Outside the urban area

Bracelets, sunglasses, watches. More bracelets, sunglasses, watches. Even more bracelets, sunglasses, watches and the occasional aloe vera. After spending three hours at a craft market in Teguise, Lanzarote, today, it’s pretty easy to predict what the next three (or four) market stalls will be selling. Besides the rare refreshing craft other than those mentioned, this seemed all there was to be sold. From time to time, we’d come across some dairy product, alcohol, bread, or clothing as alternatives to the regular market-stall, but after a while there seemed to be little else than bracelets, sunglasses and watches.

Don’t get me wrong – the market was impressive. The length of it in itself was staggering; the local dodgy marketplaces I’m used to down east London had nothing on this. Although there was fairly little in terms of variety, there was still something for everyone and three hours seemed to fly by. I even had time to stop for an iced coffee (a drink I usually hate, but today just fancied something cold that wasn’t in the same league as a bottle of coke).

Somehow I managed to spend about 60 Euros at the market, and although 35 was on a Spanish football top (that I’d planned to buy all summer long) the other 25 went purely on presents for the nearest and dearest back home.

My stepdad didn’t best pleased that me and my mum were lolling at every other stall, but if you can’t do it on holiday when can you? I’m half surprised I didn’t share the same common male gene as him today; maybe it was the drive to find my dad/stepmum/sister a present, or the fact that I was hundreds of miles from home in sweltering heats and loving it, but I wasn’t complaining.

It’s weird to see what’s actually on this island outside of the urban area. The short coach ride to Teguise market today really opened my eyes to what’s actually out there in this rather derelict landscape. Just a mile or two away from the hotel we found barren landscape stretching miles. All that seems to be on this pokey island in between Africa and Spain was a whole load of rock, streams of erupted volcanoes (and remnants of volcanic eruptions), and more recently a ton of tourist hotels.

After entering double-digit mileage, we couldn’t seem our hotel clearly and all that surrounded us was more and more of this wasteland. Most had been destroyed by lava, and the rocks here simply served as decoration, whilst on land still decent enough to live on there stood pokey white bungalows – all with token 4x4s and an impressive amount of (I assume bored) people washing their windows. Last thing they’d want is an annoying old piece of lava smoking up their windows when the rents come for dinner I suppose...

I’m not sure what I’d do with myself if I happened to find myself living in Lanzarote (and outside the “urban area”). Besides washing windows – which really does seem like the craze of the moment – and taking my gas-guzzling 4z4 to the shops – I’d sure as hell get bored after a while. I couldn’t even ride a bike, given that “off-road biking” roughly translates for “rocky lava-infested death-trap” in Lanzarotian. Better get the shammy out now...