A Gran Canaria Photo Essay

Me and my husband at Catedral de Santa Ana

My husband and I met our German friends in Gran Canaria for our annual summer vacation. Here we are atop the 16th century Catedral de Santa Ana in the old district of Las Palmas, where you can see the cathedral’s cimborrio (cupola) and the nearby Atlantic Ocean in the background.

Me and our German friends in Arguineguin

And here’s me with our German friends (l to r) Thorsten and Jurgen at the Plaza Las Maranuelas in the south coast village of Arguineguin where we sought out a fish restaurant for dinner that was closed for the St. James Day festival.

dog statue in Plaza de Santa Ana

I found some statues of interest in Las Palmas. At the Plaza de Santa Ana, there are eight dogs guarding the cathedral, a nod to the island’s history. Canary comes from the Latin: insula canaria – island of dogs. Gran Canaria was named by the Romans, and the historian Pliny the Elder claimed that it was inhabited by “multitudes of dogs of very large size,” which is something of a mystery. There certainly are no longer wild dogs living on the Canary Islands, and it has been speculated that the association with dogs may have been a misappropriation refering to the barking monk seal, though monk seals are no longer found on the islands either. The Greeks called the Guanche natives “the dog-headed ones,” which could have been a reference to a priestly worship of dogs (similar to the Egyptians).

Statue of Nestor Alamo

Of course, I could not resist posing with a statue of a local literary icon: Nestor Alamo. who was a musical composer and writer. This is also in the old district of Las Palmas.

White cat at hotel

Meanwhile, we saw many more cats than dogs. This fellow was a resident of our hotel and liked bossing his companions around.

Lily pad pool at Jardin Botanico

The Jardín Botánico Canario Viera y Clavijo, near Las Palmas, is Spain’s largest public garden and I’d say a must see. I took a ton of photos and chose to share this close-up shot from the lily pad pool.

House at Agaete

We visited the village of Agaete on the north coast, which was settled in the 16th century and retains much of its original Spanish colonial architecture.

Tomb at Guanche cemetery

Also at Agaete, an important archeological site known as Maipes, the Valley of Death. Reconstructed stone tombs on a Guanche burial site where the dead were mummified and laid within circular or boat-shaped mounds of volcanic rock.

Pico de Teide in the distance

View from above Agaete. The faint silhouette across the water is visible most days looking out from the northwestern coast. It’s the island of Tenerife with its prominent volcanic mountain Pico de Teide. Snow-capped, Pico de Teide is the third tallest volcano in the world and the highest mountain in the Atlantic Ocean.

One of the highlights of the trip for me was discovering remote Guayedra Beach on the western coast of the island. It’s only accessible via a short but fairly rugged hike off the road, and the reward was spectacular. I had hoped to find the even more remote Gui Gui beach during the trip, though the idea didn’t catch on with my companions. That beach requires a two and a half hour hike over very difficult terrain. Maybe next visit.

Fabrica CEISA

The Fabrica CEISA, a cement factory, is a strange industrial landmark that is perenially in view around the southeastern coast of the island. A reminder you’re not far aloft from the modern world despite the island’s wide swaths of protected parkland and its quaint seaside villages.

The Aphrodite

We took a day-trip aboard a “Turkish gulet” called The Aphrodite, and I failed to take good photos of the old-fashioned, wooden sailboat, but here’s one.

Dolphin

And, on that sail, we saw dolphins, which nearly eluded me completely photo-wise, but here’s a middling shot.

Wind turbine

Wind turbines are ubiquitous on the island, and quite a reasonable way to generate energy on one of the windiest islands in the world. Surprisingly, wind energy is only used marginally at present, but there’s a project underway to better harness the output of Gran Canaria’s wind turbines using its inland reservoirs as something like storage batteries, however that’s done.

Caldera de Tejeda

At an overlook to the Caldera de Tejeda, a volacnic crater.

Mirador del Balcon

Another breath-taking vista is the Mirador del Balcon, which was built on a jutting cliff on the western coast of Gran Canaria.

Friar's Rock and Roque Nuble

The most famous landmark of the island is a sacred rock formation known as Roque Nuble, atop one of the highest points in the island. The lesser rock to the left is called Friar’s Rock due to its unique shape and seeming protective gaze toward Roque Nuble. Here we were at the foot of the trail up to the top.

Market at Teror

We visited a popular market in the beautiful mountain village of Teror. Market stalls are set up around the town’s beloved basilica Nuestra Senora del Pino, a tribute to the Virgin Mary. I bought a locally-made spicy mojo which is used as a seasoning for the traditional dish papas arrugadas (wrinkled potatoes). We ate a lot of those at tapas restaurants and elsewhere.

Fountain stairs at Teror

We found this charming fountain stairway while walking around Teror.

Wood balcony at Teror

Once again, not showing off my best photographic skill, but I took some shots of the characteristic wooden balconies of Teror.

Fataga Valley

Driving through the central mountains, we came to the Fataga Valley, which is something like a miniature Grand Canyon, though it’s too dry to have a river in its center, just some shrubby greenery and palm trees that survive from the moisture in the air. It only rains five days of the year on average.

Zig Zag road from Fataga

Part of the zig zag road we took down from Fataga to Maspalomas.

Street art at Arguineguin

Just some street art I found while walking through Arguineguin.

Fountain statue

Could not resist snapping a shot of this fountain statue near Lopesan Shopping Center in Meloneras. I didn’t find any information about it, but it could be a representation of Triton, son of Poseidon and Amphitrite, as there’s a famous statue of him in Las Palmas.

Maspalomas Dunes

We hiked the trail through the famous Maspalomas dunes on an overcast but very hot day. You can take camel rides through the dunes as well, which would have been a must more pleasant way to travel.

Maspalomas Dunes

Here you can see folks who climbed to the top of one of the dunes.

Sand Castles at Maspalomas

We walked the boardwalk along Maspalomas beach, which is a favorite spot for artists to make sandcastles.

Pink peonies

Pink peonies were abundant throughout the Meloneras district where we stayed.

Me at Agaete

And that’s my trip to Gran Canaria. Amazing scenery, I learned a thing or two, and had a great time with my husband and our friends. 🙂

Stories from Mykonos, Part Three

The last installment of essays and photos from my trip…

Cycladic Torpor

We get lazier as the week progresses.   The first few days were excursions on ATVs, shopping in town, and late nights out at the clubs.   Now we arrange morning meet-up times to get the free hotel breakfast before 10:30, and we order lunch by the pool.

We are loud, unmannered Americans, and the European guests glare at us from their chaise lounges.   Until we are upstaged by the arrival of the Australians.

Delos

We take a ferry to Delos, an archeological site.   Everyone has their vouchers, courtesy of the Germans.   They made arrangements with their local travel agent, and they have timetables and tour information loaded on their smartphones.

Delos was an important religious and trading center from the ninth century BCE to the first century CE.   Apollo, the Sun God, was born here.   We visit his birthplace, which was once a lake, but it was dredged by French archaeologists because of malaria.   The area is now a boggy pine forest, but there is still a towering palm tree that the ancient Greeks planted to commemorate Apollo’s birth.

We walk through the city streets guided by Joanna, a diminutive tour guide with a voice that carries.   She shows us the House of Dionysus.   There is a mosaic in the atrium pool depicting the god returning from the Far East, saddled on a lion.

Lions are a common motif throughout the ruins.   They’re in tile patterns on walls, and there are famous marble lion statues warding Apollo’s birthplace.    There were no city walls or military defenses for Delos.   It was sacked by Greeks in 88 CE as part of a revolt against the Romans.

There is an amphitheater that seated 5,000, and a plumbing system that brought water to all parts of town.   Delos was a multicultural community, and tolerant of many religions.  Egyptians built temples here, and Delos was the site of the first synagogue on Greek soil.   Today, there’s a snack bar that serves fresh squeezed orange juice, but not much anything else.

Everyone wants to browse the gift shop, but the woman who runs it is on vacation so the shop is closed.   In the middle of tourist season?   We are surprised and a little bit ticked off.

This is the principal difference between Europeans and Americans.   To Europeans, working is something you do between vacations.   To us, vacations are what you do between working.

Mosaic from Delos’ House of Dionysus

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Another Delos mosaic depicting the myth of Apollo and Daphne

Stories from Mykonos, Part Two

A continuation of my impressions from Mykonos, Greece…

The Waiter Dmitri

Everyone loves the hotel’s head waiter Dmitri.   Dmitri is tall and handsome and very reassuring.   He rubs our backs while he’s talking to us, and he speaks in a soft and gentle voice.   He tells us that he works six months in Mykonos, and the other six months he’s a ski instructor in Austria.

We ask Dmitri many questions about Mykonos’ nightclubs.   He takes great pains to be as thorough as possible with his answers, and if we ever appear confused, he draws us maps on little scraps of hotel stationery.   He can’t say the word lesbian without lowering his voice to a whisper.   This is Dmitri’s only fault as far as I can tell.   I think his mother must be very proud of him.

Lost

When we travel as a group, we rely on the Germans.   They have an innate sense of direction, like carrier pigeons, and it takes German efficiency to navigate the island’s unmarked streets and the labyrinth of pedestrian walks in town.   Only once did they lead us in the wrong direction, but we ended up at a beautiful amphitheater surrounded by flowering trees.

The city plan was designed to confuse pirates.   All we want is ice cream and a taxi cab.   We find a transgender gypsy wearing a medieval crown, sitting on a stoop, reading fortunes.   We see stray cats everywhere.   We want to take them home and give them a better life.   At restaurants, the cats beg at tables like street urchins.   They will eat the fish, the lamb, and the bechamel on the moussaka, but they won’t eat the squid or the octopus.

There is a famous pelican in town.   A man drives him around in the carriage of his scooter.   One morning we saw the pelican sitting on the terrace of a restaurant, and the owner came out and cursed and shooed the bird away.   We thought it was extreme and impolite until we realized that he didn’t want the pelican shitting all over the place.


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stories from Mykonos, Part One

My partner and I celebrated our 10th anniversary in Mykonos with seven of our friends.   I’ve been writing some short essays about the trip and decided to share them here over the next few weeks.  Names have been changed as a courtesy to the involved parties.

Here’s Round One…

Arrival

We are seven arriving at Athens airport on staggered international flights.   Four of us have a six hour layover until boarding time for the little jet to Mykonos.   Anxious for adventure, we check-in our luggage and get a cab into the city.

The heat is oppressive, and the sun is scalding.  There is no air conditioning in the cab.

Such things would be outrageous in New York City, but we are in Greece, and jetlag-drunk.   We want to See, See, See.   Athens is hosting an Olympics.   The Special Olympics.   Our friendly, patriarchal driver tells us so.   He drops us in the Plaka district with advice to take the Metro back to avoid the traffic.

We wander up a staired lane in search of a taverna with a view of the Acropolis.   There are dozens of places with outdoor seating, each with a Maitre D’ foisting a menu on us and promising free beer.   We are shielded by urban skepticism.   At the top of the lane, looking up, up, up, we see it—a corner of the Acropolis wall.   It’s a good enough view considering how far we’ve come, and there’s a shaded taverna nearby.   Foods that we could order at any New York diner taste fresher and more ethnic:  Greek salad, tzatzichi, chicken souvlaki.  We learn how to say thank you in Greek.

“Efharisto!”

We find an air conditioned cab for the trip back to the airport.   The cool air is luxurious and our young driver with thick black hair is a sight more favorable than the man who took us into town.   But he swears a lot, annoyed with the redirected traffic pattern around the Olympic events (even though he steers through roped off streets like most of the other drivers).   Our older driver would have told us anything we wanted to know about the ancient city.   This one wants to be somewhere else, with his girlfriend maybe, or watching a soccer game with his friends.   Someone overtips him anyway.

First night out

At the hotel, we are greeted by the Germans, our eighth and ninth companions, a couple.   They have reserved a table at the restaurant.

After bread and wine and shared appetizers, most of us feel renewed.   At eleven, a proposal to go into town for nightclubbing is seconded, thirded, fourthed and fifthed.   We have made shopping trips for this occasion–designer jeans, patterned shirts, graphic tee’s, and for the women, espadrilles—and we have worked out, dieted, and tried new skin products for the past six months.

The walk into town is a steep downward slope with speeding mopeds, ATVs and buses, and no sidewalk.   We wind along the waterline to find the club the hotel waiter recommended.   At midnight, we are early arrivees, but the music is exhilarating, and we dance like teenagers.   Later, the club is mobbed and we take to tables and the tops of booths.

Exiting the club is a sensuous experience.  We squeeze through walls of men with well-built, overheated bodies.   Around the corner, there is an alley behind a church which is the designated cruising spot.   A Dutch tourist asks one of our single friends if he wants to go back there because his “balls need to be drained.”  Our friend declines.

We are arm-and-arm and joyful walking to the taxi stand in the early morning.   People are out on the streets like the scattering of a big parade.   Groups of young women teeter on the cobblestones in high heels and mini-mini skirts.   From a cafe, a lesbian couple watches us with Cheshire cat smiles.

The taxi line is ten parties deep, but there is a drunken British couple to talk to.   They started drinking when they arrived yesterday afternoon.   We crowd into a cab in two human layers.   A flirtatious friend asks the driver: “Where are you from?”   Everyone laughs riotously.  Someone blurts out:   “We’re on an island.  You think he commutes in from Bulgaria?”   The point is:   we’re not in NYC anymore.