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| Mount Teide, the highest mountain in Spain- on Tenerife |
(We have one last 'story' blog post to come about a destination- Tenerife. I will keep my remarks here to the driving dimension of the trip, leaving to the main post the complete culinary and cultural adventure we had for those six days.)
Tenerife, in the Canary Islands, a part of Spain off the Atlantic coast of Morocco, was on our itinerary to see our old buddy, Fernando. A native of the island, he turned over his familial home to us for our stay. After a few days of exploring Santa Cruz, the capital, he offered us his car, a Citroen C4 Picasso, to explore the rest of the island. Nature is a big part of Tenerife's wealth and the car would let us get beyond the where the tram and bus would carry us.
Fernando kept it in a city parking garage at the central market as a courtesy to us. Parking in his neighborhood was brutal- like urban Europe in general. There's usually (subterranean) city parking somewhere nearby. On the continent they can be high-tech, with red and green lights over each slot, indicating availability. Santa Cruz wasn't quite that modern, but the garage was easily-accessed and not too busy.
Our first day in the car was my 60th birthday, June 7th. We planned to climb Mt. Teide, a slumbering 12,000 ft volcano, the highest mountain in all of Spain- by car, as far as the road would take us. (There is eventually a cable car to the summit, but such things a bit too 'touristic' for us- queues, tour buses--bleh.) Fernando, the ever-amazing host, recommended that I have my birthday lunch at a parador in the national park that was renown for its local cuisine, right on the main road. We could then proceed through the park to the southern end of the island, see some sights, the speed back to Santa Cruz on the island's main highway.
The main woman in my life on the road is that lady at Google Maps. She talks to me. I talk back. Ours can be a contentious relationship. She perseveres through it all directing me onward- on foot and in a vehicle, both in Europe and here at home. There is one main route from Santa Cruz to to Mt. Teide National Park through town to the park's highway. It is like this:
Cool, right? all interstate-level highway to the start of the park road, 130kph much of the way.
How I went:
This route, on crowded city streets, lots of stop lights and a few unmarked detours, climbing 1700 feet, took 20 extra minutes and provided a clutch-use 'final exam' in an unfamiliar car. I aced the test but it was more of a challenge that I was seeking. I cursed that Maps lady, occasionally in less-than-politically-correct terminology. Don't do what I did. Check all of the settings on your navigation. I had no clue that I had checked 'no highways' but that is what I got. That Google Maps woman faithfully executed my instructions and I only responded with abuse. I am chastened by this experience.
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| Me, Mark and the cone of Teide |
The driving for the next two days was often breathtaking. Tenerife is a product of ongoing volcanic activity (1909 was the latest eruption) and the drop to the sea is often dramatic. I am not afraid of heights but I do have a healthy respect for them, as measured by my adrenalin levels while navigating the island. The drive was filled with narrow roads, switchbacks and rolling off into the gutter to allow a massive tour bus to pass while staring down a sheer cliff. Aayyyyyyy.
The second day of touring took us south and back via the highways of the northwest side of the island to Masca. Masca is a village, clinging to the volcanic cliffs, halfway down the very vertical south side of the island. You can do a challenging hike the rest of the way down to the water, and boat will snag you to get you back up... My ailing knee would not permit consideration of this (foolish) pursuit. I am sure it would be memorable. We were to go down to check out the village, participate in the tourist economy (double-espressos and dessert for us.) Then just climb back up and head to touristy Puerto Cruz. Pretty. Sure.
The road began with a switchback-laden climb to the coastal crest. As I ascended, two types of vehicles were coming down the slope toward me- massive tour buses, seemingly too big for narrow right-of-way; and tiny rental cars, stuffed with British tourists driving on the right side of the road for the first time in their lives. Or so it seemed. We arrived at the crest, only to begin the descent to the town.
Photos of the road do not do it justice. It was a rocky wall on one side and sheer drop on the other. At every switchback you needed to anticipate someone ascending. Buses and trucks often had to stop, then back up, before successfully proceeding through the narrow turns. Here's a satellite map of this last stretch that might give you a feel for it.
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| Up and down to Masca |
When I finally parallel-parked along the road in Masca it was with a relieved sense of satisfaction. It was thrilling, but I handled it. I wanted the merit badge. That said, I was thoroughly dreading the clutch-pumping thrill of the climb back out. With a rental car we generally only put one driver on the agreement, as it usually costs more for two. But it was Fernando's car, and Mark could drive it. Mark, eager for a dramatic drive up the cliff, jumped at the chance. I felt nothing but relief.
I imagined that I would now be able to ride peacefully in the passenger seat, snapping photos of the vistas that would last us a lifetime while Mark steered us smoothly along the way. Hoo-eee. Wrong. I did not anticipate that, without the road for my focus, I was now riding a cliff and not in control. I won't deny that may have hollered (ok, shrieked...) a few times, coming around the outside corner as one more tourist bus pushed us toward the concrete bollards between us and a fiery death. I did try to be cool--Mark wanted me to take photos. I failed. He, meanwhile, was thriving, throwing the clutch with great aplomb, backing up to let buses turn. A few miles down the road we swapped back, and I took the wheel, with only a few flashback moments.
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| The road as we climbed out of Masca. I left part of my mind near this corner. That's La Gomera island visible thru the notch. |
The woman at the Hertz rental counter at Barcelona was busy when we arrived. The two customers ahead of me had both been denied their rental cars, after much consternation. One had a credit card that did not work and the other was a 22year-old American kid who did not grok that he needed to be 23 to rent a car, whatever reservation he may have made online. I had a ton of empathy for those folks. Not getting your rental car when you made it part of your plan could be a bitch.
This was our one planned car leg to the vacation, a long drive from Barcelona to San Sebastian, on the northern Atlantic coast, close to France-- over five hours. We could have flown but the costs were about the same. I wanted to drive through the Pyrenees and into the Basque country. I took a ton of Spanish lit in college. I've read about this land. Now it was time to see it. While we were in Tenerife we got advice from Kiko and Fernando. They were dubious, but brightened up when I redrew the route, checking the 'no tolls' option. Kiko seemed to know a thing on two about driving in the region. He said that this route would be a gorgeous excursion through rural Spain.
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| On the way to San Sebastian |
Back at the rental counter, as I was paying way too much for insurance, the nice lady asked if I was going to be driving a lot. Yes, I replied. She then went about the task of finding me something to drive with great mileage. She came back with a Skoda diesel with an automatic transmission, and for no additional cost. I made sure... but inside I was giddy. I am sure I could have driven a standard across Spain and back but having an automatic would be nice. I was also able to download Android Auto and run it through the car media system. We were cruising, baby.
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| The Skoda |
One annoying/scary 'feature 'of the Skoda was a 'stop/start' ignition system. Now common in new European cars, 'stop/start' ignitions shut the car off when the vehicle is stopped, only to automatically restart it when the foot brake was released. It is estimated that this 'feature' will save an average of 5-7% on fuel, reducing both urban air pollution and carbon emissions. With this car, a diesel, there was a demi-second hesitation before it restarted, just enough to cause a heart flutter, before roaring into action. Hey, no prob. I'm chill... Bring on the open road.
The first chunk of the drive was on big-time highways. For the full experience we stopped at a big truck stop for lunch. No decent grab-and-go option here. We were seated in the diner and selected lunch from a three course fixed price menu which included a beverage. Most of the truckers on hand were having the red wine. Ah, Spain. We had sparkling water. The service was stunning. A battalion of young women swarmed the dining room, presenting the food as it emerged from the kitchen, then dropping the bill. Very impressive.
We soon got off the big road and onto the two and four lane roads that would carry us into Basque Country. With the navigation, it was pretty effortless. Pretty soon we were climbing into the mountains. As we got higher, the road got narrower. The route was mainly rural. Long stretches of very green mountains were decorated with medieval castles or hilltop villages. The drive took a little longer than anticipated, but it was completely a gorgeous excursion, just like Kiko promised.
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| A medieval castle, with more ancient ruins in front off it, in some wheat fields... |
Our quirky AirBnb came with parking. We took the car out one day to drive to Bilbao. We again had to choose, toll (1hr) or no toll (2hr). We paid the toll, 21 euros in total. Ugh. One treat was listening to Ms. Maps rattle through the impossibly long Basque street names. We were staying on Heriz Pasealekua. We still choke on it but she just plowed through that and every one of the other tongue-twisters. I have heard enough of her Spanish to know her pronunciation is a guess, but she rattles it off at a fine pace.
Our final day driving was longer than originally planned. Rising early, we drove across northern Spain to Figueres, the site of the Dali Theatre-Museum. No tolls. Only with our own transportation could we have effectively made such a last-minute addition. As a result we got to scratch something off on the bucket list. I wrapped up that last day dipping into the craziness of a Barcelona evening rush hour then returned the car.
Your usually don't need a car as a tourist in Europe and it has its challenges. Driving this time for us added so much to the experience. It helps that Mark and I travel very well together. We finished off "The Girl Who Takes an Eye for an Eye" as an audiobook together, and I listened to Russell Brand read his brilliant book "Recovery" when Mark napped. One artifact of listening to books is the unlikely linking of a story with an incongruous location on the road. So when I hear Russell Brand I will think of a particular rural railroad crossing in the Basque Country, waiting for a slow train to pull its few cars across the road.
If you get a chance, do go for a drive abroad. Mind the things that I did that I told you not to do. But if you like driving, get out there.
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