Colours of the rainbow

The sun was out to play and miniscule shards of rainwater drifted from the sky like confetti. David seized the moment – and took this photo. It seems to sum up our wonderful Christmas and New Year – bright, colourful and just slightly crazy!
In the lead up to Christmas we had some fairly dramatic weather with a very strong wind. It eventually got the better of the electricity supply and we enjoyed a couple of evenings courtesy of candlelight, as did our lovely guests (hi, Jill and Ian).
In a way, it was quite exciting because the wind was warm, hailing from the south and we also knew that we had been lucky to avoid the worst of it while the south and west had been receiving some sterner stuff.
Meanwhile of course the rest of Europe was being held down by heavy snow storms and freezing conditions resulting in cancelled flights, delays and all sorts of travel chaos and despair. We felt lucky that our guests had made it at all! But they did and were soon rewarded by some absolutely glorious weather with full on sun which stayed with us, more or less, right through the New Year.

So here is wishing everybody out there, guests old and new, a wonderful New Year and hoping that 2010 will bring you health, happiness and your very own sunny rainbow.

Ann and David.

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.