14.1.2012 Las Palmas, Gran Canaria (Canaries)

Last time we were in Las Palmas in Gran Canaria, we had hired a car.  Ignorant of the layout of the town, we spent the afternoon wandering down streets lined with office blocks.  To make matters worse, it was raining.  I have never felt that interested in Las Palmas since.  So this time we invested in a guided tour.   This pointed out that there was a huge golden beach, only minutes from where we were, and which we had totally missed last time.  We then went to the old town.  A fairy tale hotel building, nestling in palms and Bird of Paradise plants, built originally by a British guy – the Brits appear to have been quite influential here.  Trade had achieved what Nelson could not (it was in the Canaries that he left his arm behind).  The old town is elegant, with tall, pastel shaded buildings, carved dark wood balconies, flowing bourgainvillia, little open air cafes.  Dragon trees, stubby branches and blood red sap.

Like the other major towns, it claims Columbus for its own, even though he was Italian.  He stayed here in the Governor’s house on his way to ‘discover’ the USA (we suspect the native Americans actually already knew perfectly well it was there).  The house was built of volcanic rock in three colours – black, being lava cooled in the sea; tan, lava cooled on land; and green, lava cooled in fresh water.  In typical Canarian style, the building cradled a quiet courtyard in its midst, where a tall palm reached for the blue rectangle of sky, past carved wooden balconies, a fountain, and two parrots, red/green and blue/yellow, who were preening each other on a small stone birdtable.  

Columbus was Genoese, and tried to get Italy and then Portugal to pick up the tab for his daft-sounding idea of sailing west to get to Japan.  They decided it was a pretty dodgey business proposition, and would probably end with their investment tipping off the edge of the world.  However, the Spanish Queen, persuaded perhaps by his swarthy Latin charm, coaxed her husband to cough up the necessary, and so with three little ships – minute compared to our cruise ship – he arrived in Gran Canaria to get kitted out for the journey across the ocean.  Then off to across the seas to Japan (he thought) but not before stopping off in nearby La Gomera to spend some time with a local lass he fancied – and by all reputes, left a memento with her nine months later. 

His success led to Hollywood and Big Macs, but the locals there experienced even worse problems as a result of Columbus’ tourist adventures.  The Guanches of the Canaries could have told them what was coming their way. 

A tragic sculpture in a lush garden depicted three of them throwing themselves from a high cliff into the sea.  Apparently, the Guanches were so distraught at the loss of their islands to the Spanish, and the prospect of years of serfdom, that they committed mass suicide in this way.  History is a harsh story teller.

That night, a walk on the deck, staring down at our neighbours in the next berths - two elegant square riggers, rigging a tracery of spider webs among their masts, shining ethereal in the darkness.

'Christian Radich' and 'Lord Nelson' in Las Palmas