Geraniums

For some reason the bourgainvillea-lined promenade that runs from Los
Christianos up the coast is called the Geranium Path... and here and there a daisy is etched into the pavement. Confusing really!!

Yesterday we decided to traverse part of this path and so headed some 13 miles along the coast to place where we knew the car could be left and headed down to the shore.

We headed away from the main connurbations - with the Gorse Fox stopping to take photos at various points along the way. The tide was out so the blow-hole that we have watched in past was silent. Eventually after some 3.5 miles we stopped in La Caleta for a refreshing glass of sangria before retracing our steps. La Caleta is a tiny harbour with several nice restaurants perched precariously on the harbour wall. Sitting overlooking the harbour the swirl of the tide of the slabs of bed-rock was hypnotic... and we lingered longer than planned. As we lingered we discussed what we had learned along the way you immediately identify the nationality of all tourists; a) Germans are deeply tanned, and the ladies drip with gold; b) French are well dressed, and the men tend to stick to Chinos rather than shorts; c) Spaniards are identifiable by the gold that that the women wear and the fanciful reds that they dye their hair, whilst the men are always immaculately presented in open neck shirt and smart slacks over loafers; d) the Dutch are distinguished by the walrus-like moustaches (predominantly but not solely sported by the men); e) the Irish are identified by being bright red in colour; and f) the Brits are distinguished by a total absence of dress sense or decorum, the huge expanses of flesh that they share with all and sundry and various bright red strips that indicate that they use SPF-stupid. It makes you proud. (Where are the crisp white shirts and smart sports coats over light linen trousers and deck shoes)

On our route back the Silver Vixen dragged tghe Gorse Fox (under protest) into a Tony Roma's Ribs Restaurant forcing him to try some of the Carolina Ribs coated in honey. Out of politeness he forced himself to finish the aforementioned snack and sat licking his lips whilst the Silver Vixen delicately worked her way through hers.