Lanzarote is airy, not to say downright windy. We noticed this as soon as we disembarked yesterday and the following twenty four hours seem to confirm it.However, you’ll be wanting to know about last night’s meal and I mustn’t keep you waiting.Sonia had some sort of soup to start, whilst I had octopus, which wad interestingly chewy, the suckers in particular. We both had steak and mine was every bit as rare as I hoped: I think Sonia, who had asked for medium rare found hers a bit underdone to her taste, but they were very tasty and melt-in-the-mouth. The local way of doing potatoes is called ‘Papas Arrugadas’ – wrinkly tatties – and excellent. These are small boiled potatoes, but somehow more interesting than they sound. Between us we managed to sink two bottles of red wine: one we bought in the supermarket for a couple of quid, the other at the meal for €19. I don’t know which I preferred.Today’s breakfast, probably the only one I’ll detail, involved a fair choice of breads, rolls, cheese, jams, cold meats, cereals and some pretty unpleasant coffee.At La Caleta de Famara (Famara Cove), it was blowing a hooley and we got nicely exfoliated in the sandstorm. The wind blew mists of spray off the crests of the breaking rollers and anything not tied down bounced its way across the beach.There were quite a few groups of trainee surfers under instruction and we stood and watched them in their wetsuits. I think it’s fair to say that wetsuits highlight the shape of the wearer, for better or worse. Both results were clearly visible today. Much as striving to improve and ‘push the envelope’ is valuable, it’s important to know your limitations: surfing – like skiing – is something that appeals to me, but I’d be absolutely crap at it. We watched in awe as these young folk and their instructors did exercises: from lying down, they magicked themselves into squatting, standing, balancing on one leg etc., all on the sand, before then doing so in the water with their boards. Sonia and I agreed we’d struggle to do most of these on terra firma, let alone with a moving board riding the waves.Teguise is an attractive wee town, which is presumably why there were so many tourists. Pedestrian precincts, blue sky, whitewashed buildings and lots of cafes were the order of the day. As was the wind. After a wander and ribaldly examining some small pottery figures with comically enlarged sexual features, we had a bite to eat and then went up the hill to the Castle, which provided superb views of much of the island, once we’d managed to peer through our wind-induced tears. We decided to skip the Museum of Piracy.Our return journey was briefly delayed by a local goatherd conducting his large flock across the road.I must be getting better at driving as I only incurred one angry horn blast today, whilst yesterday’s short journey had obligato horn almost throughout.
For the record, today’s title was chosen on alliterative grounds: no actual sangria was consumed. In fact, no alcohol at all and, having had a bruschetta at lunch in Teguise, we skipped our evening meal.