The Golden Age of Motoring

[Mac]

A rough day on La Gomera. Wind rattles the palm leaves in Alajeró,
the Atlantic far below is corrugated with waves and dark rain clouds
circle the forest above. And indeed it does rain. "Rare but
torrential" it says in the forest information centre into which we
dive, at La Laguna Grande, a wide bare saucer which quickly starts to
live up to its name. And down at confusingly anagrammatic Alojera, we
retreat before the weather, large breakers pounding the tiny beach and
jetty, the road down (and back!) awash with water and strewn with
rocks. Esteban, our neighbour in Alajeró, commutes between there and
Alojera every weekday in his capacity as a music teacher - an exciting
way to start and finish the day.

There is a classic car rally on the island today, and we meet them
twice, each time in strict numerical order, 1 to 32, first emerging
from the minor road through the central forest park, then snaking down
Valle Gran Rey as we picnic in a church doorway out of the wind in a
brief glimpse of sun. Cars from the 60s and 70s - several BMWs, a
Lancia, a Mini, a Renault, and oldest of all a tiny early style VW
Beetle, rear cover up to cool the engine on the mountain climbs.
Brings it all back, doesn't it?

Walking down through the Laurisiva forest on one of the many well-
marked senderos which crisscross the island, the thick canopy grows
taller and the forest darker and more silent, the wind not penetrating
down here, but still bringing the clouds to condense and drip through
the gloomy evergreen foliage - no other sound, not even the rustle of
small creatures. Also, this may be subtropical woodland, but it sure
feels pretty cold to me.

Later, on the north coast below Vallehermosa, we find the gothic
fortress of El Castillo del Mar. Built as a warehouse and loading
point in the 1890s to export crops of the valley (and import the first
car, a Model T Ford in 1910 - an act of vision and optimism as roads
didn't arrive until 30 years later), it fell into disuse, with a
renaissance this century as a cultural centre and party venue. But
the money has run out, and it now stands abandoned once again, stark
in the fading light against the black cliffs and crashing waves, a
perfect setting for a horror movie.

But next morning is calm, the wide Atlantic blue again. The calm of
Sunday, with the village silent, even the yapping dog respecting the
day (for now), and only the cocks crowing. We're leaving Alajeró and
going across to San Sebastián to sample small town life for a couple
of days.

Nos encontramos ahí

Mac