It’s hard to know what to say about this port because the images alone say so much. This was more or less our “consolation port” for not being able to go to Morocco. Though I knew the Canary Islands was only about 60 miles off Morocco’s coast, I hadn’t done much research on them, thinking they were more or less a beach destination. Part of the pre-port lecture, given by biology professor Allan Schoenherr, got me more interested in what I might find. Open heart, open mind. I’d forgotten that one of the reasons I’d come on this voyage was to stay curious. Santa Cruz de Tenerife was a big lesson in that, because instead of a beach town overrun by tourists, this is what I saw instead (and yes, that’s the moon and then the sun).
So I begin to think, what am I complaining about, and it strikes me that I’m having trouble staying curious. I had to erase a preconceived notion in my mind of what I’d imagined hiking in the High Atlas mountains would have been like and replace it with reality, which with an open and curious disposition, looked spectacular. It didn’t diminish the sense of loss about not getting to visit the Berber villages or even compensate for it, but that isn’t the job of reality. Reality’s job, remarkably, is just to be.
I want to start with a little bit about the Canary Islands because I had very limited knowledge of it before about ten days ago. Now I have only a slightly less limited knowledge, which I can share with you. The Canary Islands are the westernmost point of the European Union and an autonomous community of Spain, with two capitals. We were docked in the larger of the two, Santa Cruz de Tenerife. The Ministry of the Presidency actually moves between here and the other capital, Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, every four years.
Next, the name. The Spaniards know this archipelago of thirteen islands as Islas Canarias, and contrary to what you might think, they were not named after canaries. Actually, the small birds we know as canaries were named after the islands, where they originated. The islands were actually named for the Latin phrase, canariae insulae, which means “islands of the dogs,” supposedly because many of the early inhabitants kept large dogs. I only saw small dogs, however, and some lizards, one of whom watched me eat lunch.
Before lunch, however, we had the opportunity to experience a large open-air Sunday market, which consisted of blocks and blocks of everything from shoes to octopuses (aka, octopi), spices to boxer briefs, flowers to electric sockets. Sorry I didn’t get a picture of an octopus. They’re much smaller than you’d think, probably the size of a catcher’s mitt, and fried octopus was found on many of the menus.
After the midday meal on Sunday, a lot of families went to the Parque García Sanabria, a large garden area with fountains, sculptures, and playgrounds. Has anyone seen this kind of training bike? It has no pedals; the kids use their feet and legs to balance and propel them. Maybe we have these in the United States, but I’ve never seen them before.
We got caught in an afternoon shower, but fortunately, the grounds were so lush that we found the perfect umbrella under some trees, and it happened long after the woman walking the path above got home with her box of pastries. After a coffee, we decided to head back to the ship for dinner. I’m glad we did because we got to see a rainbow as it snaked its way across the sky toward the horizon.
Topping the night off, there were more amazing clouds and what looked to be a full moon.
So, first day in Tenerife: moon in the morning, beautiful sunrise, gardens, a rainbow, and another bright moon. If the universe has a voice, it might have been saying, “Open your eyes, dimwit, and see what wonders await.”
This was apparently the same message I was to receive on our second and final day in the Canary Islands. Tenerife can boast the highest elevation in Spain, El Teide, which stands 12,198 feet above sea level and is the third largest volcano in the world when measured from the base on the ocean floor. It’s an active volcano, but it last erupted more than a hundred years ago, in 1909.
The day began with another beautiful sunrise.
I’ll tell you right now that you’re going to see more clouds. I’d signed up to hike a portion of Mount Teide, but I had no idea--clearly because I hadn’t thought it through--that we were going to drive through the clouds to reach our starting point.
El Pico del Teide sits in the center of the 73-square-mile Teide National Park.
We climbed in a semi-circle to reach the Roques de García, a lineup of large rock formations that once formed the summit of the volcano. This particular formation, the Roque Cinchado (below), doesn’t seem like it should keep standing, but it does. Also note that as we came around the Roques, we were standing above the clouds.
On the way home, Ancorra, our tour guide, asked the driver to stop at a mirador so we could take a few last shots before descending.
By the time we got back to the ship, it was almost time to leave port. I bet someone on the ship knew Robert M. Sherman. I didn’t, but I thought the plaque below, found on deck seven, was a testament to the example he set for how we could all live.
We head not just to another continent now, but to the continent where human life most likely began. Perhaps fittingly, it is also the continent where the first human heart transplant occurred. There’s a lot of space in which to find meaning. My laptop apparently needs resuscitating, and as I type on a borrowed computer, it sits with the ship’s technician. Again, the universe finds a way to say, “Open your eyes. See what you can make of this.”
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