Diary… Friday, Los Gigantes, Tenerife

The bus station in Los Cristianos is not very inspiring. Nowhere near as evocative as the one in Hania on the Mediterranean island of Crete, though I’m told that even that revered hub of human to-ing and fro-ing has recently been blanded out with a modern makeover.

Nevertheless, this was the starting point for another mission to ‘roam’ from the environs of Paloma Beach Apartments, in this case up the western coast to Los Gigantes for a further dose of geology and scenery.

Gigantes is famous for its dramatic, precipitous cliffs that plunge into the ocean. It is a small, pitching seaside/hillside town that has a faintly British vibe (to me).

That’s not because of the vast number of British tourists on show. The Gigantes vibe is more to do with ice-ceams, a kiss-me-quick naughtiness and winding streets to stroll, people watching and looking into shop windows.

As we left the bus station earlier at Cristianos aboard the 473, we sensed that we too were living both on the edge and in a Carry On movie. Our driver seemed determined to put us through the speediest and jerkiest of journeys. Brake-slamming and lurching manouvres were her speciality. Lucky nobody was sick on board.

The drama would continue. We arrived just about in one piece and just in time for lunch at Buganvilla Plaza Restaurante. That’s when the real comedy started. 

Our food waiter opened the charm offensive by telling us to get our order in quick because he was busy. We complied, but then he told us that some of the tapas we wanted were not available.

The mood took a better turn when another waiter appeared with our drinks, eventually. His English was impeccable, polished even. That was because he was English, though impeccable English is more often spoken by Dutch people these days.

He was charming, polite and advised us to buy a Spanish SIM card to reduce roaming charges on our phones.

The growing sitcom feeling hit its stride when our food started to arrive, eventually. There wasn’t enough space on the table, one dish was missing, then the whole order started to appear in duplicate. Two of everything.

The rude waiter had clearly screwed up, maybe because he was so busy, like he told us right from the start. Or maybe because he was just a useless, self-important poser. 

A heated exchange kicked off between a huddled group of waiters, so maybe the confusion got resolved in some way. We just sat quietly at our table, not wishing to offend, talking about Fawlty Towers and what Basil might have said.

The bus journey back to Los Cristianos was slightly less vomity, so we arrived feeling kind of blessed, sat down exhausted in the sunset bar, watched the sun set and laughed about it all.

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