The Atlantic meets Tenerife in a mighty rush, particularly when there is any wind to lash up the waves. For 24 hours the wind blew solidly from the north, resulting in some spectacular shows of boiling frothy water and spray.

The sea here provides tourist attractions like boat trips and swimming, and in many places along the coast, sea-defences have been dropped in the water to counteract the strength of the waves, sheltering swimming areas.  Despite the defences,  the action of the waves is still impressive.

In Puerto de la Cruz, a walkway has been built out of giant concrete blocks. It doesn’t look hugely old yet the sea has still managed to tumble several blocks out of place.

In Garachico, the waitstaff at lunch told us the town officials were considering closing the main road along the sea front because of the waves crashing over the barriers.

There follows a series of pictures taken as we walked though the banana plantations by the coast near the hotel.  As you can imagine, many (MANY) pictures were taken,  few were successful.  And the successful ones still don’t convey the rip, crack, crash and slap of the waves hurtling onto the lava.  Or the spray on our faces or the heavy mist rising from the milky, seething sea below, softening the view all along the coast.

But I did just manage to catch a tiny bit of rainbow!

The mountains around El Teide also play their part in the tourism trade, providing a ready source of walking trails of varying difficulties. Wanting a leg stretch, we set out for Masca, in the middle of the Tena mountain region, hoping for a nice drive,  good views and a walk afterwards.

Good plan.

Pity we didn’t realise how strenuous the drive would be and how far the temperatures would drop – we hadn’t taken the altitude into consideration at all.

I had thought about offering to drive but on hearing the phrase ‘series of tight hairpin bends’ from the guidebook, decided that discretion should prove the better part of valor.

Thank God!

It was stunning.  We started west and then moved south going up,

and up

and up 

further and further away from the sea, higher and higher into the mountains.  It was all fairly straightforward, with the hairpins fairly broad and the road fairly wide.

Until…

Right at the very top (just after the picture above), we went round a very steep bend and were bludgeoned by the wind – to the extent that the car seemed to bounce sideways slightly. This was the Miraodor Altos de Baracan.  The people in front of us had stopped for a photo opportunity right on the bend itself (it was amazing) but the driver struggled to keep upright and hold onto his phone at the same time – his car was visibly juddering in the wind.  We found a better spot further round the corner, out of the worst it.

We were now facing west.

And then the road narrowed and the incline increased, precipitously, and the land fell away steeply just (just) on the other side of the concrete bollards.  I was glad Roger was driving, not only because I would have had a cow at the conditions but also because he would have sweated through his sandals sitting above the drop on the passenger side.

I focused on the scenery, missing many lovely vistas as there really was no way to stop for pictures.

Down, down, down with lots of hairpin beds (tighter than the previous set) and we joined a slow moving queue looking for parking in Masca.  Which we couldn’t find.

Having realised that the temperature had dropped from 22C on the coast to 14C in the mountains, we decided to give it a miss.  The bun fight for parking spaces was becoming more fractious by the second and there were queues of cars coming into the town from the other direction. 

So we drove on through and (you guessed it) up the other side.

These hairpins were tight, the road was steep and the oncoming traffic seemingly consisted of a never ending stream of young Spanish drivers who drove down the middle of the (very narrow) road, gesticulating rudely about us needing to move further over into the gutter.

And up and up again.

Until we reached yet another ‘top’.

It was windy, a scramble up to get to the viewpoint and brisk in temperature.  Roger threw in the towel and got back in the car.

Then over and down into the next mountain system.

At one point, we were over 1.2 kilometres above sea level (no wonder it was cool). 

Given our walk out to Punta de Tena, and the lumps of rock we walked around (and through), we probably should have been a bit more clued in to the conditions as it was the same set of mountains.

But still, a lovely drive and a timely reminder that wind, waves and weather wait for no-one.