anchor shaped needles off them. Once the needles go into your skin (and I swear they do even if you just look at them!), they are hard to get out. The needles are deceptively fine but will cause you grief for days.

One of our neighbours puts hers in an old bath filled with pine needles collected from the forests. Then she spends around five minutes literally brushing them and rolling then around so that the cacti needles break off.

Another neighbour lays his on the ground and then brushes over them continually with the broken off branch of a broom bush.

Now they are ready to eat. Simply slice each end off, or even just partly off, then make a cut from top to bottom. Now you have got access to the inside of the fruit, open out the skin and munch away. They are even better when they are straight from the fridge and are incredibly refreshing on hot, sticky days.

Hopefully, I will remember to take another photo of them as time goes on. I am just wondering though, if the tunos near the bottom are conferring to see if they should march up to the top, push the others over and claim the view for their own.

A happy house

This is a historic moment - the first time the casita has had windows in the downstairs level.
For some months if not years now, we have been considering how to achieve this fete without spoiling what is a very old, traditional and treasured Canarian house. In the age that it was built, no country house had windows downstairs. This was because the downstairs with its soil floor was used as a store for potatoes, beans and so on or as a workshop. As it happens, the downstairs of la casita was a carpenter's workshop.
Of course the store did not need or indeed want light and, so we are told, much the same went for the workshop - when there wasn't enough light, they stopped work.
Most old houses were however built on one level and you will see many of these dotted about the countryside in Garafia. Some have the flat French type roof tiles
while others, like the Casita, have the much older, round Arabic type. Before then, the roofs were of naked wood and before that .... caves.
It is not so common to see old, two-storied houses such as la Casita. As you may know, or realise, the downstairs level of la casita is built into the land. That means that essentially a 'hole' or flat area had to be dug initially before they could even begin to build the house. That fact amazes me. The work involved - and all by hand - was immense.
This type of house is called 'casa de arrimo' or 'leaning house' because it leans into the land. I like to think of it not so much as leaning but rather 'resting.'
So how could we bring in natural light without spoiling the look of the outside of the house? We noticed that other houses that have had glass put in the door retrospectively have done it by attaching glass to the outside of the door, and having wood at the back for shutters. This is fine, except the wood is backed by glass and the window doesn't open - we were looking for a different method.
Our resident genius (David) came up with an alternative solution which you might be able to follow from the photo. The top panel of wood was taken out and replaced by a window. The original panel was sat into a new frame attached to the door and this can slide up and down according to wether you want light in or not. Clever, huh? and the window opens too.
What a happy little house we have.

sunrise

When we first came to La Palma, we tried to decide if we would rather live in the east and enjoy the sunrise or the west and enjoy the sunset.
We stayed first on one side of the island and then the other, trying to make our minds up.
Would that life were so simple. In the end, we decided to let the house choose us.
When we first saw the finca here in Franceses, we asked the owner if the area ever saw either a sunrise or sunset. He replied that he didn't know.
We loved the place anyway, so his answer was not exactly a deciding point.
Imagine then our surprise to discover that for four months of the year we have both.
The photo is of this morning's sunrise. I hope you enjoy the image as much as we did.

A secret place?

I am sure I have said it before. And I will definitely be saying it again. La Palma is full of surprises.
And it is not surprising that I repeat myself as the frequent wonders of the island continue to suddenly appear, even after seven years of living here. Not that I am complaining, it is after all what keeps us excited, amused and often shaking our heads.
Take this photo for example. Admittedly, it was taken by a top photographer (mothers are allowed to say that), but it is a true representation of one of the sights on the island, apart from the fact that it is obviously in black and white. This lack of colour, I feel, gives it a rather spooky feel.
But there is something about this place that has that indefinable magic and I just love it – the wonderful old wine press, the spindly balustrade of the stairs, the stillness. It is a place where time has suddenly stopped.
I stand there and conjecture as to the history of the people who lived there – and the wonderful thing is that I shall never know.
By the way, do you have any idea where this photograph was taken?
As you might realise, it is not exactly on a main road. And that is the other thing that makes me smile - because you just might have walked - almost - right by it.

Chuckle, chuckle.

Crossing our fingers

The third of May on La Palma signifies a time to get your crosses out – well, in truth, they never actually go away – and adorn them with great finery. Pure white silk, costume jewelry and fresh flowers being the order of the day. Nice huh?
Well actually, yes.
For us, it is a time to head for the hills. Where better than the solitude of one of the furthest flung places on the island, Juan Adalid. It is a trip of nearly an hour, along the mountain roads of the north and to the nondescript hamlet of Llano Negro. Here we pause to support one of the few shops open on Sundays and Bank Holidays.
And then a U turn to San Antonio where two lonely flags fly high atop their masts to indicate that 'something interesting' just might be happening. We search out the near hidden road to Juan Adalid which is where our friends live. We almost always have to think which one of the single track roads, heavily bordered by tall greenery, will take us to their isolated house.
We drive cautiously along the road which is festooned with curves making it impossible to see ahead and the imminent arrival of a car hurtling towards us at full speed in the opposite direction. But now, we have joined a small convey of 4 x 4 vehicles all heading our way and at least we have some safety in numbers.
Where the impenetrable roadside greenery is not impeding our view of the road ahead, unguarded and impressive steep drop-offs are the norm with the road seemingly etched like a squiggly pencil line on the side of the hill. The view down to the sheer cliffs and the sea are, well, awesome, in every sense of the word.
There is a saying, in Yorkshire at least, 'it's a grand life if you don't weaken.' Similarly, it is a great drive if you don't crash or drop off the edge.
And so, after 20 minutes of rallying along with the other cars ever downward, having long passed the wind turbines, we arrive at a junction of other spindly roads. Here the other cars divert to a nearby hill as they are going to the annual fiesta of La Sentinela.
We continue on to our friends and their solitary outpost. Their hunting dogs alert them to our arrival long before we get anywhere near. Chickens which are dotted about here, there and everywhere continue to search the ground for any morsel of chicken-edible food, seemingly oblivious to our vehicle bumping along the now unsurfaced, uneven track. Near the house though, mother hens scurry away with their tiny babies into the safety of the cactus. Their goats are somewhere ... somewhere ... even our friends don't know exactly where, except that they will return in the evening.
We sip a welcome drink and chat about news in their part of the island. We are always surprised just how much news there is.
And then we set off on foot to join a couple of hundred other people at the fiesta on the opposite hill and yet again, marvel at how Palmerans have a happy knack for selecting such distant and logistically difficult places for a mass get-together.
But is is worth it. Not just for the mounds of free food – soup, paella, cheese, bread, potatoes, cake – and free wine, and live music of course. But also to see just how pretty their cross is.
And it is.

Building Bridges

One of the things I love most about the rural north of La Palma is just that - it is rural. It is splendidly far away from the most populated places on the island and as such is just that bit special. And yet, with small towns located at each of the east and west corners both with their smattering of shops and a health centre, around one hour to the capital and a little more to the international airport, it can hardly be described as ’remote.’ In fact, it only takes five hours to drive right around the entire island.
In days gone by though, the relative inaccessibility of the north was just an inescapable fact of life. Families were large and generally gained a living from the land and by using natural resources. Life was undoubtedly hard although with the benefit of being one’s own master, yet in a supportive community. But as we all know, necessity (imagined or otherwise) is the mother of invention. That and the desire to see what everyone else is up to.
And so over the years, the north has become more and more accessible. Mobile phones, internet, 4 x 4 vehicles have all contributed, along with improved roads, new tunnels and of course bridges.
It is hard to believe today what work originally went into making the north more accessible - and still it continues. Quite simply, there were no roads in the old days. Travelling from one place to another was on foot, donkey or horseback. Carrying a sick person on a stretcher for hours up and down the ravines as they struggled on to seek medical help, often necessitated in all 5 people needing treatment when they arrived! So when the roads and bridges were being made, it was a requirement that everyone should literally lend a hand, each man giving up a set number of days per year to contribute to the work. And for that we are grateful.

Photo: Original bridge which lies below the asphalt road, just to the east of Roque Faro.

The day the Indians came to town

The Indians are coming! Red Indians? No white Indians?

Confused? Don’t worry, it is just fiesta fun.

Ask anyone, Palmeran or otherwise, and you will get a slightly different explanation of what this particular fiesta is all about. Generally though, it is to celebrate the return of the rich Palmerans from Cuba. And as we know, all rich people who are not out digging the land like the rest of us, dress in white. And if white is not white enough, there is always talcum powder …..

It is great fun though and a chance to head off to the capital for the day dressed in your finery. Incidentally, you don’t need to worry if you don’t own any white clothes – the shops are full of them for weeks in advance.

So watch out for ladies with pretty little parasols, small children in white slacks and shirts, and ‘rich’ men with wads of Monopoly money sticking out of their top pocket.

One thing this fiesta has in common with others on the island is the fantastic feeling of friendship. Live music abounds, a procession and just a little talc!