I almost remember the last weekend that I spent in Tenerife, the largest Canary Island. What I recall for certain is that I woke up on a Sunday morning with a powerful headache. I had to chase it away with a tall glass of fresh squeezed orange juice, and then try to piece together what I actually did there.
Tenerife is a bright and beautiful town.
It was during the Carnival de Santa Cruz – the ten day celebration that brings the whole island together once a year. I was travelling with some friends. As night fell, we watched the parades run through the streets, tapping our feet to the Latin marching band, accompanied by dancers in neon-colored costumes. Once the festive entourage passed by, we’d worked up a thirst to that we knew we’d need to slake in the Tenerife bars. We started off at the Terrace Bar and Restaurant, where we ate a variety of meats served tapas-style. Personally, when I’m out on the islands, I prefer frozen drinks – strawberry daquiries, pina coladas – I remember distinctly my friend making fun of me while he downed tequila shots.
I don’t care. I drink girly drinks when I’m in the Canary islands.
After we finished our tapas dinner, we hailed a cab to travel to another part of the island to enjoy the Tenerife night life. We decided to head to Tramps. Luckily, either the name of the nightclub refers to globe-trotting scalliwags like myself – or just homeless people – rather than the quality of the women that we found there. For whatever reason, the Canary islands attracts some of the most beautiful women in the hemisphere. Unfortunately, I wasn’t nearly as attractive to them, despite my efforts to be charming. Perhaps it was due to all the drinking and eating I’d done earlier, but I did manage to keep time to the DJ and ogle the table dancers.
The rest of the evening gets rather blurry in my memory – particularly because the other nine days of carnival were spent in similar venues. It’s a good thing that we booked a high-end hotel, because we needed prompt service when spending the day-times recovering on the beach, letting the sounds of the waves act as a sort of natural hangover cure, with friendly servants toting gallons of cold juice and hot coffee to our deck chairs.
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