TENERIFFE (continued)
ICOD DE LOS VINOS, a little town on the coast, some seventeen miles from Orotava, was in the days of its prosperity a great centre of the wine and cochineal trade. Its prosperous days are a thing of the past, and to-day it appears to be rather a sleepy little town; but possibly for just this reason it is more picturesque than some of its richer neighbours, whose inhabitants can afford to build modern and most unsightly houses.
The drive from Orotava to Icod is by far the most beautiful drive in the island. Once the dusty stretch of carretera between the junction of the road from Tacoronte to the Puerto is left behind, the drive becomes full of interest. The road passes below the picturesque little village of Realejo Bajo, skirts the towering cliffs on which is perched the little village of Icod el Alto some 1700 ft. above, and winds along the sea shore. Every turn of the road brings into sight a fresh view of the deeply indented coast-line between the storm-bent old tamarisk trees which edge the road for miles. The long avenues of eucalyptus trees, with their ragged bark hanging in strips, will always be associated in my mind with all the carriage roads in Teneriffe. Early in March the vegetation reminds one that spring has begun. The geraniums in the cottage gardens are showing promise of their summer glory, fringing the walls or hanging in long trails from the little flat roof tops. The winter rains have washed the dust off the hedge-rows and banks, and in places where water is dripping from the rocks they are draped with a thick coating of maiden-hair fern, and the pale lilac blossoms of the wild coltsfoot, Cineraria tussilaginis, stud the banks. I should imagine this to have been the parent of the variety known in cultivation as Cineraria stellata, so much grown of late years in English greenhouses. The rocks themselves are studded with the curious flat Sempervivum tabulæformæ, looking like great green nail heads, and S. canariensis was just throwing up flower-spikes from its rosettes of cabbage-like leaves. Here and there a little waterfall gives welcome moisture to water-loving plants. Common brambles, encouraged by the dampness, grow to vast dimensions and hang in rich profusion, winding themselves into cords until they look like the lianes of a tropical forest. Far down in the crevasse below the stone bridges, the long fronds of ferns, the untorn leaves of a seedling banana, with the large leaves of the common yam, suggest a sub-tropical garden.
Between the road and the sea are great stretches of land cultivated with bananas, a mine of wealth to their owners, who now no longer visit their summer residences on these estates. Neglected gardens tell a tale of departed glories, and many of the houses are left to fall to rack and ruin, or are merely inhabited by the medianero who has rented the ground.
Near the outskirts of San Juan de la Rambla a stone arch crosses the road, and just beyond, the deep Barranco Ruiz cuts into the mountain sides. It is a grand rocky ravine, and by a steep narrow path which winds up the side it is possible to reach Icod el Alto at the top of the barranco.
The little town of San Juan de la Rambla is very picturesquely situated, and every traveller is shown the beautifully carved latticed balcony on an old house, as the carriage rattles through the little narrow street. We are told that luckily the balcony is made of the very hard and durable wood of the beautiful native pine, Pinus canariensis, which is rapidly becoming a rare tree in the lower parts of the island. The wood itself is locally called tea, and the trees are called teasolas by the country people, who know no other name for them.
Once San Juan is passed the Peak becomes the centre of interest. The luxuriant vegetation is left behind, the beauty of the coast is forgotten, and the completely different aspect which the Peak presents from this side absorbs one’s attention. The foreground is nothing but rocky ground, but numbers of Cistus Berthelotianus brighten up the barren ground with their bushes of showy rose-coloured flowers. In places they were interspersed with great quantities of asphodels, whose branching spikes of starry white and brownish flowers seem hardly worthy of their romantic name. In reality they have always sadly shattered my mental picture of the asphodel—the chosen flower of the ancients, the flower of blessed oblivion—this surely should have been a superb lily, pure white, and “fields of asphodels” which we read of should be rich green meadows full of moisture, where the lilies should grow knee deep, not arid tufa slopes where erect rods of this strange blossom rise from a cluster of half-starved narrow leaves. The local name is gamona, and in Grand Canary where they abound, one large tract of land is called El llano de las gamonas, the plain of asphodels.
At a higher level begins the Pinar or forest of that most beautiful of all pines, the native Pinus canariensis. Here on the lower cultivated ground the few specimens that remain, having escaped complete destruction, are mostly mutilated, having had all their lower branches cut for firewood or possibly for fear they should shade some little patch of potatoes or onions, and the younger trees resemble a mop more than a tree, with nothing left but a tuft of fluffy branches at the top.
The little town of Icod de los Vinos is prettily situated, being built on a great slope, intersected by many streams of lava. There is a very picturesque Plaza with a little garden and fountain in front of the old convent of San Augustin, whose façade has several carved latticed balconies which are the great beauty of all the old houses in Teneriffe.
Visitors to Icod are all taken to see their famous dragon tree, Dracæna Draco, of which the inhabitants are justly proud, as it is now the largest and oldest in the island since the destruction of its rival in Villa Orotava. We were assured its age was over 3000 years, an assertion I was not prepared to dispute, and hardly even ventured to look incredulous, and so cast a slur on their almost sacred El drago. There is no doubt the growth of these trees is almost incredibly slow; they increase in height in the same way as a palm, putting out new leaves in the heart of the tufted crowns and dropping an equal number of old ones, which process leaves a curiously scarred marking on the bark. No one seems to know how often a tuft flowers, but certainly only once in many years, and it is only after flowering that the stem forks, so in specimens which are centuries old the head of the tree becomes a mass of short branches with tufted heads, which in their turn become divided, and so it goes on until one begins to wonder whether there is not some truth in the immense age attributed to them. The curious aerial roots which descend from the branches gradually creep down, and it is the layers upon layers of these that strengthen the original stem sufficiently to enable it to bear the immense weight of its tufted crown, as decay seems always to set in in the heart of the stem, and by the time the trees attain to a venerable age they are invariably hollow. An old document describing the tree says “it has no heart within. The wood is very spongy and light, so that it serves for the covering of hives or making shields. The gum which this tree exudes is called dragon’s blood, and that which the tree sweats out without cutting is the best, and is called ‘blood by the drop.’ It is very good for medicine, for sealing letters, and for making the teeth red.”
Icod is a good centre for expeditions, and those who are brave enough to face the dirt and discomfort of a Spanish fonda can pass a week or so very pleasantly. It is a matter of great regret that better accommodation is not available in many of the smaller towns, and I own that personally I could never bring myself to face the native inn. No scenery is worth the discomfort of dirty beds, impossible food and the noise of the patio of a fonda, where as often as not, goats, chickens, pigeons and a braying donkey all add to the concert of the harsh loud voices of the women servants.
Now that motor-cars are available in Orotava it renders matters much easier for making expeditions in the day. Formerly, the greater part of the day was occupied by the drive to and from Icod, but if an early start is made, on arrival at Icod there is still a long day before one, and it is possible to make a visit to the old Guanche burial caves or to continue the road to Garachico. This now unimportant little village was once the chief port of the island, and the number of old churches and convents still remaining speak for themselves of the former importance of the place. In the days when Icod de los Vinos, as its name implies, was celebrated for its vines, the wine which was made there was shipped from the port of Garachico. The old sugar factory which still stands was once the property of an English firm, but the various booms in the wine, cochineal and sugar trade, are things of the past, and Orotava is now the centre of the banana boom.
Possibly the pleasantest expeditions from Icod are those which lead through the pine forest past the Ermita Sta. Barbara. Good walkers will find magnificent walks along fairly level paths once they have accomplished the first climb of about 3000 ft., and can make their way along to the Corona and down the steep zig-zag path below Icod el Alto, or there is a lower track which makes a good mule ride back to Orotava.