I have discovered the branch of paradise in Tenerife. It is called
Puerto de la Cruz. It is located at 21 miles north of Santa Cruz,
where I have been staying since Carnaval Monday.
I came to Puerto on Thursday morning. Down in Santa Cruz, the
capital of Tenerife, everyone is busy at what would be a normal day
at work. The problem is no one is really working, because most wage
earners are too drunk to stay awake.
I wanted to buy some post cards, walk my curiosity around, then go
back to the Atlandida after an hour or two. I came at 12:00 noon.
It is now 2:00 o'clock in the MORNING, I am still here.
I took pictures, made a few friends, ate lunch, snack, dinner, and
attended a Vegas-like review, for free, as part of carnaval
festivities at the Plaza of Europa. (The singing, trumpet-playing,
crotch-scratching Diablos Locos are a riot to watch.)
Why am I still here? Because Puerto, as the locals call it, is a
tourist paradise. A beautiful valley, anchored on the crick, blessed
by a yearlong moderate climate (never too hot, never too cold), with
accommodation for 30,000 visitors, and the highest density of bars,
night clubs, restaurants, pizzerias, and Internet cafes you can
possibly imagine.
But the icing on the cake is all these Scandinavian women (Danes,
Swedish, Norwegian) walking around in bikini by a 60-degree
temperature. Call this place my mother ship if you will, but my
calling is to be here, in this mecca, not in Santa Cruz, despite the
remnants of carnaval down there.
I was able to find a room at The Monopol, a small hotel located
near Plaza del Charco, in the thickness of things. It was sheer
luck, since during carnaval, the places are overbooked. I looked at
the room, it has no AC, no toilet accessories are offered, but it
cost only ?45 a night; quite different from the usual.
So, after completing my round of the bars and discos, I will go down,
in the middle of the night, pick up my luggage, and spend the rest of
my vacation (of my life, maybe) here in Puerto de la Cruz, a place
where Scandinavian women walk around and have lunch in bikini...
(The Traveller, Friday morning, February 15, 2002)