Gran Canaria

The Great Canary.....

Our third trip to the Islas Canaria - the Canary Islands...... 

Maybe our last.....

Winter sun.  Warmth.  

A touch of exotica, erotica, carnaval.....

Cosce di bue....  Carne Vale

A break from the SAD syndrome of our desperate northern climes.

Four hours, and some, in travel. Oodles of pounds/euros/dollars/pesos. 

Concrete. Lava. Cinders. Sand.  

The odd cactus (prickly pears)......

Some fish.....

Yeah!  Some fish!

And some papas arrugadas con mojo (wrinkly potatoes with spicy sauce), the local version of chips.....

We make some friends, though they don't say much.....

We drive five hundred kilometres to admire the scenery.....

Which varies from mountainous.... to mountainous by the sea.....

To mountainous with a view of the sea (and El Teide on Tenerife just sneaking into view in the background).....

To a few grains of Saharan sand blown over from the African mainland by the Riu hotel at Maspalomas.....

I am a bit puzzled by the bird life.  On my first evening I notice some little ringed plovers scurrying at the waters' edge, then witness a yellow-legged gull swallowing one of these lovely little creatures.....

Have you seen this bird? 

Wanted on suspicion of murder

I thought these were the Canary Islands?  Where's the canaries?  Where's Humph Davy when you need a light?

I do see one or two sweet little yellow birds in cages, trilling for their supper, but the avian choice here seems to be the Macaw, which is weird because they are natives of South America and the Caribbean.....

But nonetheless they appear as the motif in many a carnaval costume.....

Maybe they are just Big Canaries?  Canarios Grandes?

Or perhaps it's because they look a bit like the bird of paradise flower, which thrives here (though it comes from South Africa).....

I begin to wonder whether anything is indigenous here?  The volcanic origin of these islands is all too plain to see: black beaches, calderas and monoliths like the Roque Nublo, which is an eroded plug sticking up at 1803 metres above sea level.

Though there are remains of human habitation going back two and a half thousand years, most people here are considerably younger than that.....

I did once have a brief relationship with a girl from the Canaries - her name was Aceseyle, or something similar (she told me her family preferred African names to Spanish) - and I look for her up and down the Paseo de las Canteras, but she's not there....

Perhaps this is her?  Dancing with her beau in the Parque Doramas?

Nah....  She probably looks like a walnut now (if she's still alive....)

Anyway, Great Canaries....  

Vegueta, the old quarter of Las Palmas, has some character, even though it creeps up the hills in ever increasing piles of concrete.....

And we visit the Casa-Museo de Colón, a fine Canarian house where Christopher Columbus may have stopped over on his way to America.....  His bed is unmade (perhaps he'll be back?)....

We swim a little.  The sea is still chilly, but the Hotel pool is 'quite nice'....

We marvel at the expensive (though impressive) Poema del Mar Aquarium by the harbour, close by the parking lot where the most enormous cruise ships discharge their restless thousands.....

We visit villages, like the vertiginous Artenara, beautiful Tejeda, where we dine with a picture of Hemingway and friends on the wall, and delicately restored Agüimes, where the tapas are excellent....

But the restaurants of Las Palmas are disappointing - overpriced and in some cases, really not very good (an example being how a number of different staff, without clean hands, gloves or other prophylactics, scatter dried oregano mindlessly over any and every pizza that they may be tasked to deliver to innocent clients)....

A stroll along the front at sundown is pleasant, with the palms rustling in the breeze.  

You could almost be abroad.....  On holiday, even....

But, despite the charms, it will take more than one of Miguel Portillo's puce and lavender outfits to entice me back to these cinder and concrete islands.  

But then, WTF?  My role as a Grumpy Old Git needs to be practised and there's plenty of other places to explore.....

I return to the idea of the canary, the pretty little bird that takes its name from the islands (and not the other way round - the islands were named after dogs - Cani....)  

And I return to play the wonderful music of Mina, an Italian Diva (who last performed in public in August 1978).  One of her finest recordings (in my opinion) is the double album Canarino Mannaro, issued in 1994, whose title combines the idea of a Canary with that of a Werewolf.

From the local press

Have you seen this person?
Wanted for the murder of a dream

And, without wanting to put anyone off a holiday in the sun, that combination kinda chimes with my recent experience of these islands.....  

Sweet warbles and agonising howls.....


Night night.....

Anzi ti chiedo scusa
Mi son sfogato un po'
Ma sai che al posto mio
Io restero'

Rotterdam

Building Bridges.....

Desiderius Erasmus Roterdamus may not have exactly coined the phrase, In the country of the blind the one-eyed man is king....  But he certainly gave it currency, a currency (the Euro perhaps?) which is just as relevant today as during his fifteenth century lifetime.....

And I am in Rotterdam, Erasmus's native city, though he wouldn't recognise it since it was almost completely flattened on May 14th  1940 by order of an irate Adolf Hitler who had assumed he could conquer The Netherlands in just one day.

The name, Rotterdam, comes from around 1270, when locals dammed the Rotta, a local stream, whose name means Muddy Waters, which has nothing to do with this Mannish Boy who resides in the  Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen (currently in a state of major restoration, with a new building going up next door which is not unlike the marvellous Tower of Babel by  Pieter Breughel the Elder which is also here....)...

Oh, yeah 

Oh, yeah 

Everything gonna be alright this mornin'

The city now lies precariously below sea level around extensive docks on the Nieuwe Maas channel, which joins the Rhine–Meuse–Scheldt delta and the North Sea.

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, for this is Holland, a part of The Netherlands - the Low Countries - but this evening I dine at De Pijp, (The Pipe), the oldest restaurant in the city, and, it's five metres below sea level.....

There is precious little else of any age here.  The occasional trace of art nouveau glass in a door, a plane tree held up with steel supports, the Witte Huis (1898),

and the Hotel New York (built in 1901 as offices for the Holland American Line, flagship below)....

Most everything else either rose from the ashes of the 1940 firestorm or is from the current millennium, like the extraordinary Markthal (market hall), opened in 2014, created by Arno Coenen and Iris Roskam as the largest artwork in the world: the Horn of Plenty, the cornucopia, with a surface of 11,000 square metres.....

Another daring building is The Red Apple, designed by Kees Christiaanse for the island of Wijnhaven and completed in 2009:

I cannot imagine what Erasmus would make of it all.  Arriving from Basle, his ghost would step off the Thalys at Rotterdam Centraal,

Then, walking out amidst the trams and bicycles, he would stare up at the shining skyscrapers tilting towards heaven,

Then, strolling down by the Westersingel, he would catch the reflections of the wonky blocks opposite, 

Or see the painted face that smiles from the apartments above,

I am enthralled by the exciting variety of modern structures that overwhelm me (I have become the ghost of Erasmus, wandering, totally, how can I say? gobsmacked? by this city....) even though, occasionally, I need to lean against the bar of an Edward Hopper Diner to rest my weary, humanist head.....

Then there's the bridges.  I walk across the span of the Willemsbrug (1981) a mere 318 metres long, 33 metres wide and 65 metres high, 

Which contrasts in many ways with the 800 metre long Erasmusbrug, De Zwaan (The Swan), completed in 1996.  This has an asymmetrical 139 metre high pylon and forty graceful stays.  It sweeps across the New Meuse and is a marvel of grace and poise....

And it may be a platitude to say that building bridges is soooo much better than constructing walls.  

Something there is that doesn't love a wall,

That wants it down....

But the difference between Erasmus and the 'great' men of our time is that the former didn't have his head in a bag, metaphorical or not.....

He wore a sensible, head-warming hat to protect his fizzing brain.....

This was a man who studied, travelled, explored, wrote, taught.  He studied at Paris, Leuven and Turin; was a friend of Thomas More and John Colet, lectured at Oxford and Cambridge; influenced Tyndale and the translators of the King James Bible; and left a legacy that survives today almost five hundred years after his death.  Which legacy is not only in the beautiful bridge in Rotterdam, and in the city's university, but also in the Erasmus Programme, which assists undergraduates who wish to study abroad (his name is used as an acronym for the European Community Action Scheme for the Mobility of University Students), and Erasmus+, the EU's programme to support education, training, youth and sport....

So, building bridges, supporting people's mobility and integration, whoever they are....

I am not the only tourist in Rotterdam, but the city is not inundated. I hear Spanish spoken over a beer on a boat,

And find myself sitting next to a Scotsman in a bar, sharing his bottle of Spey-side whisky with a friend, but he has lived here for thirty years.....  

It is a busy place, teeming with workers and students whizzing past on bicycles or flooding through the stations....

I meet Kika, five months old, nothing but friendly...

And enjoy the relaxed, unself-conscious air of the streets,

Where even the wildlife is colourful and friendly....

I cannot claim to have studied Erasmus, but read that he did more than anyone else to advance the revival of learning and protested in the interests of the people against the thoughtless tyranny of their rulers....

I understand him to have said, That you are patriotic will be praised by many and easily forgiven by everyone; but in my opinion it is wiser to treat men and things as though we held this world the common fatherland (patria) of all....'

And if that isn't a sensible appeal to build bridges rather than walls, I'm a dutchman.....

So I repair to the Grand Cafe Wester Paviljoen, on the corner of the Nieuwe Binnenweg and the Matthenesserlaan, and take a ghostly beer....

There are some people who live in a dream world, and there are some who face reality; and then there are those who turn one into the other....

Desiderius Erasmus

Oh Yeah!