If you haven’t got a map of Tenerife etched on your brain let’s just imagine that our wonderful island is a deep chip pan with the north east corner being the pan handle. My latest assignment was trying out a new sea taxi from Nautica Nivaria serving Anaga National Park, a walkers delight in that north east area beyond Santa Cruz.

The address for the pick up point was a bit misleading so after an early rise I changed Titsa buses in Santa Cruz and got the 910 to San Andres (above). The journey took me through the new 560 metre tunnel under the Via Litoral, part of the long revamp of the area between the port and the city. It’s a good few years since I ventured up that way so I had a quick look around, the sea promenade has had a bad few years with big storms twice crashing over and across the road to threaten buildings. A barrier out at sea didn’t calm the next storm waves and the argument still rages, I was thinking this as a few random spots of rain plopped down. There are always oil tankers moored just out to see here and sure enough I counted six of them lurking.

The large orange beach of Las Teresitas is just a short walk beyond so I had a quick peek, despite the dark clouds there were plenty of bathers waiting for the sun to put his hat on. Controversy has stalked this beach for years over alleged corruption at the planning stages but it is a lovely spread for the good people of Santa Cruz to enjoy. By now I had asked directions and found I was way off beam so I grabbed a bus back towards Santa Cruz and got off half way at the Darsena Pesquero, a vast old dock that has seen better days. One of the old chaps fishing for scraps pointed me in the right direction and I found the entrance to my awaiting boat at Sector Five – Cueva Bermeja.

The boat trip was fantastic complete with blazing sunshine but that’s destined for blog.tenerife.co.uk , two hours later I was back on solid ground windswept, wet and exhilarated and as Santa Cruz didn’t look far I decided to walk along the port service road that runs parallel to the main road. After a good 20 minutes hike I realized that the exits I needed were all locked up and I was being funneled down to a busy road subway, luckily a half open gate offered me an alternative to retracing my steps and I squeezed through. No walk is wasted and as I passed the various docks I found some great old machinery at the gateways, the first was an old steam engine the La Jurada, made in Germany and used from 1927 to 1965 to transport huge rocks that helped to build the Santa Cruz ports. Further along I found a steam crane from Grafton & Sons of Bedford dating back to 1920 and put to good use locally from 1934 to 1956.

That little swell of patriotism was further boosted when I passed the La Palma steam ship, an old friend from several previous visits. This former mail ship between the Canary Islands was built in Middlesborough and is nearing the end of a big restoration project. Past and present sit in close proximity to each other in Santa Cruz, over in the main port the latest cruise ship visitor, Oceana, was looking majestic and dripping in money. Later touring around the heart of Santa Cruz I noticed many British passengers among the 2,000 on board the 10 decks were topping up the tills of local coffee shops and bars. All this mooching about didn’t leave me much time to check up on some of my usual points of call in the capital but I can do that next trip – unless I get sidetracked of course.

Fresh air blasting through our ears, maybe that would shake the beer cobwebs away, so as Karen prepared an early afternoon breakfast Neal drove me out to Portland Bill, the highest point of the area. Keen walkers and explorers stared up at the lighthouse and the big obelisk near the rugged edge of the cliffs. Here’s a bit of useless info, lighthouse spotters are known as farologists and they describe visiting these tall towers as “bagging”. The views were inspiring and the rock formations would have sent a geologist into raptures but we were just doing our best to ignore the hangovers after the previous days fun in Weymouth.

I ventured as near to the edges as I dared but it was so busy at this popular viewpoint I couldn’t quite get to the southern most point in the UK. Feeling at least a little better we drove back into Portland with a cheeky beer stop at The Clifton before taking breakfast. It was the day of the pre season friendly game between AFC Bournemouth and Real Madrid so we took the long drive into Bournemouth and checked in at the Cooper Dean Travelodge giving Neal and Karen an easy route to work the next morning and me a short hop to the local airport in Hurn.

My friends are loyal fans of The Cherries as well as keen converts to CD Tenerife so we headed to the Bournemouth and Boscombe Royal British Legion, their pre game watering hole near the Dean Court stadium. My Ryanair flights were booked last minute and the match tickets had all sold out previously even at 55 quid a pop to members and 60 pounds to others. Even if tickets had been up for grabs I couldn’t have justified that much to see the pampered Primera side, especially when Bournemouth paid them one million pounds to come over. Neal and Karen had a certain reluctance to the circus of a game but loyalty to their side had won over, I was quite willing to pass a few hours in the Legion supping ale and their friends were very friendly and welcoming.

I was gutted that the only hand pump ale was off but was saved from a diet of keg by Matt pointing out they had Ringwood Fourtyniner and Doom Bar in bottles, and very nice they both were. As we chatted various interesting snippets emerged, one chaps son was a mascot for the game and he had been told there was strictly no asking the visiting players for autographs or photos – so much for positive PR and good old fashioned pleasing grass roots fans. I found out later that Madrid had taken over an entire hotel, The Haven in Poole and had a police escort to the ground, the financial juggernaught clearly didn’t want any commoners getting near to them.

Pre game I walked across the park with the others to have a nose around and get a few photos. Glossy programmes were on sale for a fiver and street vendors were knocking out dual scarves to mark the game, they were 10 pounds but had dropped to five just before kick off. AFC Bournemouth had reportedly made just 600,000 from ticket sales, their must have been other corporate money earners, advertising and sources in Tenerife confirmed that Gol and Marca TV were screening it live but it still didn’t seem a good financial adventure. Bournemouth’s ground impressed me, I had a look around their new football superstore that fronts the Goldsands Stadium and particularly liked the gnomes, the diehard fans still call it Dean Court.

The thing that most caught my eye was the photos of former squads and players around the walls of the stadium perimeter. The Heliodoro sadly lacks this homage to past heroes, clubs should be proud of their history and have a strong identity that fans can relate to. As the game kicked off young fans were trying to peek through the gaps in the pitch gates and back at the Legion there were several Cherries fans that were not going to the match. Bingo was the big event of the night, I declined an invitation to play, I was quite happy to sit near the entrance with a nice breeze blowing in as I demolished a few beers. It’s serious stuff this bingo, they all had magic marker pens and special check lists, I tried to keep a straight face but the caller had a voice just like Jo Brand, I sniggered away in the corner waiting for her to mention cream cakes and how useless men are.

Time and the beer went quickly and my friends were soon back after a 0-6 home defeat with two Ronaldo goals in front of a 9,600 full house. A few more beers and we headed back to the Travelodge and said our goodbyes before crashing out. My return flight to Tenerife went well the next morning and I was soon in a Los Cristianos bar reading the Bournemouth match report in the Canarian newspapers. What a fine week – and before you wonder, I did actually manage to get plenty done in my ongoing legal wrangles. Cheers to the Dorset crowd and good luck to The Cherries for the new season.

They breed the seagulls big and noisy in Portland, a loud screechy one was perched on the roof of Neal and Karen’s house as I awoke with a delicate head after a great day in Weymouth. I have fond memories of Dorset from holidays in my youth and the last two days of my England trip allowed me to create some new picture postcards in my mind.

The previous day I signed off in Oxford tying up loose ends and I had the chance to savour a few good pubs. Coming back to town from Wantage with a rumbling tummy the bus stopped on Botley Road outside The Seacourt Bridge and it seemed to reach out and lure me in so I went in for some food. I always liked the pub when I worked near there and was pleased to see it looking unspoilt inside with 5 good ales on hand pump and some great food offers, I went for the Golden Greats package of plaice, chips and beans followed by apple crumble with cream for just 4.35. A nice pint of Rascal and England taking a pre dinner break wicket on the TV left me feeling rather smug. At night I met up with some old mates at The Chequers in town before ending up in the St Aldates Tavern (formerly The Hobgoblin, my home from home). The beer choice was superb and it was good to see the pub bustling, and restored to its gleaming best.

Saturday morning I was on the platform at Oxford station clutching my ticket and ready for the Bournemouth train. I was down there just in time to catch my link train to Weymouth and the Jurassic coast, stations like Wareham and Poole triggered reminders of youthful excursions as we chugged through the Purbeck hills. Weymouth was buzzing on a scorcher of a day, a quick drop of at my friends house at the top of Portland gave me some stunning views of the modern marina used for London 2012 and then Chesil beach stretching out below. The last time I was in Portland was the big drought of 1976 and the grass was again starting to turn the same parched brown colour. It was time to break the beer drought and a taxi back into the centre of Weymouth dropped us at The Globe, an excellent locals pub with plenty of real ale.

The sun was calling and with some new friends in tow we moved to the old fishing quay where the pubs were spilling out onto the street as the fishing boats bobbed up and down beneath the road bridge that rose and parted to let tall boats sail by. It was a lovely setting and the company made it even better, the beer flowed as we mingled outside The Royal Oak. Some fine local ales like Knob and Jurassic kept me well watered and a cracking afternoon was had by all. Apparently in the recent hot weeks several people had come a cropper on and below the bridge, I bet the 6.8 strength Crazy Goat cider in the bar had played a hand in a few tumbles.

For a well deserved food stop we popped around the corner to a big chippie with a sit down section, the fish and chips portions were large and tasty and even here there was more great ale like Piddle in a bottle. It all got a bit hazy as the evening wore on but when the three of us returned to Portland myself and Neal nipped out for a late few beers in Portland. All the liquid intake ensured I slept well and even my seagull alarm call and the hangover that came with it couldn’t detract from a great start to the Dorset adventure.

So there I was walking down Cornmarket Street in Oxford and I saw a White Rabbit on a bike held stationary on a frame, he was peddling furiously to produce a cascade of bubbles as a tubby tuba player performed theme tunes like Superman and The Wizard of Oz. I know your thinking I shouldn’t have had that last pint the previous night but it was just a small slice of the diverse and bizarre happenings going on in the centre of my home city.

Thursday was my day for exploring before the final push ahead of my weekend in Portland so I set off for Marston and Court Place Farm, home of Oxford City FC. Blimey how it had changed, the new community arena and artificial training courts were very impressive but what really pleased me was to see the place buzzing with visitors. There is a community college and a large party of language school students were also heading into the clubhouse and teaching rooms, I even found a couple of ladies rehearsing a play at pitch side. Sadly I won’t get to see a game this trip but it was nice to see the amazing strides the club has made.

Next up was a steady walk down Marston Road to cut through to the cycle track into the University Parks, more surprises awaited me. The Somerset pub caught my eye with its Thursday 2 pounds a pint offer – I will check that out later. Turning down into Canterbury Road I was surprised to find a Russian Orthodox Church squeezed in a terrace. The Church of Saint Nicholas the Wonder Worker looked lovely, later research showed it was opened in 1973 and is used by several different faiths. Hitting the cycle track the cattle grid was a clue to the cows I was to encounter ahead, they seemed friendly but I was worried they might sense my fondness for a burger so I sneaked past them. The gate into the parks took me past the weir with the nudist area Parsons Pleasure somewhere beyond that – I remember on a 6^th form punting trip our posh English teacher got an eyeful as she inadvertently steered us right by the less then shy clothes shedders.

A bit further up the main path opened up to the full glory of the park and the cricket pavilion and square. Every alternate year the University team hosts the tourists in a game, a few of us used to take time off work and spend three glorious days emptying cool boxes of beer as we watched the West Indies or Australia. There was no action to see but plenty of sunbathers peppered the lawns and little groups gathered under the shade of some mighty trees. From there it was just a short walk up into town, St Giles was looking good with hanging baskets overflowing with colourful plants, and then came Cornmarket and the White Rabbit. The costume (I suspect it wasn’t a real giant cycling rabbit) must have been stifling in the heat but he waved happily to families as they gathered, a collection tin was filling up well with funds for an African children’s charity.

Town was heaving with visitors so I headed down to the Thames for a cool beer at The Head Of The River pub. I still had a few calls to make and called at old Oxford Prison complex to see how the beach was doing and even had a little knock at croquet on the lawn, it’s ok but will never replace football.

There is always another wow moment in Tenerife, slicing down into Masca valley on the corkscrew road from Santiago del Teide, the island of La Palma shone brightly in the distance as the rocks and the centuries parted for amazing views of the village below. For me this was a chance to close a glaring gap in my exploration of Tenerife, despite many treks and jolly jaunts I had only had a brief brush with Masca village on a jeep safari as it slowly recovered from the big fires of  2007.

Clasped in the palm of nature the not so secret seven clambered, squeezed, and carefully picked our way down the high sided Masca valley. This was an Armada Sur based group adventure with myself, The General, Kirsty and Gordon with the girls and Federica a visiting language student from Italy.

We met up on the 460 Titsa bus from Playa de Las Americas before changing to the Titsa mini bus 355 that always waits for the connecting buses at Santiago del Teide plaza prior to taking the 5km road to Masca. The driver was great, not only skillfully negotiating the tight road but also stopping at key points so passengers could take photos. This mini marvel was only 1.45 euros one way but the second discounted fare of the morning on my Bono ticket was a mere 10 cents.

Spilling out at the top of the village we had a quick look at the church plaza and then hit the trail downwards past the bar restaurant with just some brief fruit snack buys from a local vendor. The pathway isn’t clearly marked but it’s easy to find, especially as it’s a busy and popular route, we could pick out a few bobbing backpacks up ahead. The exposed rocky path was soon embraced by fertile green undergrowth and a bridge over the barranco gave us a chance to do a panoramic sweep of all the nature had laid out before us.

Probably the biggest challenge of this walk is the diverse terrain, changing rapidly from smooth and dusty to rugged and cracked with plenty of blocks of exposed rock calling for a well placed step up or down. Looking up the towering stacks of rock were carved and etched by a combination of the elements, natural stairways rose in small crevices and old water channels still trickled despite the current alert for dangerously high temperatures. At several crossing points of the stream it was easy to imagine how even a small amount of winter rain could make it difficult to pass.

Of course we came prepared with ample water and snacks, shady spots became natural breaks and Christmas for the lizards that scuttled out of the plants and rocks looking to scavenge any stray bread. There were notices early on warning against feeding the skinny feral cats as they also devour smaller species and tip the balance of the eco system. Numbers on little squares fastened to the rocks were clearly some indication of distance but we found out later they are also reference points for anyone needing to call emergency rescue. There’s not a month goes by without people needing rescuing from Masca, it’s not a walk you can easily opt out of part way through, lack of preparation is a common cause but as this is the second biggest natural attraction in Tenerife after Teide National Park there are bound to be a few accidents.

Settling in one of the large clearings for a breather it was like being in a giant cathedral and the echoing quality of the air added to the sense of awe. There was a steady procession of other walkers, some on organized trips and some making their own way. The stream came and went as it burbled under the surface only to re-emerge later, it encouraged plenty of insect action and a selection of dragonflies in contrasting colours. Maybe we were deluded but was that the faint sound of the waves wafting in on the cooling breeze? Myself, The General, and Federica hit the front and worked our way over and around a particularly challenging section of rocks and tight ledges as the rock stacks parted wider and we got our first glimpse of the sea.

The beach of large pebbles that greeted us spread out to our left where it became a sandy cove, and to our right where a rocky outcrop below the steep incline served as a launch point for swimmers via metal stairs, and also as a mooring point for the water taxis. Two companies operate from under sunshades on the beach, we booked our sea trip to Los Gigantes with Top Class Tours, just 10 euros each or 5 euros for children aged 2 to 12.

Some of our group took a dip before our taxi arrived, the 20 minute skip over the waves came with a refreshing sea breeze and some on board entertainment. The skipper held a biscuit aloft for the seagulls who powered into our windy slipstream to take turns at grabbing a little snack. At one point we thought we might have to hang on to The General’s feet to stop a feathered kidnapping but the biscuits were their preferred treat. The walking part of the day took us 4.5 hours but we took our time and made several stops. It was a cracking day and Masca lived up to all my expectations.

Not a sail billowed and not an oar paddled as I stood surrounded by the Cutty Sark, Victory, and The Golden Hind, well they were models and I was in Casa de Los Capitanes in La Laguna. It was a deliberate stop off and nothing to do with the drizzle outside. I had expected to drop five degrees as the tram linked me from Santa Cruz to La Laguna but the rain had little more than novelty value – after all worse things happen at sea.

The free exhibition is by former mayor of Guimar, Rigoberto Gonzalez (above) and he was happy to chat about his 16 models ranging from 40 cms to 2 metres long. “I have been making these for 35 years, my uncles taught me their carpentry skills and I made some earlier ones from moulds but had to apply to different countries naval departments to get historic plans for them as they got more involved.”

They were all very intricate with everything made from types of mahogany imported from Germany, and that includes the tiny anchors and canons. “ Most like the Endevour took 18 months but the Victory took two years.”

As someone who struggled to do a basic Airfix Spitfire without pasting myself to the ceiling, I was very impressed. The exhibition goes onto 14 July 10.30 to 2 and 5 to 8 Monday to Friday.

Back outside the rain was fading so I had a quick tour to check all was well in La Laguna, the cathedral is still making a slow recovery but the boards and a lady in tourist information assured me it will be complete by this December – we shall see. At the top end I had my usual peak at the wonderfully cheeky mural on a garage door, it always makes me chuckle. With plenty more to do I jumped on the tram and grooved on down to Santa Cruz and 40 minutes later I was back in 23 degree sunshine. I had a review to do at new American style rock and roll burger café Mary Ann’s, you will have to wait for that but the word yummy comes to mind.

Parque Garcia Sanabria was looking good with a new design on the flower clock but no summer film shows yet so I veered off to the port, a regular call which is now easier to get to across Avenida Anaga as the Via Litoral underpass is open and above ground the new expanse of pedestrian zone has allowed everyone to spread out and enjoy the space under the transplanted laurel trees. There was a shortage of surprise new ships but the Lagaren was moored up but seemed as deserted as the Marie Celeste. It’s a 34 metre long school ship from Sweden, we get a lot calling by as they educate young crews in the ways of the sea and team building.

A short stop at TEA – Tenerife Espacio de los Artes to see check out the library and gather some more forthcoming events – secrecy is still the usual form of publicity in Tenerife – and I was on the return Titsa bus to Los Cristianos. Both trips were quicker than usual, I put it down to the new snazzy uniforms, I hear Posh Spice is so impressed she wants to move here and become a bus bunny.

In Tenerife we don’t need to wait for an overblown camp festival of poor music to appreciate other cultures, there’s such a rich mix here. After catching small glimpses of Norway’s National Day celebrations in recent years I was determined to see more this year when some Norwegian friends invited me along to their parade in Los Cristianos on Friday 17 May.

My first speedway hero Dag Lovaas of Oxford Rebels was from Norway but that’s about as far as my knowledge of the country goes. There is a big Scandinavian influence in Los Cristianos as the modern tourist growth was sparked over 50 years ago when the Swedish began to bring infirm patients here for the beneficial qualities of the weather. Arriving at the Scandinavian church near the old beach there was already a good gathering of Norway flags and colours and hints of national costume. My friends introduced me to Toril Merete Wulff the Santa Cruz based vice consul of Norway for the Canary Islands and she topped up the minimal information I had researched on the net.

Norway was originally under Danish rule but in 1814 they were given over to Sweden but formed their own constitution and that is what the national day celebrates, it wasn’t until 1905 that Norway gained full independence. Back in Norway bigger parades took place in all major cities with slight regional variations in customs, Oslo started it off with children leading King Harold and the army at 11am. Just over 100 Norwegians, there are 800 registered in Santa Cruz province, were raring to set off on the Los Cristianos version and a local Canarian youth orchestra came along to provide the musical backing. Arona council always do their bit to make sure the parade runs smoothly, police made sure they had a clear route especially when they spread out near the Plaza del Pescadora to sing their national song and make speeches.

Turning and heading up to the church plaza they all funneled back down the side of the Hotel Reveron and back to the Scandinavian church for a celebration meal. It was a relatively short but delightful insight into another countries special day and as I walked further along the front towards Las Vistas I noticed small stages set up for the Day of Africa celebrations with bands from Ghana, Sierra Leone, the Saharra, and Senegal. All this and we still have the Dia de Canarias to come on 30 May.

Sometimes I feel like that robot in the 80’s American comedy film Short Circuit “input give me more input”. A non football visit to Santa Cruz was long overdue and with a long tick list I knew the Tenerife capital would provide enough input to get my rusty circuits buzzing.

The 110 direct Titsa bus did me proud with a 50 minute run from Los Cristianos and a short tram ride was free on my bono ticket. Sitting near the drivers cab I noticed there was an emergency phone for the driver, it was like one of the old 70’s trimphones – maybe it linked straight through to Noel Edmunds at the Swap Shop? Ignoring a man wandering around the central shopping area of Santa Cruz dressed as a banana (what’s odd about that?) I headed for the Caja Canarias bank HQ in Plaza de Patriotismo and the new Cesar Manrique exhibition. The great man had a huge influence on the Canary islands in general and Lanzarote in particular and the paintings and sculptures on display put me in a chipper mood for the day. Look out for a full run down at Tenerife Magazine.

The military museum was my next call and I cut through Parque Garcia Sanabria knowing it’s delightful flowers and plants would further boost my mood. There’s a small art gallery on the far side of the park and the latest display Turismundi had recently opened so a little detour was called for. Six artists were displaying works, my favourite set was the whimsical Desayuno Incluido (breakfast included) by Enma Manescau. You have until 5 May to feast your eyes (it’s free) but only until 26 April to see Offshore, a stunning collection of surf photos in the window of the annex building.

Quickening my step I followed La Rambla around to the Museo Militar but despite being well ahead of closing time the guard said no more visitors were allowed in today and as he had a rifle I wasn’t going to argue. Never mind, it gives me a starting point for my next exploring trip. Walking down to Avenida Anaga facing the port I saw the first of three new commemorative plaques added the day before to mark artillery strongholds where invaders, including Nelson, were repelled many years ago. These have been installed by the Turtulia Amigos de 25 Julio who commemorate and re-enact the successful defence of Santa Cruz against Lord Nelson on 25 July 1797.

That led me on to a modern financial battle ground. The revamp of the main Via Litoral road that separates the port from Plaza de España and the city inland is almost complete with a tunnel ready to dip traffic underground for 506 metres so a vast pedestrian area can unite the port with the city. The day before my trip the Tenerife Cabildo (government) finally agreed to pay the annual 400,000 euro bill to maintain and service the tunnel, that leaves it clear for the big opening later in April. Up top there is more work to do to cover the roof of the tunnel and put in parks and walkways, it’s going to look pretty impressive.

Heading up into Calle Castillo, the main shopping drag, I was seduced off course by an unexpected flea market in the side streets. Rastrillo Le Petite Cirque had stalls packed with bric a brac, collectables, and street fashion. I spotted a few gems like old tobacco and chocolate tins for Senior Service and Dairy Box, a manual typewriter, a trombone, and a stack of vinyl including Emerson Lake and Palmer, Twisted Sister, and The Carpenters – what a weird party that would be. The Rastrillo will be back on 10 & 11 May, I shall have a deeper delve then and try another old restaurant to add to the gorgeous food I had at Tasca La Marea.

Safe in the knowledge that Santa Cruz is still a pleasing mix of ancient and modern I headed back to the bus station and once in my seat remembered another dozen or so things I was going to check out – bring on the next trip.

It was eerily quiet in Santa Cruz for a Saturday but as I wandered around I kept catching glimpses of partly made costumes hanging up in doorways, and in front of the bus station the fair was being pieced together like a large jigsaw. Carnaval is in the air, the streets will be mobbed for the main events but more than ever this year there has to be a lot of belt tightening in the run up.

Anyway I had plenty of missions to accomplish, first up a photo sweep of the 36 Santa Cruz Carnaval posters recreated in pavement tiles beyond the Auditorium by the Parque Maritimo pools. The hot sunny weather boded well for the festivities ahead, my next call was the African Market or Mercado Nuestra Señora de Africa to be precise. I popped inside and was impressed to see them trying to boost trade with a stall of breads, cherry tomatoes, and jams to taste and the offer of a prize draw for anyone shopping in the busy market. I tried some bread with a generous spread of blueberry jam and looked at the jar as I ate, hoping to see where in Tenerife it was made. What a shock, it was made in Barcelona, I just about managed to avoid a Little Britain moment and kept the jam down – bring on the lovely honey and jams made in Tenerife.

Outside the real reason for my market call was waiting, a new sculpture dedicated to the Chicharreros, the local fishermen. There is already a statue of a fisherwoman nearby carrying a basket of fish for market and this new addition compliments it perfectly. The weather beaten looks on the faces and the straining sinews really capture the dedication of those in peril on the sea. Big respect to the sculptor Javier Murcia.

Fate was on my side and checking the days papers in the vast library at TEA – Tenerife Espacio de Las Artes, I noticed that a catwalk of childrens Carnaval costumes was being staged in one of the small shopping streets. Hot foot I was there in a moment and caught the end of the presentation with a small stage and red carpet plus of course the drum rhythms that provide the backbeat to most Carnaval events. This years theme is Bollywood but it’s little more than a guideline, I spotted the usual pirates and a few big booted murgas (satirical bands) finding their motivation as the best performers say.

Duty calls, the Parque Bulevar shopping centre was on my tick list to load up with photos of the Carnaval Museum that is housed there. I have been several times since it moved in last June and each time the mannequins have outnumbered the shoppers. Maybe it’s because the centre is tucked away off the main drag as you cut through from Plaza del Patriotismo to Parque Garcia Sanabria but it’s another of my regular short cuts and always worth a visit.

Back in the centre of the city on Calle Castillo the main shopping street I saw a small tent settlement of people whose houses have been repossessed under the harsh mortgage laws in Spain. The BBVA bank was the target of their anger and desperation but it could just as easily have been any of the big banks. The system not only takes these peoples houses away when they fall behind but they also have to keep on repaying the debt, the nightmare doesn’t end. The Canary Islands has one of the highest unemployment rates in Spain and the crisis is hitting a wide range of people. Carnaval is all about the ordinary people, the biting satire of the murgas is largely aimed at politicians and councilors and the sardine funeral is a historical swipe at the hypocrisy of the church. Sardines and other scraps from the sea were all many had to survive on during a strictly enforced lent while the senior church officials and their friends continued to dine lavishly.

There was still time to set sail for the port to see what ships were in, the work on the Via Litoral is coming on well, crossing the main road, Avenida Anaga, I could see the new extra lanes of road were now emerging from the tunnel that will allow a large pedestrian area to spread across from the lake at Plaza de España. It’s another big project that will enhance Santa Cruz, for now it means a squeeze for the big Coso parade on 12 February but nothing stops Carnaval.

There were a couple of huge cruise ships moored up but I like to nose around among the marina and hopefully see a few vessels with more character. No surprise visitors on this trip but I quite liked the Miss Pezi from Linx in Austria just calling off on a pleasure trip from St Martin, France. With a full camera, a ticked hit list, and a song in my heart it was time to head back south to Los Cristianos – before returning the next day for football!

Trying to evoke the spirit of John Noakes with a little dash of Magnum PI flair was always going to be a tough call for me but after a few days of anticipation there I was scaring the birds (nothing new there) in a helicopter above Tenerife. I get some good gigs for Tenerife Magazine and a chance to try one of the new Sky Experience helicopter trips was enough to overcome my natural aversion to heights. I was tempted to turn up at the Las Torres heliport in Adeje with a stiff white scarf, bomber jacket, and goggles but decided against it – well it would have looked odd on the Titsa bus from Los Cristianos and only old codgers like me remember Biggles anyway.

Helidream Canarias have been running flights in Barcelona for six years and have transferred their experience and expertise to a prime position just off the TF1 motorway by Tropicana nightclub. Each trip takes three passengers, one beside the pilot and the others in the back, all linked by headsets. The helicopter is a sexy looking sleek black Robinson R44 (please notice I am resisting all the obvious chopper jokes). As we parted company with the ground I felt like a rock star – well I did play the recorder at infant school, who knows what it could have led to. The views were amazing across Golf Costa Adeje to the sea as we turned effortlessly and traced the western coastline.

Feeling safe belted into in my comfy seat I was able to scan familiar landmarks as Playa San Juan led to Los Gigantes. I had thought that faced with the awesome cliffs that might be the point where my bottle started to twitch but I was fine taking in the shades and contours of the rocks as I snapped a few photos. Wheeling up and over the cliffs and looping around brought Santiago del Teide and Tamaimo into sight, I could make out one of the hill paths I had trekked down last year and my favourite precarious road that takes me north from Icod around tight sheer drop corners.

Hitting the coast again Callao Salvaje linked up with Playa Paraiso and then onto the approach to La Caleta where the banana plantations mingle with secluded coves. I felt like asking for another lap, I could take plenty of this high life but Adeje loomed ahead and the descent was steady and sure. What an enthralling trip, no white knuckles, no squinting through half closed eyes, just a half hour stream of treats for my senses. If you want to see a full report and more pics follow this link. Now if only I can arrange a lift to football with a landing in the centre of the Heliodoro.