Don’t slurp that cuppa! I don’t think it’s a criminal offence in Tenerife, but with a police helicopter hovering low over me, I wasn’t about to take a chance. To be fair, I think they were less interested in my early morning coffee drinking in Santa Cruz, than scanning the area ahead of the visit of Spains King and Queen to nearby La Laguna. It killed a little time though as I waited for the 246 Titsa bus to Almaciga, on the remote north coast.

The 95 cents bono ticket fare was incredible value for the hours trip up into the mountains high above San Andres and Las Teresitas beach – you wont find a better white knuckle ride. The tight winding road was seperated from a sheer drop by a series of concrete blocks that looked worryingly like tombstones. The terraced hill sides and plant life looked very green and lush, despite heat and roque fire warnings in the Anaga national park. Beeping the horn loudly as each sharp bend loomed up seemed to clear the way, but coming down into Taganana near the end of the journey, an ice cream truck and the bus clipped wing mirrors. Blimey that was too close, what a way to go, death by raspberry ripple.

Finally the folds of mountains parted and I could see the coast, rugged and undeveloped, it looked stunning with outcrops of rock spat out into the sea. The bus stopped at an old battered bus shelter up a hill and that was it-Almaciga-end of the line, so I got out and followed the sign down to the beach.  I found myself walking along peoples garden paths, well it seemed like that, but the street signs showed that they were public routes past basic but well kept small houses, dripping in flowers. A steep descent brought me down to Playa de Benijo, where surfers and swimmers challenged some medium rollers. Camper vans and large cars were parked up and sprouting picnics, there were no shops, just a few old dwellings and a closed little kiosk with an overgrown garden.

I walked along and up the pavement less road to get a better look at the imposing Roque Benijo, before heading back to consider my dilema. To get to the next beach, I could folow the main coast road, clinging to the side and hoping to avoid the odd traffic rounding the bends, or head back up the steep climb the way I came. Having seen a few small bars in Almaciga village, I puffed back up the track, with the incentive of at least being able to grab a cold drink and snack. These small bars, looked like peoples garages but were none the less welcome, the locals all seemed to be beavering away on the roofs mending and improving in the hot sun while skinny cats lazed in the shadows. A small down track linked me back to the coast road, but I only had a small stretch to play chicken on, before reaching Roque de las Bodegas.

This seemed a bit busier and had several nice bar restaurants facing the sea, I picked Los Roques de Anaga to enjoy the fruit of the ocean. I couldn’t work out if the fish of the day was carrying the waiter, or the other way around, it attracted a loyal following of cats to my table, but the fish could have devoured a dozen of them and still had room for the canarian potatoes. Suitably fed, I turned my attention to the large sea bound rock that the village was named after. It looked stranded but a few yards round, I found it had a walkway carved out of one side, making it a busy base for anglers and swimmers. Even on a calm day, the sea was quickly eating away at the small pebble beach, and starting to lap at the wall by the roadside. Another cold drink and my return bus pulled up on cue, still fairly empty, it had gained a few young surfers to share the helter skelter trip back to Santa Cruz.Â

Lately the north has been out stripping the south for temperatures, the heat of high afternoon Santa Cruz, greeted me like a hair dryer when I got off near Plaza de España. As I called at a few of my usual information stops around Calle Castillo, I noticed a digital readout showing 37 degrees-and it really felt it. I checked out the weekends celebrations for the anniverasry of Nelsons 1797 defeat, much more low key than last year, they run from 7.30 pm on Friday 24 and Saturday 25 July, around Plaza Weyler and Plaza de España. With fortunate timing, I arrived at the bus station to step straight onto a direct 110 Titsa to Los Cristianos, an air conditioned hour for a repeat of my 4.45 euro Bono ticket fare up many hours earlier.