Small village, short ride from the bottom crossroads to the steep path for the circular walk down. You might imagine a gentle stroll in a steady downward direction. Vilaflor soon dishes out a few lessons about rash judgements on an undulating three hour of contrasts.
The 10.30 am Titsa bus from Los Cristianos took barely an hour to Spain´s highest village. A few weeks before I had indulged in the historic heart of the village but this time it was all about some good old foot slogging. Low cloud with bright patches made for a chilly December morning but good preparation allowed us to layer up and climb high above the village with a brief nosey inside the Hotel Spa Villalba. the ladies were tempted by the pampering but we marched on and took the left turn up through farming terraces brimming with tomatoes and potatoes.
The next choice took us on a rising path with an industrial unit away to the right. That building and a notice denying access to those on wheels or hooves confirmed our true progress. The thought of being caught up in an animal traffic jam in these blissful conditions caused me some amusement. Despite dark clouds hovering, and a couple of recent Tenerife storms, the landscape was bone dry and several pine tree trunks showed signs of being licked by flames in the hot summer. Rock erosion in the strong winds than can whip across the valley, also plays a part in sculpting out a pathway that can never be taken for granted.
Nature had plenty more in store for our senses, a crumbling rocky ledge above a plunging pine valley highlighted our small role in this vast portrait of wear and weather. Tight paths wound down and around the lip of the valley and onto shallow tracks of dust and fine stone, just as the sun peeked through. The variety of surfaces is one of the qualities that make this a testing trek, but the views are always a fair reward.
A half empty reservoir was a good point for a snack and water breather before the final upsurge through tangled roots and dry stream beds. Ahead of us, the views opened up to shallow terraces were the art of stone wall building was on display. Plucky little pine sapling stucked in tight against the sturdy walls for its protective embrace. The faint sound of traffic encouraged us to pump those leg muscles for another sapping climb as the road to the south began to appear on the distant horizon. Coming out just before the Vilaflor entrace, we felt a sense of satisfaction as we headed for a local watering hole. A few metres away a statue of local born Hermano Pedro, Tenerife´s only saint, looked out from his static perch.