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Journey Into Teror
Whilst in Gran Canaria, just so as to make it seem as if we hadn’t just slept, read, drunk, eaten and sunbathed for seven days (although it was a close run thing), we took the opportunity of a trip to a market town way up in the mountains of the northern part of the island.
The reason? The town was called Teror, and due to an initial misreading of the name, the prospect of “the Market of Terror” proved too much to resist. (I mean… if that isn’t a great Doctor Who story title, what is?)
Actually, as far as descriptions go the “Journey Into Terror” wouldn’t have been bad at all. Gran Canaria’s a bit of a mountainous island and thus the roads tend to circle the outside of the mountains, with sheer drops around first one side of your carriage and then the other – which for those of us who suffer from vertigo (the tour guide included) is not so great. If the roads were larger or more sturdily barriered, it might be less of an issue, but as we headed towards the highest points of the island, circling round the dormant volcano caldera there was a certain amount of looking the other way on my part – not to mention the occasional “oooohhh shit”.
Once my feet were on the ground again, though, I was fine – even at the very summit. It was just when trying to manoeuvre a BFO bus round tiny craggy roads that I found myself a bit discombobulated.
Teror itself was… well, pleasant enough. As you might expect it looked fairly like your average old Spanish town, but to be honest the market itself seemed like a bizarre hybrid of Borough and Camden: viz and to whit, various stalls of hugely tempting food stood next to stalls filled with what can only be described as utter crap.
And by God some of the religious crap was the most tatorific tat I’ve ever seen. That said, given the state of the church (the interestingly named “Our Lady of the Vine”) I can’t say I’m surprised. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t in a bad state of repair by any means – quite the reverse in fact: the chancel was by far the most gaudy and overly-gilded one I’ve ever seen. And if you didn’t think the excessive grandness bordered on tacky, then the presence of an electric votive candle stand would certainly have changed your mind. (I mean… really!)
Still, the landscapes were lovely, the food was good, and it was a nicely diverting day out. And, lame though it may have been, the endless possibilities of the town’s name kept our little group amused all day, I tell you. Everything became a story title: the Market of Terror, the Steps of Terror, the Church of Terror, the Waitress of Terror (actually, she was really scary), the Toilets of Terror and so on.
The highlight of the day for me, though, was – sorry – the Cat of Terror. Some old moggy in a perfumery with only two teeth (the cat, that is, not the shop) took a shine to me when we visited – not least when I pulled my usual trick and used Rob’s Magic Fingers?¢‚Äû¬¢ on its ears (Cats love me for that – they become putty in my hands).
Actually I think I made a friend for life there – it looked ever so upset when I left.
Posted on March 7, 2008 | Filed Under My So-Called Life
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