Lanzarote has much in common with Shetland – both are essentially treeless. There are exceptions on Lanzarote in peoples “gardens”, where we spotted a few Norfolk pines (which is about my least favourite tree). Haría is also a bit special in that it is known for its palm trees. This is where tour guide Francine decided to head today.

We set off heading north, keen to avoid the one-way streets of Puerto del Carmen which seem to act like a non-return valve, planning a first stop at Teguise, which is the old capital of Lanzarote.

The hooley which had been blowing for two days and nights entered its third day, this time accompanied by a spit or three of drizzle, as we entered Teguise. We found a useful parking spot and bailed out.

Heading for the small centre of a modestly sized town, the first intriguing sight we saw was some wag’s garden/yard, inventively decorated with varied collection of very basic sculptures. As we neared the centre, I got the impression they must’ve known I was coming when we bumped into a Dragonfly Shop. We’ve clearly moved from weird to considerate. 😀

Aside: this is perhaps an appropriate time to mention that there is absolutely no fresh water on Lanzarote. The entire island is kept alive by a single desalination plant, situated right next to the power station. Desalination is apparently quite power hungry. Aim a missile at these two and Lanzarote would be disabled. The lack of fresh water meant that this would likely be the only dragonfly I’d see. There are records of dragonflies but in truth, I have never seen anywhere so devoid of insects. Temperatures are in the lower 20s centigrade and flowers are out but so far we’ve seen just see a handful of butterflies, mostly white, and a ground hopper beside a clump of vegetation on a beach.

There was a homely coffee shop in Teguise where we could shelter from the wind whilst sharing a very tasty wedge of cheesecake, then it was on to Haría …

… where we bumped into masses of parked cars littering every road with the drivers and passengers of said cars swarming in the streets. It was Saturday and it was market day. We did find somewhere to park and joined the throng. The market square did have some real trees (Eucalyptus trees, I think) to augment the palm trees and cacti.

After as much thronging as we could take, we decided that enough was enough, returned to the car and headed down out of Haría towards the east coast and Arrieta.

Just about the most notable thing about Arrieta is the roundabout at the entrance/exit to town, which is decorated with one of the so-called wind toys of César Manrique. (I’m sure we’ll get to César Manrique later but he was an artist/sculptor and pretty much the main man of Lanzarote.)This particular “toy” is known is some circles as the Madonna installation because the shapes that catch the wind most resemble Madonna’s inventive old pointed bra cups. A better image can be seen here. So, if anyone fancies joining me using Madonna’s bra as a toy while she’s wearing it …

Arrieta proved to be somewhat calmer and much easier to park in. We bailed out on an outskirt and wandered in to find lunch. Somewhere in the middle of this picture is our chosen restaurant where we sat looking out of the ocean munching lapas. Yes, lapas not tapas. Lapas are limpets and, like snails, are a damn fine excuse for garlic butter. We’d first encountered them to eat on Madeira 10 years ago. [Good grief, how time flies with age and pandemics.] They are served, inverted, on a sizzling griddle. These weren’t the best but they are fun and I love ‘em. We followed up by trying their steamed mussels which proved to be just that, plain steamed mussels. You really can’t beat good ol’ French moules marinière made preferably with Scottish rope-grown mussels or the French equivalent moules de bouchot, both of which are smaller and sweeter.

This was our last free day before the walking tour proper. In the evening we handed our rental car keys to the hotel reception and met our tour leader, Ramon, together with most of our fellow hikers. We went out to dine as a group. This is not something of which Francine and I are greatly fond because it often ends up with a confusion concerning the bill for 16 orders and contributions. The process is further complicated by those who insist on paying by card instead of adding cash to the kitty. Our leader got off to a poor start by walking out to attend to something before the bill arrived. [Alarm bell rings.] One of our brave companions sorted it, happily. It’s worth noting that group tour leaders are usually provided with free meals of their own for bringing sizeable groups to restaurants.

Lanzarote can be windy; VERY windy. It was blowing a hooley when we arrived yesterday, it blew a hooley throughout the night and it is still blowing a hooley today. Still, we have a parked rental car and it’s time to unpark it, brave the unfamiliar roads and the unfamiliar Spanish language satnav, and go exploring.

Tour guide Francine decided that we should head west to Timanfaya National Park. This is volcano territory where much of the island got covered by lava during the eruption of 1730-1736. Yes, apparently a series of eruptions lasted for 6 years. Part of the plan also included a stop at El Golfo for lunch with its reputedly fine collection of fish restaurants.

We’d seen the famous black soil – actually more like black gravel – of Lanzarote wandering about along the promenade near our hotel. Now we saw a whole lot more of it. It looks a bit weird but makes a dramatic backdrop to the plants planted in it.

We headed off for the Timanfaya National Park but it seemed as though most of the population of Lanzarote had had the same idea; traffic was jammed up trying to gain access which looked as it it was being strictly controlled. The Spanish can be good at strictly controlling things. The road was blocked in both directions by cars attempting to turn into the park whose approach road was already full and stationary.

Eventually we manage to skirt around the blockage muttering choice phrases like, “bugger that”, and continued to a Timanfaya Visitors Centre which looked much more civilized. The building contained a mass of graphics explaining volcanic activity (for those who were fluent in Spanish) with an external observation platform looking across the now solid black lava field.

On our outward journey we’d seen what was, to us, a rather surprising sight. On our way back we decided to call in and look more closely. What we’d seen was a car park beside strings of Camels taking people for rides across what looked like a black desert. Well, it WAS a black desert made of classic Lanzarote black lava gravel. This was a huge operation; I counted about 100 camels, though most today were sitting resting.

We did call in to El Golfo for lunch though our first attempt was foiled by a road being cortado [cut, i.e. closed]. So, we had to backtrack and go another way. For a starter we had some navajas [razor clams], which were the best we’ve had, followed by half a whale masquerading as a Snapper, which was the fish of the day and less than scintillating. It was good enough, just not an exciting fish.

Returning to the hotel was stressful … very stressful. Spanish satnav did not understand the beach where our hotel was located. So ever-resourceful Francine programmed in Puerto del Carmen just along the coast. We got into Puerto del Carmen but could find no way out of it heading east – at least, not without going the wrong way down a one-way street, which I did begin to attempt. My passenger/primary navigatrix screamed dutifully so I spun around. We only appeared to be allowed to go west. Having recovered from the one-way street episode, Francine programmed Arrecife (the capital) just to get us out of the mire.

We made it but needed a drink … but then, we always need a drink.

Neither of us had ever been to a Canary Island before but today we had our first encounters with one. Our destination was the most northerly of the islands, ignoring a couple of minor rocky lumps getting in the way of the Atlantic swell, namely Lanzarote [pronounced Lan-th-arote with a Spanish lisp].

The easyJet flight was a bit of a rude awakening largely ‘cos I was an idiot. I expected a 3-hour flight based on Spanish time but the Canaries are on UK time so three hours turned into four hours. Dumbo! Anyway, we made it.

We were to have three days to ourselves before joining an Explore Worldwide walking tour. Our rental car was, brilliantly, awaiting us at our hotel. Seeing the interminable lines of people trying to rent cars at the airport, I was very grateful for this arrangement. Car rental is painful always and is now suffering a post Covid trauma (not that Covid has gone away). With the lack of business over the various lockdowns, rental companies sold many of their cars. Now there is a shortage and they are having trouble replacing their stock so rentals are in short supply. Ours was great, delivered to us without any queues and came complete with full insurance and a Spanish satnav.

Our hotel is a complex of self-catering apartments, the Aparthotel Costa Mar. Our unit had two bedrooms and a very basic kitchen. Star turn was the sea view balcony where quaffing beer and wine looked like being a pleasure.

Though we’d got the car for three days, given our 03:30 alarm to get here, we left it parked and went in search of some tapas for lunch … and something to wash it down, of course. It wasn’t the greatest tapas on the planet but was relaxing enough for weary travellers trying to find their feet. The padron peppers were decent but the puntillos de calamar [baby squid] were a let down.

Sitting at the restaurant, everything seemed to be in the 60s: the temperature [°F, of course] and the music – we were serenaded by a collection of Bee Gees tracks. The hotel suite continued the 60s theme with its bedding – sheets and blankets. Hmmm.

There’s a Spar supermercado opposite the hotel which came in handy for a self-catering option. After a lunch of tapas, anything large in the evening would’ve been a waste so we got some albondigas [meatballs] for an evening meal which I threw in a local sauce rejoicing in the name of Mojo Rojo.

There was nothing else for it but to set about relaxing and proving me right about the balcony.