Rather than hotels, there seemed to be a lot of flats there, set out in estate rows. It was all a little over disciplined and impersonal. We nboticed quite a few up for sale.
We passed a bar, which had only English signs which seemed to be populated by English ex-pats. They were playing bowls outside.
The start of the route was across a pebbled beach, each pebble about the size of a football. Then the route skirted under the Montana Amarilla, or yellow mountain, named, of course, for its colour.
Around a corner we came across a sunny bay, populated it seemed by naked Germans. We averted our eyes and carried on up to the cliffs where there were great views of the coast and El Teide.
The walk was pleasant, above rock pools where the waves crashed. Out to sea there were a number of yachts, struggling with the high winds. Just before reaching the marina at Los Abrigos, we turned around and retraced our steps. The Brits were still playing bowls.
Back at home, we ate fajitas on the veranda as darkness fell.
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