No matter how many people gazed upon her black beauty, the waves of El Bollullo crashed into the granite colored sand, smooth than strong, smooth than strong, ever constant, never-changing. El Bollullo is a natural beach still untouched by the developments of man, resting on the largest of the seven Canary Islands, just outside of Puerto de la Cruz, Tenerife. It’s a red flagged beach indicating it has turbulent waves and a ferocious rip tide. Set on the northwest coast of Tenerife, beach goers must lace through the rocky terrain of El Teide’s shadow. They must brave steep inclines that weave through banana plantations, smelling the sea spray and hearing the thunderous break of the waves before gazing upon the privately sublime El Bollullo.
Currently living in Madrid, I ventured to Tenerife to spend three weeks of my Christmas holiday there. Tenerife is one of the seven Canary Islands (La Gomera, La Palma, El Hierro, Gran Ganaria, Fuerteventura, Lanzarote, Tenerife). A magnificent land with stupendous vistas of every kind ranging from its dry, man-made beaches of the south littered by discotecas lined on every paseo; to the North, painted with green landscapes and a tranquil environment. The west side of the island brags gigantic cliffs and crags and private beaches, all shadowed by the world’s third largest volcano, El Teide, which is a must climb as a Teléferico ascends to the highest point of the volcano.
As different as night and day, the North and South parts of the island are easily distinguished from one another. I stayed equal amounts of time in the North, known to be the home of the locals, the Spaniards, traveling to such towns as La Orotava, Puerto de la Cruz, San Cristóbal de la Laguna, and Garachico. And to the South – commonly referred to as ‘guirilandia’ – where the foreigners vacation. As the ying yang proposes, each side of the island has its pros and cons that compliment the other. Majestic views vs. thriving nightlife. Private virgin beaches vs. easily accessible man-made ones. Remote relaxation vs. lively crowds. Luxury vs. experience. The North vs. The South.
In truth, the scenic projection of the South is objectively less breathtaking than those of the North. In fact, I’ll be blunt, the south part of Tenerife is hideous, a monstrosity of architectural disgraces. However, what made the trip was the accommodation. I am the type of traveler that yearns for the people more than luxury of place. I stayed at Tenerife Surf House, a hostel located on the border of Los Cristianos and Playa de las Américas, in the heart of guirilandia. I slept in a dorm with 24 beds for females. Another room was divided for the men, 24 beds there. The bathrooms shared, resembling still much of the old gym that it was converted from originally. A common room. And a common eating room. And, that’s all folks.
Tenerife Surf House is run by a gorgeously inviting group of young Italians. My New Years was spent here with an eclectic group of nationalities, eating 12 grapes at Midnight, and staggering to the dance club on Monkey Beach at 2am. The Surf House comes at 15 euros a night, and if interested in homemade Italian cooking, 5 euro a plate for dinner. It might be the best-kept secret for finding great authentic Italian food in Tenerife. It doubles as a surf school, and there certainly were no complaints from me when the surfers came back to the hostel shirtless after catching their morning waves. It may not boast the highest luxury of accommodation but travel is not only about seeing natural wonders and man-made iconography, but meeting the people. I may never go to Slovenia, but at the Tenerife Surf House, I went to Slovenia, if only shortly, by befriending two self-deprecating Slovenians.
In the end, I preferred the South. I preferred South Tenerife not for its vistas, because there truly weren’t any with its lacking vegetation. I preferred South Tenerife for the dependable sun on the beaches of Los Cristianos and, as always, I preferred it for the people. For the Brazilian Capoeira dancers I met, who graciously invited me to their beach side BBQ and took me out salsa dancing at Casablanca in San Telmo. For the Italian staff at the hostel. For the Cuban internet cafe owner who granted free access to internet so I could Skype my family on Christmas Day.
The best admission to oneself when traveling is to recognize that you are a foreigner, a guiri, and your travel home is in guirilandia. You’re not a local. That is certainly not a negative realization.
