To anyone who lives in Tenerife, and to knowledgeable visitors, ‘Puerto’ can only mean one thing – Puerto de la Cruz.
Don’s son treated us to a night there on Tuesday, and although the drive up took little more than an hour, it felt like a holiday.
Puerto is on the north coast, and its exuberant verdancy is in stark contrast to the arid south where we live. Both are beautiful in very different ways, but a change is always refreshing.
We stayed in Hotel Marquesa – one of the old hotels in the centre of town, with wooden balconies overlooking an internal courtyard -
– so much more atmospheric than a tall modern block.
Having checked in – the rooms have been modernised and all are en suite - we walked around the town and harbour.
a bronze statue of a fisherwoman on the quay
the Fishermen's Fraternity building with some seriously dangerous-looking external stairs,
and a couple of nice young men swimming among the boats.We ate lunch and then ice creams and had a siesta, then went out in the soft evening to eat again –dinner this time - listened to Spanish songs over a brandy,
and then slept, despite the rumble of cars over the cobbles and the chiming of the quarters from the church in the square.
I was up early in the morning to stroll through the old streets alone, admiring the houses,
some beautifully preserved, others in desperate need of some TLC.
After breakfast in the main square we spent a couple of hours in the Botanical Gardens. I do love trees and added many photos to my album,
Then it was coffee in Garachico – the last town on the island to have suffered from a volcanic lava flow – and lunch (more food!) in Los Gigantes, home of these gigantic cliffs,
We seemed to have been away for much longer than 24 hours, but even so there simply wasn’t time to take in the Agatha Christie Festival which I saw advertised in Puerto.