My arrival in the north of Tenerife happened at 2:30 p.m., island time, with a temperature opposite to what I was leaving behind, although the green that I could see seemed similar in the distance to those Galician mountains moderately cared for by a community of neighbors. I fled the airport among dozens of blonde hair that turned my exit path into a labyrinth of oxygenated wheat. I reached my white SUV. It is ineffable what a big car can influence a person, decades of marketing have been effective.
I started walking with the pressure exerted by an empty stomach that the only thing it has consumed in 13 hours is nerves, anguish and goodbyes. Nearby I found the guachinche El Fogón, the first of my journey of rest, sun and disappearance on the island. There I found myself immersed in the first purely Canarian society, among the dust that rose from the parking lot and the groups of workers at the door stirring the remains of a menu with the toothpick that they give you when they bring the bill.
My command seemed simple on paper, I tend to think of myself that I retain the ability to eat and drink that my ancestors executed with ease in all the anecdotes that they tell about them. “Stove eggs and sweet potato with almogrote,” I said without knowing what I had ordered. “Will it be enough for one?” The waiter raised his eyebrows and with ironic certainty let me know that it was too much. I perceived a irrational defiant tone that would put my digestive system in check hours later.
The guachinches are the twin brothers of the furanchos, although with a restaurant license, and that led me to order a quarter of the house’s red wine to accompany two good portions. Although the stoker eggs were satisfactory, It was the almogrote that finally convinced me. The intensity of this mojo and cheese pâté invaded every corner of my mouth and even after the Uruguayan powder for dessert, I kept thinking about it. I paid the bill without the possibility of leaving a tip and with my head bowed like the child who knows her bad deed.
When I arrived in Güímar I found a piece of land in my lodging that I wish I could steal. I would spend the nights in a 16th century Canarian mansion, under island pine roofs and with access to a sunny traditional patio full of plants. In the heart of one’s own heart, there was a small tropic. I unpacked the backpack that I was able to pack so well thanks to my university years and started the gasoline engine en route to Mount Teide. The GPS indicated almost two hours of traveling uphill.
The night surprised me when I passed the halfway point and I stopped to observe the views at a viewpoint. On both sides and at a safe distance, two other cars with fogged-up windows pretended to do the same as me. At such a huge height, the lighting network showed the island society as a small nervous system.
However, I was surprised by another constant that I couldn’t get rid of after each sunset. In Tenerife, the night begins in the sky and spreads up to five meters in front of your feet. The horizon is as dark as the celestial ceiling itselfly everything succumbs to the shadow if there is no streetlight. The Moon is not able to illuminate because the night is also vertical.
Upon my return, I slept and did so until mid-morning the next day. The sun hit my face as I opened the curtain and I started the day with croissants and homemade fruit jams from the island. I approached a black stone beach not far away that bordered an industrial estate. The temperature and light were adjusted to a warm January, the sea allowed for a quick first swim. For a few hours, a French nudist couple and a fully clothed English couple They kept me company with their diffuse dress code.
After three different mojos, mushrooms with almogrote and carne fiesta at the guachinche La Basílica, I headed to La Orotava. The town exudes charm in each street designed for the visit, that is, where the tourist should go. I looked for the fresco in a chapel and prayed falsely to disguise and congratulate those present that youth still search for God. I walked through the Indian town until the cool reminded me that there was a way back ahead.
One of the lessons that I necessarily learned is that distances and time are not worth the same in Tenerife, since 40 kilometers become more than an hour by car. The inclination of the terrain, but more than that almost a slowing magic, forces this to be something natural. Life has been arranged on the island like the runoff of water.
I rested again to find more croissants on the table. On this occasion, I selected a black sand beach located in the north of the island, in an enclave that is difficult to access and that many of us are determined to reach. The tide attacked the presence of invaders with intensity and more than one towel was almost washed away by the sea. It is complex as a Galician see the sea black and not feel a certain chill, although it is only a passing moment that the heat on the back of the neck manages to dissuade between indecipherable languages.
After listening to other people’s conversations around me for hours, I headed to the Cuban guachinche, the most traditional and pure of those I visited, with chickens among the customers and tables arranged erratically. White and red wine, grilled cheese with mojo, ropa Vieja veal and a cheese accompanied me at a table in the sun with views of the sea. Canarian rhythms can be exasperatingbut they are a forced class to remember that you don’t have to go anywhere.
I headed to Garachico with the intention of visiting one of those many most beautiful towns in Spain and I found a small place, proud of a past full of glory and that claims with a careful heritage, a vestige of everything. An ice cream and two walks later, I was once again at the mercy of the road and the random amount of time the route would take.
From the first afternoon, a group of apparent clouds on the horizon caught my attention. It turned out to be, in fact, another nearby island. I then thought about what it means to grow up and live in front of a visible, but alien, territory. That piece of land in front of another can raise pride in one’s own, but it can also build an aspiration and a desire to conquer. Living with views of another island must often nourish the thought that there are no problems in the house across the street.
My trip continued towards Barcelona the next morning. I left the island with regret because I would have anchored myself to its inclined customs and routines for a month. While waiting for the waiters, in the intensity of each bite, in each street conscious of its identity; I realized why this vacation was supposed to last as long as the rest of my days. Away from my office chair and my schedule, life happens naturally if you let it.
2024-01-23 19:01:56
#Almogrote #lips
