The Musical Road

[Mac]

The first climb of the day, up Montaña de Calvario (without a cross),
the sounds of the village echoing from the barranco - a late cockerel,
the church bell, that damn dog that yaps all day - gives views out to
the island of El Hierro, and far below to Santiago, with the express
coastal catamaran leaving its white wake.

Later, on the top of the island, Alto de Garonjay, the whole of La
Gomera is laid out, as well as Tenerife, El Hierro and La Palma. Gran
Canaria is also supposedly visible beyond the haze. The evergreen
forest of tree heathers, laurels and cistus is shorter here, with
buzzards swooping in the air currents overhead. Further down at El
Cedro, the laurisiva is a tall dark-green tangle of trunks and lush
undergrowth - a fairytale forest.

We reach El Cedro the first time by a musical road. First a few
plinks and plonks, then a hundred xylophones start up, and I wonder
what the hell is going on. On investigation, I find that the crazy
paving slabs of the surface are (deliberately?) loose, providing a two
kilometer musical accompaniment before we reach the more usual
corrugated concrete access to a mountain village. This one is tucked
into a terraced niche above a vertical barranco containing La Gomera's
only (tiny) permanent stream and only waterfall. Not exactly Niagara,
but a hugely impressive setting.

There is another way to El Cedro, and as next morning is overcast,
with the laurisilva forest doing its job of condensing the clouds, I
decide to go tunneling. Bored through through the mountain between
the village and the Hermigua road is an old water tunnel which I can't
resist. The entrance, though signposted, is almost obscured by
vegetation, but I squeeze through. Half a kilometer long, it seems
much further as I walk crouched, torch in one hand and head protected
by the other (height varies between 5 and 6 feet), as a bend cuts off
any light at the far end (always a comfort literally as well as
metaphorically).

But eventually I do splash through, and emerge into a small flock of
lop-eared sheep, completely unfazed by my appearance (I pat one on the
head), unlike the two German tourists who are photographing them as I
emerge from the cliff face. And then back through the tunnel, as Mrs
Mac, a vertigo sufferer, absolutely refuses to drive anywhere on this
island, despite the attractions of the musical road.

De verdad, una isla mágica.

Mac