As the shower of sweets rained down I had to keep reminding myself that this was a gesture of goodwill from the 3 Kings as they rode through Los Cristianos. Children, and a fair few adults, formed a festive scrum on the pavement trying to grab a few of the stray sweets that hadn’t been caught and squeals of delight rose above the sound of the marching band that headed the procession. Aah christmas Spanish style is always a delight.

Walking into town the supermarkets were heaving with shoppers topping up on food ahead of the big day Reyes Janaury 6th, and the bakers were doing a roaring trade in Roscons, the traditional ring shaped christmas cake stuffed with cream, fruit and many other tasty variations. My timing was good as the procession had started pretty well as advertised at 7.15 pm from the port. Every vantage point on the harbour wall was taken and the street leading up to town was lined with expectant families. I squeezed into a good spot and waited as the procession approached, much bigger this year and with more groups of children in fancy dress and the usual fire jugglers, acrobats and musicians.

The kings were as always the star attraction, Gaspar, Melchor and Balthazar arrived perched on their camels and spraying great handfuls of sweets to their eager fans. All over Tenerife similar scenes were taking place, in Adeje the kings arrived by helicopter and in Santa Cruz they were holding court in CD Tenerife’s Heliodoro ground. The Reyes tradition marks the arrivsal of the original 3 kings at the stable in Bethlehem with their gifts for the new born baby, sadly this year someone stole the baby Jesus from the crib in Santa Cruz. The camels are always remarkably calm for their annual pilgrimage through the streets but then these are showbiz camels, they probably have their own agent to negotiate their fee.

As the parade turned into Avenida de Suecia the crowds grew even bigger and I had to duck and dive my way through to get some pics as the kings headed towards the cultural centre and their thrones. It was quite cramped as police tried to keep people out of the direct path of the camels and it was a living hell for me to be pushed up against all those young yummy mummys but I stood firm. The arrival at the cultural centre plaza and the dismount of the kings is always a slow process so I adjourned to The Devon Arms for some Dorada and made my way slowly to the plaza. The kings had taken their place on their thrones and were engulfed in a sea of small children, some with parents, waiting to take their turn to meet a king and receive a present, this year wasn’t quite as well marshalled, last year children were invited forward a group at a time but now it was a tidal wave of toddlers. The goats and chickens were taking it all in their stride in their barn area so with a long magical night ahead I popped off for a few beers on my way home.

Tradition is a wonderful thing and on New Years Eve here in Tenerife that means fireworks, music, grapes and Cava, some head for the town plaza but beach boys like me head down to the coast. Los Cristianos was almost chilly after a sunny afternoon as I headed down the hill and early rockets and bangers had been popping since late morning. The Cultural Centre is one of the focal points for celebration and a stage had been rigged up outside and was now rocking with a latino dance beat and a snazzy light show. Several temporary drink kiosks ensured that limbs and feet were loosened up enticing many mature recruits to the dancing, it’s all about rythm, one experienced local wove his spell by rasping a file on a cheese grater, well technically it was a percussion instrument.

A throbbing deep in my pocket was nothing to do with the slinky female dancers, just my mobile ringing with an invite from Bob of the Armada Sur to meet him and family down at the sea front for a pre midnight beer or two from their well stocked carrier bag. Crowds were already milling along the promenade as the lookie lookie men did a steady trade in silly party hats and chinese lanterns headed skyward with small fires in their baskets. As the magic hour approached crowds took up prime positions with many heading down onto the sand and bottles of champers and Cava were clutched in readiness.

Spanish tradition dictates that a grape should be eaten on each chime of midnight, easily synchronised in some places but with the church plaza bells some way back from the beach there was an element of guess work to welcoming the new year. Most took the whoosh of the first rocket as the signal to embrace, shake hands and wash grapes down with bubbly. This year more than ever the large hotels around the wide arch of the bay dominated the foreworks displays, Arona council are feeling the pinch and understandably cut back on their explosive contribution. It was still an impressive sight as noise and colour ripped through the sky to a chorus of oohs and aahs. Our party had been joined by The General and the Bournemouth section of the Armada Sur and our shared wishes for the year ahead were centred on a revival for CD Tenerife.

After the 15 minutes of fireworks we split and went our seperate ways melting away in various parties, many stayed to dance at the beach but others streamed off to join their own celebrations. For my part I stopped off for a few beers at the Don John in the Apolo Centre and was even Livin On A Prayer at one point, thankfully most people had drunk enough to soften the impact of my demolition of Bon Jovi. Determined to actually see some of 2011’s first day i adjourned fairly early and was in bed by 3 am. Taking the sea air later in the day my admiration of the Arona council cleaning department was further enhanced by the clean promenade, empty bins and bottle less beach after one of the biggest nights of the year. Take a bow those dedicated early birds you did us proud again.

A polar bear wearing leg warmers and a balaclava pounded down the High Street, proof indeed that I was back in Oxford as it shivered in the grip of the coldest winter for years. After so many scares over my flights, snow closing UK airports and Air Traffic controllers closing Spanish airports, The Ryanair flight was not only bang on time but even shaved an hour off the flying time. As Birmingham appeared out of the plane window it looked like a giant iced cake with hedges and roads marking out decoration lines. Once in the airport I changed like a wimpy superhero into my multi layers of clothing and braved the rail station where they were gritting the platform, cold, very cold.

Arriving in Oxford I needed a pub to warm me up and found a pint of Rocking Rudolph started the process before I headed of to my Aunts house. This morning my Aunt and i headed out to Wantage on the bus to see my mum at the new care home, it’s nearly 20 miles out from Oxford and wide open horse racing country, needless to say it was even colder as the scenic pic shows. My mum recognised me in brief lucid patches but was at least warm and well fed, her new Zimmer frame looked good so I tried it, very good, I need one of them for those heavy Dorada nights.

Back in Oxford I was able to visit a few old haunts and snapped a few shots to show the extent of the white blanket, even the canal had frozen, I just hope their wasn’t anyone under that hat! Oxford Prison, now an up market hotel and shopping area was worth a visit as they had a winters fair. Among the stalls selling mulled wine and other European delicacies I found a Churros stall and had a nice chat with the young lady on duty, I told her how much I admired her equipment. Off for a few evening beers now, purely for the warmth of the pubs of course. I’m going outside and I may be some time.

It took me right back to 2002 and the Tenerife coach strike, Reina Sofia south airport was spilling out passengers into the car parks and waiting areas, some were kipping on benches and others just looked bored. No great problem for me as I was on the TITSA bus on the way up to Santa Cruz but with a trip back to blighty in a few days it was another potential spoiler to go with the snow and ice in the UK. Christmas was calling me, well a chance to check out the capital city and nearby La Laguna for Tenerife Magazine, it was dull outside but still in the 20’s and the new bus lane whisked me into the bus station in extra quick time.

Everything is late here so I wasn’t surprised to see the temporary festive ice rink in Plaza de España was nowhere near ready, it’s fairly small but still looks bigger than rinks like Gosport and Irvine where I watched Oxford City Stars play Ice Hockey. There was still plenty for me to check out such as the nativity scenes but up in La Laguna I had 2 big setbacks, first my camera deleted nearly all my pics, oh well I had time to backtrack and make my calls over again but more seriously I got a call saying that CD Tenerife’s Sunday home game was off as Granada couldn’t guarantee flights over. Not a happy bunny but ressiting the urge to down a few Dorada’s I continued with my task and headed back to Santa Cruz. With a bit of time to kill I headed for the port, always worth a look, there were 4 huge cruise liners in on the far side but more interestingly there were 4 tall masted ships closer to my perch on the roof of the ferry building.

Down on the quayside the gates were only partially shut so I wandered down the side of the visitors and grabbed a few photos. the Alexander von Humbolt is a name I have heard before, the 3 masted 1906 barque is a training ship where 25 trainies learn from experienced hands on long cruises. Next along was something very different and ultra modern, Icon Amsterdam looks like a rich mans toy but I can’t find anything on it via the internet, there was noone visible on board, maybe they were counting their money below deck.

I nearly saluted when I saw the next ship, Bessie Ellen from Plymouth (green army) only 2 masts rather than the others 3 but it looked nice and homely, there was even a mug of tea desrted on the desk in the cabin. It’s a 106 year old gaff rigged sailing ketch that has been operating out of Denmark doing charter trips. I was pleased to learn that Bessie is heading home to Plymouth and a new home. The passengers on the multi million luxury cruise ships across the water must have wondered what was going on with this little flotilla of ships, they were certainly getting plenty of admiring glances.

Moving down the quayside I found the saucy young lady at the top of this page, she was the masthead for the Stad Amsterdam, a 60 metre clipper, it has 14 luxury cabins and a large open air bar on deck. There was quite a party going on at the bar and they were all decked out in their ships sweatshirts but I was spellbound by the saucy lady up front, i wonder who the model was? Last in the line was the Eye Of the Wind a brigantine built in Germany in 1911, looking through some on line articles I found that it has been a frequent visitor to Tenerife. I managed to grab a few words with some Dutch crew and they told me that none of the ships had travelled together and were entirely seperate, just a lucky coincidence that they came together in Santa Cruz. It certainly added a nice bonus to my day, I wish them all calm seas and full sails.

It’s a dirty job following beautiful women around but sometimes I get a chance to do it. It was very pleasing this week to get a call from the media agency dealing with the Peroni calendar, to go to the launch in Santa Cruz. I thought they might be planning to tar and feather me after receiving the calendars from the printers only to find my blonde bonce intruding on the six months I saw being filmed in July here in Tenerife as I covered the photo shoot for Tenerife Magazine. Thankfully they were very welcoming, either I had kept a discreet distance or a lot of air brushing had been going on.

The launch was at the Circulo de Belles Artes gallery in Calle Castillo, the main shopping street of Santa Cruz and the lovely tight white clad Peroni girls were there smiling as I arrived. It was quite a small select media audience, I felt quite flattered to be invited, and there was a completed calendar on each of the 16 guest seats and a display of each months artwork around the walls. I recognised Cecilia Carbonero, brand manager of Peroni in the Canaries and the shoot photographer Alfonso Bravo (right) , and I was introduced to Luis Durango, head of corporate communications for Compania Cerveceria Canarias who make the wonderful Dorada and distribute Peroni.

After the speeches I thought it would be rude not to accept a bottle of the fine Italian beer to swig before wandering off into Santa Cruz with a very large calendar tucked under my arm. I had intended to do my usual exploring around the capital city and possibly up to La Laguna but not wanting to bend, fold, wrinkle or otherwise deface my prize I caught the bus back to Los Cristianos and deposited the calendar in the vault at Tenerife Magazine HQ next to the long lost painting of The Scream and a missing Constable – his sergeant is still looking for him.

All my fault, nothing to do with the weather, alien forces or Guy Fawkes bonfires. I looked at my broom and thought I really must sweep my balcony and of course that brought on a calima , hot dry sand and dust from the Sahara, hanging in the air adding a subtle filter to the blue sky to give a greenhouse effect. I strolled down to my 8.30 am swim to be met by a hair dryer blast and Guaza Mountain partly hiding in the increasing haze. The wind was gusting in little spurts so I decided to catch the bus just along the coast to the fishing village of Las Galletas as the small beach there is embraced by the marina and normally immune to large waves.

How remiss of me, seems like 8 months or so since I nipped over to this lovely village, and of course I noticed some changes. The beach had a yellow flag, almost unheard of in that back water, but there was little more than a ripple moving over the sea on the beach side. I took a stroll along the promenade of Avenida Simon Bolivar and that side was much livelier, no young surf dudes trying the small waves today but there was definately some power to them. Walking on into the back street area it was sad to see the gap on the front where several old houses were recently bulldozed, it just makes the ones left behind look even more unloved. Thankfully there is some new input, the low mosaic walls at key points add a nice touch and the tourist information office has had a makeover.

Heading into the Calle Central pedestrianised shoping area it was quiet and sedate as always so I found a nice shady spot to enjoy a coffee and a snack. There’s a lovely charm to Las Galletas and i felt guilty that I have neglected it lately. Moving back through the tight old streets the sun streamed through the gaps and I was suddenly wanting a P… or any other letter, the hezagonal pavement blocks always remind me of Blockbusters. La Rambla, runing adjacent to the sea front walk, is another lovely restful area strewn with benches along the palm lined avenue, a good afternoon snoozing spot.

After hitting the shingle beach for some vigourous swimming I ventured onto the Marina del Sur to see how it was faring. It was opened 2 years ago but is still not in full use, the Policia Local office is empty and the fishermans bright modern workspace is also untouched as they continue to trade from the old shacks at the front of the beach. At least a couple of the units are open as restaurants and bars overlooking the busy marina where the pontoons groan under a full load of pleasure boats and fishing craft. I walked around to the end where it justs out into the open sea and noticed that another new bar has opened complete with a small plaza to sit and enjoy the crescent shaped harbour.

Time to head back for Los Cristianos as the mountains were gradually rubbed out by the thickening calima. By the time i got home, my swimming towel needed just 30 minutes to become dry and crispy. Tomorrow looks like another dusty day, maybe my balcony will have to wait for its pending brush up.

Hammering on the thick tinted glass door I hoped that a helpfull waiter would let me back in to the meeting room cum nightclub on the Queen Elizabeth cruise liner. I only popped out to be nosey, I missed the trays of nibbles and soft drinks from the bar as the officials warmed up for their speeches. It was hot and sunny nine decks up and the quayside looked a long way down but looking to my other side I had a great view of the rooftop jacuzzi and swimming pool area, how was I to know the door would lock behind me!

Sipping a coffee in the car park cafe in Santa Cruz port I hoped it wasn’t an omen to read about a Fred Olsen ferry bumping an Armas ferry in La Gomera the previous day. Checking in past the security guard I headed down the quayside to the blunt end (stop me if i’m getting too technical) of the new 500 million pound Cunard cruiser. It was amusing to see a Union Jack draped over a balcony high above, yep the Brits were in port, passengers were coming down the gangways in small numbers, it was 11am and most had already come out to play since the 8am docking. The media guests were gathered and I filled in the offered forms to confirm I didn’t have a cold, flu or dia, diah, diarr….the runs, handing in my passport I got my clip on badge and snapped a few shots as we waited to be welcomed aboard.

Security was tight and out bags went through a scanner, the passes bar codes were electronically read and we posed one by one for mug shots. The outside of the ship was quite functional but inside the oppulence hit me immediately, carpets to sink into, glittering chandeliers, and a lift lobby as big as my apartment. The greeting ceremony was first stop and one I had been rescued from the scorching outside I watched the captain Chris Wells and various port officials exchange pleasantries and gifts. I also introduced myself to Alastair Greener the entertainments officer whose blog I had been following for the last week, and you thought my research was watching old episodes of Captain Pugwash! Formalities done we were off through my favourite glass door for an official view of the pool area and The Garden Lounge beyond. most Passengers were out on shore but as our guide gave the lowdown on the Kew Garden paintings I chatted to a few middle aged cruisers and kept an eye out for rich old ladies after a blonde toy boy.

I lagged behind the main group prying into corners and looking for clues to the ships character. Cunards pride in its historical association with the royal names was clear through posters, newspaper cuttings and memorabilia of the illustrious previous voyages. The library was a two level grand collection of polished wood cases with a great range of books and a twisting staircase that helped to create intimate reading alcoves. I tried a large wood frame mounted world globe to see if it was a cocktail cabinet but alas no. Just outside some large tables were set up for intricate jigsaws with hundreds of scattered pieces, I resisted the urge to hide any vital parts. There was also a book shop dedicated to books on great ships and journeys, a couple of titles about the Titanic struck me as a bad idea for bedtime reading on board.

The Grand Lobby leading down to the Dent clock, designed by the firm that maintains Big Ben, was a huge centrepiece of flowing stairs and polished brass work, it ooozed money and class. Downstairs we passed on to the Royal Theatre, sprawling and ornate, the show music performed there in the evenings had received a mixed reception on the ships blog but passengers I spoke to were very impressed. The Verandah restaurant was empty and cutlery polishing was being performed with great relish, the cream chairs and coffee coloured tables were joined by enough cut glass to give a bull a tempting alternative to a china shop. The Royal Arcade was the commercial hub of the ship, the shops upstairs were closed and the fruit machines down below were silent, bet it’s not three cherries for a win, more like three crowns or sceptres. The Golden Lion pub looked posher than most pubs I have been in and although the food was good basic fare the large choice of cocktails was a big hint at the upmarket setting.

It’s an amazing ship, don’t think I could afford the 16,000 pound luxury suites but I would like to try a small cruise some time to see if it appeals to me. On the Queen Elizabeth I would never find my cabin after a few beers, it’s like a floating city. If you want to see more about this new addition to the worlds oceans have a look on the Tenerife Magazine website.

The wind whistled up the leg of my shorts as I descended the stairs of the Ryanair flight into Birmingham but despite it being late afternoon a watery sun still had some power and it could hardly be called cold. Hoping to make some headway in the legal quagmire following my Dad’s death 6 weeks ago, I had flown in for a few days and this time had got a reasonable return deal. It didn’t take long for the till to start ringing, with an early return flight the return train fair to Oxford doubled to 54 pounds for missing the off peak time. At least Birmingham is an easy hours roll down south and after a food and beer stop in town I headed up to Blackbird Leys to stay with my Mums sister. Kirby Towers looked forlorn as I passed, just bricks and mortar now, no longer a home.

The next morning, trips to see my Mum, still in a “temporary” care home and the solicitor confirmed that noone had done anything to move things on. Basically social services are already clocking up a big chunk of my mums money and I had to top up the solicitors to find out the house will go to an equity firm for an advance made 10 years ago. Both need me in place with Power of Attorney to give them access to cash and home, well they can pay for that process, over to you my little vultures.

The decent weather couldn’t be wasted, a trip out to the village of Witney seemed a good idea, a delightful bus journey through country roads framed with russet, gold and brown leaves as trees brushed the upper deck of my red chariot and branches groaned under the burden of killer conkers. About half way on the 40 minute trip there is an old curiosity, Swinford toll bridge, spanning the Evenlode river and the years as the busy traffic slows to pay an ancient toll that cannot be repealed. The charge has leapt up to 5 p for cars and a little more for lorries and vans and at peak time queues tail back for miles as the 2 workers in the old brick booth extract their antique tax from exasperated drivers. Witney is a lovely traditional village complete with large green and crumbling church. Many of my Dad’s ancestors came from out this way so it seemed a timely pilgrimage and brought back many pleasant memories, the buttercross (below) is still a centrepiece and meeting place where the roads converge. The current St Marys Church was built in 1243 on the site of previous Saxon and Norman places of worship and was undergoing renovation. I popped inside and chatted to a church helper about the huge uphill task of raising over a million pounds to restore the roof and tower.

Witney has one of the most disproportionate ratios of pubs to people, they are everywhere, most of them full of character and old world charm. The old Palace cinema has been converted to offices but was a lively nightclub for a while, former Oxford united and Portsmouth forward John Durnin earned his nickname Johnny Lager there and is still remembered in local folklore for ejecting another reveller through the large front window. In my early days of supporting Oxford City, Witney Town was our local rival, I spent many happy afternoons at their town centre ground, these days they have fled to the back waters and modern housing is built on their ground. The main source of income and fame was the Witney blanket factory, again long gone and converted into expensive modern flats, luckily the main heart of Witney is still genteel and steeped in history.

Back to the grim reality of modern Oxford and my second day was another whirl of paying bills and trying to awaken mums social worker from hibernation, sadly social services doesn’t seem to want the right hand to have even a passing relationship with the left hand, confusion reigns. At least I got time to sample a few local ales and see a few old friends as the hours ticked away, I feel this aftermath will rumble on and on, the best I manged was some damage limitation. It was a early start for my return flight, this time with Thomas Cook, I even had a little time to kill at the airport. The new hand dryers in the toilets fascinated me, they look like sandwich toasters and you put your hands in them, I was tempted to see how they react to anything else popped in them but thought it might be difficult to explain at casualty. Thankfully I was soon being warmed by the hot sun of Tenerife, it’s good to be back.

Alone in my parents Oxford house as I gradually emptied it of a lifetime of memories I could have been forgiven for imagining things in the night. The sadness surrounding my dads death and my mothers enforced move to a care home seemed to hang in the air, and then there were “the others” in the house.

My dad loved gnomes and had a large collection of them, they stared out from cupboards as I opened them and a whole army slumbered in the shed. The most surprising of the pack was in the kitchen, arriving at 7am on a sleep starved Sunday morning I was wary of what I would find, walking into the kitchen a loud shrill wolf whistle nearly converted me from blonde to grey in an instant. The red hooded fiend was one of those movement sensitive types, not quite the greeting I wanted.

Although the two weeks rank among the most emotionally raw of my life I did manage to sprinkle in a few lighter moments between the constant grinding fight through the legal and paperwork jungle. A trip up to London on Bank Holiday Monday was a sunny treat, especially meeting up with the lovely Cathy. The Baker Street area is an old favoured haunt from the days of the Wembley ice hockey weekends, and my early arrival allowed me to revive a few memories. Turning a corner I was greeted by the iconic GPO Tower, as a small boy I went up the tower several times but alas they no longer open this great viewpoint to the public. A few old familiar pubs reminded me of past sessions and a rack of the new “Boris Bikes” seemed to be popular with many of the parking slots empty as commuters used the cheap hire bicycles that can be picked up and left at many points across London.

Oxford was much the same as ever, roadworks in High Street and reckless student cyclists on the pavements and footpaths. The first week was warm and sunny but the clouds swept in and heavy rain storms peppered the two day annual St Giles Fair in the city centre. I walked through in the day and was scared just looking at some of the cloud scraping rides, the helter skelter, a towering centrepiece in my youth was looked down on by many bigger and spectacular rides. Oh for the simple joys of the dodgems and the jets and weird sideshows like “Lady In a Bottle” , the rotor was another missing favourite, a spinning cylinder would make screaming youngsters stick to the walls as the floor was lowered away, I once saw someone be sick on it, a very amusing sight to a young boy.

I dreaded my dads funeral but got through it and at least the rains held off. It still didn’t seem real, I spoke to the female vicar a few days before to give her some background info at the vicarage next to the old Littlemore church, two lovely historic buildings of character being slowly squeezed in by new housing developments. I noticed on my earlier travels that even my old junior school had now been wiped away in favour of a residential home, another slice of my past gone. The legal paper trail was a nightmare, you can’t actually talk to big utility companies like BT and Thames Water, it’s just a maze of phone options and website templates with very narrow choices. One of the worst was Age UK, my Dad used some of their financial services when they were just Age Concern, now they are a beaurocratic splodge of far flung offices and sub divisions that don’t know how to return phone calls, remind me never to get old.

Tenerife has never looked so lovely as when I arrived back at 3 am from my four hour delayed flight, I need some sun, I need some Dorada and I need to rally my memories and cherish them. It looks like another Oxford visit will follow very soon to chase the slow grinding machine of legal red tape and to make sure whats left of my family are ok. Maybe if I get time I can liberate the gnomes and send them out into the community, I have some daft ideas of places to plant them to cause maximum mischief, my Dad would have approved of that with a smile and a chuckle.

Nature has got a cheeky sense of humour, just as the sun set I joined the coastline scrum down to get photos of the climax to the Ceremony of Divine Light, and that’s exactly when the tide decided to race up the beach making our collective foot holds in the shingle pretty precarious.

The amazingly varied spectrum of cultures in Tenerife all add to making it such a special island. The Hindu Association of Tenerife South is one of the most outreaching of the groups and on Sunday they again issued an open invitation to one of their most important religious events. The Ceremony of Divine Light took place at Playa de la Enramada in La Caleta and followed a day of free yoga workshops at the El Galeon sports hall. Arriving on the mainly sandy beach, a large crowd was already gathered around the stage, some on chairs and some happily squatting down. Family groups mixed happily and many nationalities shared a sense of wonder and new understanding as the dancing and music began. The late glow of sunlight meant there were still plenty of sun worshippers and bathers taking a curious interest in proceedings.

I had been to the previous ceremony in may last year so knew a little of what to expect but still found it fascinating and uplifting. Revered spiritual leader Swami Chidanand Saraswatiji from Rishikesh in India looked on from a prime position below the stage sitting next to Mayor Fraga of Adeje. Using music and dance the story of Mother Ganga, the spirit of the river that brings life to India, unfolded with a morality tale of the pursuit of peace, love and happiness. The crowd of well over a thousand listened intently as down near the shoreline candles and lanterns were prepared for the departure of the sun. The on stage performances were given more prominence this year and the speeches that followed were shorter before the dignitaries crunched their way down to the sea.

As the candles flickered into life they were offered to many of the crowd to hold aloft and offer prayers for peace and harmony. It was a wonderful scene, a few struggled to hold their footing as the waves lapped at the sloping shingle shore and the gentle breeze added a shimmering quality to the dancing flames that illuminated the beach. It was a memorable end to a different slice of Tenerife life and will have added a new dimension to many peoples understanding of the Hindu faith.You can read more about the Hindu Association and its history at Tenerife Magazine.