Islas Canarias, the Reno of Spain

As much as I love my Spanish hometown of Valladolid, it’s freezing cold here. Absolutely freezing. I was warned that Spain gets cold in the winter, but the wardrobe I brought overseas did not reflect that... Needless to say, I’ve had to buy a few long sleeve shirts, sweaters and tights along the way. Being from Grass Valley I’m used to this kind of weather (although San Luis Obispo has spoiled me), but my poor friends from SoCal are not exactly pumped about the freezing temperatures here. It’s really amusing. (Sorry Erica, love you!)
When my friend Steven suggested a weekend trip to the Canary Islands, Spanish territory off the coast of Africa, I did not hesitate to say yes, picturing myself laying out, soaking up the sun on a beach lined with palm trees. Packing last week for the trip was great; I happily filled my backpack with tank tops, sandals, shorts and my swimsuit. On Friday, Steven, Laurel and I left for Madrid, making our way to the airport for our flight to Gran Canaria in the afternoon. It was a little over 2 hour flight, and I couldn’t wait to get off the plane and change into more appropriate beach clothes. We landed and I was elated at the sight of palm trees out the window of the plane. The airport was kind-of in the middle of nowhere on the island, and it took us a while to get our bearings and figure out our plan of action. Not like we could’ve done that ahead of time, this trip was all about making it up as we went along (safely, of course, Mom and Dad). We were informed about a bus that could take us to Playa del Ingles where our hotel was, and waited at the bus stop, on the side of the freeway (sketchy) for a few minutes. The bus ride was a half hour long, and we were unsure of where exactly it would drop us off. We were dropped off near the street where our hotel address was, by this point Laurel and I (being the girls we are) were starting to stress out - it was getting dark out and we had no clue where our hotel was from there. We walked down to the street corner and began frantically looking around for an address, landmark or something, and then Steven saw a giant sign illuminating the name of our hotel, directly across the street from where we stood. Ha ha. Lucky us.
We checked in and were giddy at the sight of our hotel room, which was more like an apartment - it had a kitchen!!! It was dinky, but we didn’t care. Many of us here, myself included, miss cooking so much, or at least being in control of what we eat. Being fed authentic Spanish food three times a day is amazing, and a vital part of us being immersed in Spanish culture, but once in a while it’s kinda rough. There’s always one or two meals that we’re not fans of, or sometimes I just won’t be hungry, but have to stuff myself full anyways.
After unpacking, we were on a mission to find dinner. The next few blocks from our hotel were lined with restaurants, bars, liquor stores and kitschy gift shops, and the sidewalks full of people who worked at the restaurants and clubs, offering all the bypassing tourists discounts and coupons at their restaurant. As we experienced, it was borderline harassment. They were SO pushy and insistent, overly friendly and talkative, and we got so annoyed that we abandoned the restaurant search and opted for kebabs. Doner Kebabs are like Eastern European pita sandwiches, they’re delicious and there are stores all over the place in every Spanish city I’ve been to. It’s like the equivalent of Starbucks in America. They have these giant skewers with meat on them rotating over a fire (its very carnivorous and looking at it grosses me out a bit), but they also have falafel kebabs that are way tasty. They shave the meat off the skewer and put it in a pita or wheat tortilla with lettuce, tomato, cabbage, a red sauce and a white garlic sauce and then close it up and grill it. They’re cheap and one of the few “to-go” restaurants here that’s also open late. So maybe it’s more like Taco Bell, because everyone craves them after a night out at the bars...
Anyway, after our meal, we avoided eye-contact and dodged all of the restaurant greeters, found a grocery store and bought some food for the weekend. It was hilarious to me how excited I was to be buying groceries and picking out meals to cook myself. Obviously, I booked it to the cereal aisle first, and ended up eating almost an entire box of Smacks that night out of a cooking pot, because the bowls in our apartment weren’t big enough for my gluttonous desires. While I stuffed my face with my first bowl of cereal with cold milk in MONTHS, we turned on the tv (by inserting 1 euro into the coin box attached... yeah, we had to pay to watch tv...) and got hooked on Van Helsing in Spanish. I was amazed at how many Spanish words and phrases I was able to understand, and since then I’ve tried to watch movies on tv dubbed over in Spanish and it’s really helped me keep developing my ear for the language.
The next day was beach day. Needless to say, it was fabulous. We napped on the beach, walked out to the sand dunes adjacent to Playa del Ingles, and strolled through the restaurants and gift store upon gift store lining the beach. Among the restaurants we saw, there were various “American style” diners, even a Hooters (heavy sigh). We cooked dinner, and by dinner I mean pounds and pounds of pasta, watched more Spanish television, and tried to form a game plan for the next day. The bus schedule for Maspalomas was the most confusing and convoluted thing I had ever seen, and I was quick to give up on the search for transportation (other than from our hotel to the airport) and just hang out the next day. Laurel and Steven were slightly more determined to see something else on this island other than German tourists, and decided to go to an inland pueblo called San Bartolome, just for kicks.
The next morning, unable to track down the 8 am bus to San Bartolome, we ended up taking a taxi there. 30 minutes, switchback roads in the middle of nowhere, and Kelsey with borderline intense nausea later we arrived in what appeared to be an abandoned town. It was a Sunday morning, and typically Spanish towns don’t wake up til later, except for Mass, and there was hardly anybody up and about when we got there. It was a very relaxing morning, wandering cobblestone streets and hiking up a hill to find an incredible view of San Bartolome, the mountain we came up, and the valley beyond it stretching all the way to the ocean. I took a bunch of pictures (that can’t fit on my computer because my hard drive is full... AWESOME), and we enjoyed a beer on a sidewalk cafe before catching a bus back down to Maspalomas. The decent was even less fun than the trip up; we were on a charter bus, flying down the mountain, taking every turn like nobody’s business. I think Laurel and Steven’s stomachs felt the same as mine did... we all looked pretty pale and didn’t say a word, just stared straight ahead, the entire way down.
After that, we collected our gear, bid farewell to the sun, surf, and Germans, and caught a bus to the airport to fly back home to Valladolid.
As amazing as it was to spend a weekend on a beach in a swimsuit in November, I feel like I get much more out of my trips when I can connect to the native culture of a city or country. Maspalomas is so overrun with tourism that it seemed fake.
As I conclude this blog, I’m about to start packing for my next trip; tomorrow Erica and I leave for Paris. It literally is a life long dream of mine coming true. I can hardly wrap my head around it. Much more blogging about the city of love after Erica and my romantic weekend together concludes, I still need to write about our misadventures last weekend (León is a cool city... kinda...) in addition to everything I’m looking forward to in France. Our to-do list so far looks like:
-Eiffel Tower
-Louvre
-Orsay
-Saint-Chapelle
-Notre Dame
-catacombs
-Arch de Triumph
-Jim Morrison’s grave
-Versailles
-all the crepes, croissants, wine and cafe I can stand

PLEASE don’t hesitate to email me with any more must see sights or restaurants in Paris! Much love to all, hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving. The countdown has officially began: California in 21 days!