Dusty and I got up early in the overpriced downtown Belfast hotel to fill up on the included breakfast, not knowing when we would eat again that day. Our final destination at the end of that long day would be Tenerife, an island in the Spanish Canary Islands off the west coast of Africa. It was going to be a long day.
We grazed the buffet items that were out and filled up repeatedly from the automated coffee dispenser by pushing the button for “Americano”, a blend of espresso and hot water that approximates the standard American brew. The single attendant for the dozen or so diners said we could also order from the kitchen. I ordered an omelette and Dusty the pancakes. Thirty minutes later I asked if the order would be out soon. We were planning to leave for the bus station in fifteen minutes. Of course, there was no problem. Two minutes later, our hot meals were on the table as if they had just been prepared.
The 18-minute walk to the central bus station "Europa Station" was basically the same as walking through an airport, except that we were on the early morning streets of a major Northern Ireland city. The GPS from my phone would occasionally tap me on the wrist through my watch, or talk to me through my hearing aids to guide us safely to our destination.
At our destination, we saw the bus station sign and strolled in to see posted screens of flights from the nearby airport and departure locations for various city buses. I went to a ticket counter to inquire about the Aircoach express bus to the Dublin airport that I had two reservations on in about a half hour. When he told me, with his thick Irish accent, that I was in the wrong place, my heart sank. Crap! Fortunately, the next words were clear enough as he pointed at the door that we had entered at the far end of the station. “Right out that door on the other side of the street”. Exactly where the GPS had told me “You have arrived at your destination”.
About ten minutes later, Laura arrived and briefed us a bit on the other four members of our tribe. All four were related: a husband and wife living in Alaska, his sister, and their mother. It seemed the alphabet may have been partly responsible for our grouping, as our last names started with L and N respectively. They would be taking a later bus and joining us at the airport after a nearly two-hour bus ride.
My name was at the top of the reservation and therefore I was perceived as the leader of the group. Two problems. I was trying not to be a leader in my retirement. And my name was listed as “Ric” on an international flight. I had communicated numerous times with our ship’s staff to try and correct the issue. I feared that an overzealous customs agent would hold up my passport. Look at my face. Then the name. Face matches, but name does not. Entry denied! Exactly what we did not need.
While riding on the bus to Dublin and chatting with Laura, a message on my phone said the issue was resolved. Looking at the documents, I saw the same shortened name and just had to go on faith.
Laura was very experienced in international travel and had been through Dublin Airport before flying Aer Lingus, as we were today. She took the lead, as I’m certain she frequently did in life, and guided us unerringly through the maze of check-in. At this point, she went to recharge at one of the airport lounges while Dusty and I advanced toward our aircraft. The walk and shuttle bus took a bit longer than I had anticipated.
Dusty and I had been assigned seats that were not together, and there was too much chaos at the ticket counter to allow correcting it there. At the gate, I was able to chat with an agent preparing for a different flight about the issue. After he joked a bit about the benefits of separate seating, he adjusted her seat to be with me, in spite of the advantages of not traveling with one’s wife of 43 years.
A bit later, Laura arrived with her own surprise. She had run into a friend of her daughter in the lounge and had a chance to catch up after years apart.
I will apologize here if I make any inaccurate or unintentional misstatements about anyone I try to describe going forward. Trying to talk about my experiences without mentioning the people would remove so much of what I love about travel. The lives that cross mine shape my perception and give me the insights that only their experiences can. My blog without the people I meet is like cooking without spices. Coq au vin is just chicken. Lasagna is just noodles and sauce.
Andy and Alicia, coming through the airport, were easy to spot. I had read a bit about them on the Community Members page, where I had also written a brief introduction of myself about six months earlier. The first to catch my eye was Alicia. If she isn’t over six feet tall, her presence is all that and more. Her bright smile against her dark, clear complexion lights up her face and the room, even if it is an airport terminal. Her background in music and performance presence make it clear that she can’t be ignored. The slight limp is steadied by a cane in her right hand, and upon greeting us, either she or I went in for a hug. There is a great spirit in this woman.
Andy has a baseball-style cap with an outdoor logo on it, and his demeanor is quiet. However, when he speaks, his personality starts to reveal itself. Alternating between self-deprecation and facetious delusions of grandeur, his skill with the English language and sense of humor come through. If you get him, it’s funny. If you don’t, you might be confused. He has been teaching English and social studies all over the world, so his knowledge of both is deeper than the book cover might lead one to believe.
His sister and his mother were joining the ship for only a portion, while Andy and Alicia were investing in the ship for the long term. Mom, Dolly, was in a wheelchair, and his sister, Shelly, were getting along just fine. With half the team demonstrating mobility, I was a bit concerned that it would cause some challenges down the road. I later found that the assistance was not a requirement but a choice based on the frequent physical demands of getting around airports and more when traveling.
Having taken the later bus, it wasn’t long after we met that we were all on our way to the Aer Lingus flight to Tenerife. I was to learn that this was a popular tourist destination for folks from Ireland as well as a number of other colder countries in Europe, something akin to Spring Break to Cancun in the United States.
Across the aisle from Laura, a group of young men were ordering beers three at a time on the plane, laughing, and yelling through much of the flight. It sounded a bit like a football (soccer) match in the UK. It was about a four-hour flight, and it reminded me why I wanted to have 3-1/2 years without any airports or flights.
Flying into Tenerife looked a lot like flying into Hawaii, but a bit more arid. When we landed, we went down to the shuttle bus and proceeded to passport control. We queued up with Andy and Alicia, and when I noticed her shoe was untied, I couldn’t help but offer to tie it for her, as I anticipated the possibility of a fall that could land her in a wheelchair. She politely declined, and I checked my overzealous protector gene.
Just as we were about to reach the front of the line, Alicia stepped back and Andy ducked into the bathroom. It wasn’t until we met up with his sister and mother at the baggage claim that we learned his passport was missing and he had returned to the plane. I, on the other hand, had gotten through passport control despite my name being shortened on the reservation.
Laura, Dusty, and I got our bags and waited for the rest of our team to get theirs. Andy and Alicia joined us with the passports safely recovered and now kept in a safer location. The baggage carousel came to a halt with about a dozen passengers standing without their bags.
Laura suggested that any flight to a remote island does not waste any of its capacity to deliver, not only luggage but supplies as well. With their bags near the end of loading, they had been left behind and would, hopefully, join us at the hotel on the other side of the island on the next flight. (It turned out to be two long days without their checked bags)
Since we had the joint transportation vouchers for seven people in my name, we waited for the paperwork to be finished for the delayed luggage before boarding the bus for the hour and a half journey to Puerto de la Cruz. There were about five or six hotel drop-offs before the bus made the steep climb on the very narrow and winding road to our hotel, TRH Taoro Garden. Not exactly to the hotel, but to the T-intersection where we could see the hotel a hundred meters to the right through the darkness we had been dropped into.
Our intrepid little band journeyed forth the final steps to our destination for the next week. We were grateful that they had put aside a meal since we had little to eat since breakfast in Belfast.
The drive the night before had been completely in the dark, so when the sun began to shine through the drapes at about 5:30 in the morning, it was my first chance to really see where we were. To the left, I could see the mile or so below us the bright blue waters of the subtropical Atlantic. To the right, I could see the slopes of the island rising up to communities above us before reaching a forested area followed by a higher tree line where the foliage ended.
At breakfast, we sat at the table by the window, looking across the large swimming pool surrounded by unopened umbrellas and chairs, waiting for the sunbathers to come later in the day. Next to the pool were banana trees sporting five-foot-long bunches of green bananas. Beyond, we could see the 12,188-foot-tall Mt. Teide. The volcano is the tallest peak in Spain (the Canary Islands are Spanish) and the tallest volcano in the world after Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa in Hawaii.
After the long travel day, Dusty and I planned to make this an easy day. We wandered around the grounds and found that one of the banana trees actually had a bird's nest with an egg inside. The adjacent Taoro Park, for which the hotel was named, provided a nice escape from the compound and later the vantage point for our first sunset on the island.
The next day, we joined Alicia for a trip down to town, taking advantage of the free bus that made the trip five times a day. Not surprisingly, the bus dropped us in the parking lot under a small mall. We did have a few things in mind to look for. Dusty needed shoes that were appropriate for the tropical climate, and there were always snacks and beverages to consider for downtime. Once inside, we went our separate ways, and it didn’t take long for Dusty to find one of several shoe stores inside.
Not one, but two pairs of shoes later, we were working our way out of the mall when Dusty was sucked in by yet another shoe store. While she went inside, I saw a small electronics store with stuff for cell phones. I had run low on power a few times and had planned to get a backup power source before we left the United States. After looking around and not finding one, I asked the man behind the counter at the back of the shop about it. He immediately reached under the counter and came out with two options. I selected the 10,000 mAh one and thought about one more thing. I have one universal plug adaptor, and it would be nice to have a second one. I hadn’t seen one, but thought I might ask. He stepped through the door behind him and, Presto, he had one in his hand. Ok. This was just miraculous. One more rabbit to pull out of his hat? I had been trying to find a smaller camera case for my new camera and had been using the one from my larger old camera. I gave him a short description, and he headed for one of the cabinets under the displays up front. He came out with a larger backpack designed as a camera case. Got him! Wait a minute. He pulled out a smaller case that was just the right size for my new camera. For less than I would have paid through Amazon and able to actually touch things before I bought them, I had three problems solved. Thank you, Mr. Electronic Guy in Tenerife.
Dusty and I finally made it out of the mall and down the palm tree-lined avenue toward the sea. Dusty wanted to take a look at some grocery stores while I wanted to get out onto the jetty looking out on the water and wander for a bit. We agreed to meet at the HiperDino grocery store in half an hour.
As I walked out onto the jetty, I spotted some yellow cactus flowers and saw bees buzzing inside of them. I took a picture. There was a carnival-like atmosphere going on with tents and vendors further down the boardwalk, so I walked down to check it out. It turns out there was a major cross-country race finishing there as I was wandering in Puerto de la Cruz. The Bluetrail 24-110 kilometer race was finishing right here and right now. They had a band playing as the runners approached the finish with hundreds of onlookers, and I took a picture.
When I joined up with Dusty again, she also had some interesting news. She had found a store with Cuban rum. Illegal in the United States, the Havana Club would be a treat if we had a little fruit juice. We picked up a bottle of cava, Spanish champagne, and we were ready to host a happy hour later with our new travel companions.
We hurried back to the mall to try to catch the bus back to the hotel. In the mall, there was another store where we were able to pick up a five-liter bottle of water (the hotel was charging 2 euros for a half-liter). We also found some boxed juices that our rum so craved. One was a blend of pineapple and coconut, and the other was a passion fruit tropical blend. It kind of said rum drinks to me. We made it to the bus in time to meet up with Alicia and Andy, where we all compared their shopping victories.
For dinner, we gathered at a table for seven and had a chance to get to know each other better. Andy’s mother had raised a large brood and possessed the toughness that I recognized from my own mother. His sister was used to being on duty whenever there was a gathering and was truly enjoying the break from the responsibilities of cooking, cleaning, and planning. She was on vacation, and the whole group was connecting on a level that is not normally possible at a wedding, funeral, or holiday gathering. We shared some family histories, discovered many things we had in common, and discussed the life events that had shaped our futures, which are now our presents.
Alicia had brought a bottle of wine to the table, and it was made clear that in the future we must buy all beverages at the table. They were not included in the half-fare accommodations that covered our stay. We shared some of the wine and were happy that we had the five-liter bottle in the room. The next morning, Alicia and Andy were going to go on a tour up to the volcano, and Laura would go with Dusty and me to the gardens at the bottom of the hill.
The next morning, after breakfast, the three of us took a walk - yes, a walk - down the very steep hill. At the bottom was the oldest garden on the island. Garden Sitio Litre is over 200 years old and boasts a beautiful orchid collection. https://jardindeorquideas.com/en/home/
There was a small group entering the garden just as we arrived, and the attendant tried to hand us the brochure about Sitio Litre as we entered. However, we let them know that we were not with the others and still needed to pay the four euros before we went in. A polite "gracias" and then the brochure, and we were on our way in. Small paths wandered out from the central line down the center. Going left and right into a small croquet court, a statue celebrating a party held there over a hundred years ago, a koi pond, an orchid grotto, and the obligatory little cafe at the end of the path. Apparently, they had no problems with taking a glass from the cafe out to little sitting areas throughout the garden. There was a woman sitting alone in the shade of a bougainvillea the size of a house. She asked if I could take her photo as she waited for her husband to return with his glass of wine. She had her own glass sitting on the small table in front of her. Soon he returned, and she posed again for another shot with her husband and their glasses of wine.
After an hour or two of enjoying the mature gardens, we continued down to the seashore where we had arrived the day before by bus. Wanting a place to sit and rest, we stopped at a small cafe on the levy where I had been the other day. I had not had sangria in a restaurant since my mother and I visited Spain in 1976. I was curious about my memory of it and took a chance on a half liter. It was not exactly as I remembered it, but it was good enough for us to order a second half. I guess there is a fair bit of personal liberty that can be taken in the fruit that finds itself in sangria. In the Canary Islands, it seems acceptable to include banana slices. When in Rome? Well, we did order a second serving. We really should have stopped there because while the salad with tuna and the pizza were disappointing, the views and the show were not. What show? As we were finishing up, a tandem paraglider circled high above us once and then serendipitously landed on the black beach less than fifty meters away.
The walk back up to the hotel was significantly harder than the walk down, but it was good to get some exercise in. We were eating, and we did end up having a couple of happy hours in our room with our travel mates. Calories in, calories out.
Running low on clothes, Dusty and I planned a trip into town to use one of the local laundromats, or lavanderia, as they call them. It would cost as much to wash all our clothes there as it would to have one shirt and one pair of pants washed at the hotel. This is where frugality meets local experience. We loaded everything into a bag and stuffed it into my backpack. We took the bus to the mall and walked the six blocks to the self-serve facility. Unfortunately, only one of the washers and two of the dryers were in service. Fortunately, there was no one else there. We had looked up a few things about the service and found that there was no need for soap or dryer sheets as they were both dispensed into their respective machines as they ran. Pretty cool. After translating all the instructions, we loaded up our one load in the one washer, and Dusty watched the 37-minute show while I went to look around for a bank to pick up some euros.
The nearest bank on Google Maps was now a bingo parlor or something like that. Walking in the opposite direction on the road where the laundry was, I found a barber shop just three doors down. There had been talk about me growing my hair out into a ponytail, and it was now at the point where there were flips and curls in places that they just didn’t belong. Both my hair and my location seemed to have colluded into getting me to do this. After deciding to go ahead with it, I realized that my Spanish language skills did not include subtle differentiations in hair styling. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, so I got out my driver’s license and said, “favor de cortar mi pelo como esto” - Please cut my hair like this. The response was “Clasico?” - Yep. Just cut my hair like a haircut. Nothing fancy.
With the haircut done and the laundry finished, we rolled and packed the now fresh and clean clothes into my backpack for the bus ride up to the hotel. When we arrived, there was a notice on the app for our ship letting us know there had been another delay. Crap. The question they asked was if we wanted to extend our stay in the Canary Islands or pass the extended delay on our own. We had one hour to respond, and in two hours, the video conference was scheduled to tell us what was going on. Since I didn’t want to mess with all the details of a last-minute trip, I just responded to stay where we were. A quick communication on WhatsApp between my fellow travelers revealed that Laura wanted to get back to Minnesota to help out her “Mama 2,” who had been a big part of her upbringing. Then I heard that Alicia and Andy’s group planned to stay.
In the online meeting, we heard that there are delays in finishing and shipping materials, as well as in the time for installation and inspection, which could lead to nearly two weeks before we would be boarding the ship. Crap again.
With this information in mind, I started doing my best to come up with a real two-week vacation leaving from where we were at the moment. Malaga, Barcelona, Cairo, Nairobi, Arusha, Cape Town. Each one had its own problems. The ones that were easy to get to were crazy expensive to stay. The ones that were not outrageous for lodging took nearly two days to get there and over $1000.00 each for airfare. At dinner, I had all these options rolling around in my head along with the fact that Dusty and I were just not loving this location. Laura told us that she had spoken to her brother in Minnesota and he was happy for us to come and join him there. We would have a place to sleep and there would not be a hard deadline on leaving if there were any more adjustments to the projected departure date. Besides, he was a pretty serious cook and was willing to let me take a turn or two in the kitchen. Add to that the fact that there was a nonstop flight from Dublin to Minneapolis for a reasonable price and the whole idea made the most sense. Laura was already a friend, but I wanted to make sure that this was more than a polite offer. She said the only reason that she thought about staying in Tenerife was because of me and Dusty. Between the salad and the main course, the decision was made to visit family in Minnesota. Not our family, but Laura’s. In about three minutes, I had made reservations on the same flight as Laura so that we could do the travel maze together. The travel gods were playing with us again, but they had been kind in the past. I was already looking forward to the visit by the time we got to dessert. Alicia asked Dusty when we had decided not to stay in the Canary Islands. Dusty looked at me and then back to Alicia and said, “Just now”.
We had already made plans to go to a flamenco performance in about two hours. Alicia was the only one who wanted to join us, so we went straight from dinner to the lobby and asked them to call us a cab as there was no Uber service here. I had seen flamenco for the first time when my mother and I went to Spain in 1976. We were in the heart of Andalusia, and the performance had a visceral impact on my young soul. I hoped to experience something similar since we were in a Spanish province.
Instead of a tavern like my first experience, this was in a small theater. We three were in the second row and ready for the show to begin. I started to have second thoughts when the special effects began. Stage smoke was pouring from both sides of the stage as if we were at a rock concert. Then the music and narrative broadcast through loudspeakers only amplified the feeling. The history and meaning behind flamenco was interesting and a good introduction to the upcoming performance, but the first dance was completely interpretive dance. There were photos of impressionist artwork projected in the background as a combination of ballet, jazz, and flamenco played out from the four dancers that would be our storytellers this evening. Looking to my right, I could see that Dusty was being hit hard by the sound level of the show while Alicia seemed to be leaning forward with all her ballet and performance experience, resting her chin on her fist, soaking up the show.
When finally two live musicians came out, I had hope that the performance would take a more traditional turn. One was carrying an instrument that I had never seen before: a beatbox drum. A wooden box the size of a milk crate with different tones produced from striking, tapping, or scraping different parts of the box. The other instrument I had been hoping to see for the last fifteen minutes: an acoustic flamenco guitar! Although I could appreciate the art of what had come before, this is what I had come for. Honestly, my mind has the almost gritty tavern with the gravelly voiced singer and sweating, gyrating, castanet-snapping gypsies as the image of real flamenco. This second half certainly had plenty of talent and intensity, but it felt like I was watching in a theater instead of living it.
My intention in travel is to live it. Not watch it. The next day Laura, Dusty, and I would be starting the next chapter of the prologue for the grand world cruise. I was hoping that I would be living it. Maybe the prologue can be the story in and of itself. The only way to find out is to go.
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