Escaping trouble

After a slightly tense start to the day - with a visit from the timeshare team's man - a huge South African who came to answer any questions we might have (no doubt to make sure we stuck to our decision), but who arrived early, offered to take us out for a coffee having no idea what our plans were.... And then barged unasked into my request to reception for upgraded rooms... Ugh, I was still feeling rattled and badly slept, and as if these precious hours of sunlight and warmth were being stolen by them.    Anyway, we went through it, he was satisfied and - at last! - we could start our holiday.
The guy at reception said nothing doing till tomorrow - and in fact we will go and ask in a moment if they have anything.
To start with, and again looking to find some wifi to post my blogs (2 episodes at once you will have noticed).... we decided to explore los Cristianos, where we had never ventured. Oh dear! Traffic jams, tight turns, no parking spaces, horrendous in-your-face architecture, no no no not for us.  We managed to work our way round to the port area - much more our style, with some semblance of community and oldness.   And my goodness, all the people we saw there were old.  Much older than us.  It's international - some French, some German, but mostly British, and with that slightly depressing British grittiness about it all.  Now we understand a bit more about the country's policy of encouraging people to come and spend their money - what else are they going to live on? - the endless rows of beach-towel shops, and piles of cheap jewellery, and buckets and spades make more sense. If you come here, it is your duty to spend money. When Paul from the timeshare release company was driving us to his offices, he said to Andrew (man to man) in an apologetic tone 'And there's a Designer Outlet here now, just opened. Sorry..;..'    I understood that a bit better now. It's a very worn-out trope which says men will moan about their wives going out to spend money, with the powerful and barely concealed message that they are doing well enough to be able to afford to give the little lady the credit card.  It makes me really queasy.
We had a coffee and a delicious fresh orange juice, looked at the wide beach (greyish-gold sand), wandered round the harbour, and checked up on the ferries to nla Gomera. Quite expensive - €50 each for a round trip each.
Then we headed up to the hills - to Masca, which Paul had told us about. This tiny village in the north is not easily seen from land or sea, and was either hidden from pirate raids or was a pirate village (pirates being possibly a worse threat to life than the volcano, on a daily basis, for hundreds of years).  Following a big eruption of the volcano in about 1700, said Paul, the villagers believed they were the only survivors on the whole island and so they stayed put. They weren't connected up with the real world till 1903 when they were discovered by a Dutchman. We have not verified this bit of the story, btw.   But the village is only reached now by an astonishing road - 10 years old - of zigs and zags for a very long way and with spectacular views either side.  The ancient houses are mostly perched on a steep ridge at the bottom of a huge deep craggy valley and screened from the sea about a mile or so away by a single very sharp pointed crag.     There's a conservation park up there, for the mountain crows, and giant lizards which were once widespread but now only found in the top crags. Wreaths of mist swirl round the peaks.  Fascinating to look at it all.  We had vegetable stew at the cafe on the 'main' road, and then wild rabbit stew, and then home-made pasty filled with almonds and potatoes, deep-fried and sugared. Andrew had a cactus icecream.    We did some more meandering about, headed home, asked again about an upgrade, and had an early night. At last the holiday has begun.