Today was a bit of a rest compared to yesterday, being just 10kms with an ascent and descent of 300m. Come on legs, you can do it. 🙂

We started in Mancha Blanca village and began heading towards Timanfaya National Park. Our leader, Ramon, was keen to show us a “bug”, actually a scale insect, that lives on some of the cacti of Lanzarote. In fact, it used to be farmed. It was the Cochinilla, the poor things being crushed and used to make the red dye, cochineal. Ramon had been examining suitable cacti and finally found some with clusters of what he wanted to show us. Now we’re getting to the interesting stuff.

Our route through the village farming landscape eventually got us to one side of a Timanfaya lava field which we proceed to walk across. The going was flat but rough. These volcanic rocks are quite jagged and sharp and you really don’t want to stumble and fall on them, so constant vigilance was needed watching your footing. Once again, I was glad of the steadying trekking poles.

Having crossed the lava field, we were to be met by another local guide and split into two groups. The Spanish, bless ‘em, had decreed that group sizes in the Timanfaya National Park should be limited to eight. There were 16 of us paying tourists so two groups of eight it was. We would be circumperambulating a caldera, one group going clockwise (including Francine) whilst the other  (including me with Ramon) went anticlockwise.

Ramon’s group soon bumped into the NP Gestapo. We innocent bystanders could tell that a disagreement ensued in rapid Spanish. I caught “ocho” and “nueve”. Ah ha! It didn’t take an Einstein to figure out that while we were eight tourists, we numbered nine with our leader and the Gestapo weren’t happy. Ramon apparently had an email from the park authorities stating that eight plus a guide was permitted but the message didn’t seem to have made it through to the troops on the ground. We were eventually allowed to continue. Ain’t bureaucracy wonderful? Oh, your groups of eight/nine aren’t supposed to pee in the park, either – no popping behind a bush. How curious is that? Stay dehydrated is my advice.

This circumperambulation was one of Lanzarote’s unvarying trudges, frankly. It used to be permitted to walk up the side of the caldera and peek into the crater but this practice had been stopped. Given that there wouldn’t be any bubbling lava to look at, I wasn’t sorry. Plants clinging to the sides made for some light relief.

At the end of our circuit we stopped for lunch before returning along a road to our bus. Our bus took us to a bodega at La Geria, a bodega naturally being another more interesting place. La Geria is famed for its unique vineyards; the local farmers have devised an ingenious way to cultivate wine in this harsh environment, creating funnel shaped pits protected with low dry stone walls in which to grow Malvasia grapes. Guess which way the prevailing wind blows. We’d seen a few other designs to protect the vines, too.

Our tasting in the bodega at La Geria confirmed something that we’d suspected at dinners: Lanzarote wines are actually very good. They are not cheap, though, being around €10 a bottle in supermarkets. Given the landscape and farming methods, production is necessarily quite low so they seem to be used for the local market rather than exported.

One of the more interesting days for me, so far.

The trip notes for today’s little jaunt say,

Today’s easy 14 kilometre walk is expected to take approximately five hours with a total ascent of 550 metres and descent of 350 metres.

“Easy” is not quite how it worked out in my estimation. The normal path up from Maguez village was reportedly closed – maintenance or some such mumbo-jumbo – and our leader, Ramon had been told of an alternative route up. The relatively steep path was composed entirely of the now familiar black Lanzarote gravel, which meant two steps forward and one slipping step back. With the calves a little sore from yesterday’s effort and now screaming with today’s, demoralizing is a word that sprang to mind.

Between bouts of calf-screaming, which needed to be punctuated by frequent rest stops, it was possible to notice that we weren’t just slipping and sliding up a black gravel slope but that we were actually slipping and sliding past a few plants decorating the gravel bank. My botanist tells me that some species of Euphorbia and Lavender were attempting to brighten the route.

It was with great relief that we eventually gained the summit and were greeted by good views from the Famara cliffs of the island of La Graciosa less than a kilometre off Lanzarote’s northern tip. ‘T was difficult to imagine anywhere looking more barren than Lanzarote but La Graciosa made a fair fist of it. It really didn’t look habitable but it apparently is with one small town, Caleta del Sebo (must be a town, it has a supermercado) and seemingly a smaller village.

With the worst of the climbing behind us, our route now took us along the coastal path towards our destination at the Mirador Del Rio. At one point we came across a fork in the path and dived off left but not without leaving a body at the fork to point back markers in the correct direction. Well, maybe my remonstration of yesterday had been listened to. This was more like it.

The last 3 kms were a bit of a trudge along a gently inclined tarmac road to the mirador itself; not painful but we just needed to be wary of traffic.

To quote the trip notes again,

Mirador del Rio is a 475 metre high viewpoint located at the edge of the Famara cliffs, built into the larva rock. The building, designed by local artist César Manrique, wonderfully blends into the landscape, the floor to ceiling glass windows and outdoor walkway enhance the panoramic views overlooking the Rio strait, between Lanzarote and the island of La Graciosa.

It’s him again, César Manrique, Mr. Lanzarote. You can’t move on Lanzarote without hearing about César Manrique.

The Rio strait is less than a kilometre wide and now we could see more detail of the town and its harbour, with a caldera towering behind it. There are, of course, ferry services to and from the island (some of our number would have a day trip there later) but I’m still trying to figure out why anyone would actually want to live there.Isolation is one thing but this much of a lack of nature is something else. À chacun son goût.

The initial climb up the slipping black gravel path had been quite a pain but at least I now had some sense of achievement. It’s perhaps not too surprising how losing a couple of years to a pandemic and consequently being a couple of years older and a couple of years unfitter makes an uncomfortable difference.

‘T was time for our first hike. Happily the relentless strong winds that had been battering us since our arrival had finally abated, which was a good job since we’d be going up a mountain. Our first route was to be a 10km limb-loosener from Femés, at the base of the southern mountains, with 350m of ascent followed by 650m of descent to Playa Quemada on the south-eastern coast.

We began with a 20-minute minibus ride up to our start point in Femés sporting a belvedere with a decent view of Playa Blanca and the southern points of Lanzarote. On the coast in the top right corner you can just make out [it is a crappy phone shot] a lone white building which is an illegally built hotel that is reportedly to be destroyed. It’s good to see Spanish traditions being maintained on Lanzarote, too. 😀

We were off and began by attacking most of our ascent up a rough track into the Ajaches hills. Gaining the first crest, the volcanic origin of this landscape was starkly apparent, there being no colour to break the desolate brown-black scenery. Scenery? Well, yes, I suppose so. This barranque goes down to roughly where we were heading but our route took us around the other side of the lumpy bit on the right.

This was nothing more than a desolate lunar landscape with no variation all the way to the coast. Vegetation was there none, apart that is for a single plant about 30cms across and just a few centimetres high in which Francine spotted a small lizard hunting the flies that also visited it. A rare example of Lanzarote wildlife.

The path was decent but like walking on rocky ball bearings so care was always needed not to trip or slip. I was glad I was wearing good boots with a moderately firm sole against the rough stony ground and poles were a must, for us, though not everyone chose to use them. I have to say I’ve been on more appealing walks but at least my legs were holding up, though my calves ached on some of the climbs. Ain’t lockdown wonderful?

Lunch break was taken at the coast where we quite unexpectedly stumbled across a “Secret Garden” of cacti. Good grief, more vegetation! I’m not a big fan of stopping for lunch ‘cos my legs are prone to thinking that their job is done; I have trouble kick-starting them again.

After lunch we finished of by completing the walk along the coastal path to Playa Quemada, going up and down a few more barranques just to finish off the legs completely. Our revered leader shot off ahead with a small band of the young and fit leaving some of more measured individuals to follow the path themselves. This was not good. Not one of the advanced party gave a backward glance to check that half the merry band was still on track. There was a fork in the path and we luckily chose the correct route. Losing touch with half your number is not how to lead a walk, and you certainly don’t pass a fork without at least stationing someone there to point the way.

When Mr. Leader did finally stop and give a backward glance I remonstrated. That’s me in everybody’s bad books then. We’ll see if it has any effect. Francine and I chose to eat alone in the evening. That’s probably two black marks. 🙂

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.