Treading the Path of Doom

So, as I mentioned before we left, Husband planned for us to walk up a volcano.

This is what I thought was the volcano we were going to walk up.

But we got halfway up and realised we were then at the bottom of the actual volcano that had been hiding behind. You see the path on the right? That's the one we took. The path on the left, which seems to circle the bottom of the volcano rather than go to the top, is the one we should have taken. 

As it was, we scrambled, slipped, sweated and swore quietly, up the scree to the top. According to the internet guide the path was cobbled. 'Huh! Call this cobbled? mutter, mutter, mutter.' Before I go on let me say I'm not good with heights. Or climbing up mountains. So I was a little nervous even though I knew it was illogical. Even if I'd fallen I'd only have tumbled down and scraped and grazed myself. It wasn't life-threatening. Yet.

So it was when we reached the top that we realised there was a proper path - that went up to a viewing platform on the opposite side. (You may just be able to see it in the photo.)

This was as close as I would go to the edge. 

The guide said it was about 1 kilometre around the circumference so rather than attempt to get back down the hard way Husband suggested we walk around the rim to the proper path.

Well, it started off fine but as we walked it got narrower and narrower and less path-like until eventually we were just manoeuvring from foothold to foothold. Husband was in front and I was clinging on to his hand so tightly he almost lost feeling in it. He could just about feel how wet and sweaty my palm was. Now it was life-threatening. Okay, maybe not, but still jolly scary.

'Look at that,' he'd say occasionally.

'I'm not looking at anything and don't you look either! Just keep going!' I snapped back.

Our path of doom.

'See? I'm not scared at all!'

There were loads of these Barbary ground squirrels around the viewing platform, coming right up to our bag when we rustled it.

With the inuksuk I made.

You can keep your hat on

The last time we were in Fuerteventura was in 2007 and the small town we stayed in then has grown considerably in the intervening years. Which meant we couldn't find the 2 excellent tapas bars - the only 2 we found on our previous visit - but every other restaurant offered a choice of tapas, albeit limited and the same.

That aside our holiday was all we wanted it to be: relaxing, sunny, and, well, relaxing. Although the hotel bore a strong resemblance to Swansea Prison in its design it was very comfortable and spacious. The food was average but the cleaning-lady did arrange my nightie very prettily.

The local beach was closed to bathing because of an influx of jellyfish so we hired a car and drove along the west coast to Flag beach ...

and the east coast to El Cotillo.

We also ventured through the mountains (the one in the centre of the picture is the result of one of the more recent volcanic eruptions, about 2.5 million years ago) ...

 down to the old capital of the island, Betancuria.

Now there's one thing you need to know if you intend to visit Fuerteventura. Although the beaches we went to were all ordinary family beaches they also attract a number of naturists. Particularly older men. And particularly older men who insist on promenading the length of the beach each morning - and it's a long beach.

Trust me: there are only so many willies a girl can cope with in a day.

Is there anything as boring ...

as watching a slide show of someone's holiday snaps?

If you’d like to see approximately 2 minutes and 40 seconds of sea, sand, blossoms and birds, then watch the little video, entitled, 'The Quiet Canary', that should, courtesy of Youtube, be somewhere, probably just above this post, on this blog (I haven't worked out how to embed it myself).

If you don't, I don't mind.

We had a great time. Very relaxing and lazy.

Fuerteventura means either 'windy adventure' (according to the travel rep) or 'peaceful island' (according to the publicity brochure). It was windy, but not a fierce cold wind - more of a pleasant cooling breeze. Suited me fine as I don't do hot well.

If you do watch the video, you'll see an example of a wind-breakinghidey-hole that appear all along the beaches. Very sensible but we discoveredthey sometimes contain nudists.

Now, this has been asked before, but why are all nudists old men or fat women? Or some combination of that? Now before you accuse of me of any sort of -ism, even a fit, attractive young man looks foolish with dangling genitalia. As for naked women, well, I'm probably not a good one to ask, never having been entirely comfortable in my own body. I wasn't bothered by it - apart from the occasional escaping 'urrggh, uckifee'.

Foodwise - another important holiday ingredient - once we'd been caught out by the unfulfilled promise of a couple of restaurants, we found some good backstreet tapas bars that replaced the dubious sea bass in my memory with octopus salad and goat stew and suckling pig. On the final night, as we were eating I suddenly said, 'I should have brought the camera!'
'Why?' asked Husband.
'To take a picture of the food.'
'Why?'
'For my blog.' See how I think of you even when I'm away. But it was too late then so, sorry.

I did think of blogging photography when we were scrambling over rocks on the beach though.

'Do you think that's salt?' I asked Husband, pointing to the white crystals gathering in the dried-out rock pools.
'Taste it and see,' he said.
'Do you think I should?'
'Why not? It probably is.'

You notice he didn't offer to taste it. Anyway I did and it was. Very salty!