Canary Islands,  Europe,  Independent travel,  Travel Blog

Travel Stories: Pedro And The Strange Bed

June 27, 2021 /

The bus station was quiet as we alighted in Santa Cruz, no passengers to board our bus, the cafe empty and, most notably, nobody hawking rooms. Close by was a map of the town: there were no hotels marked on it. The tourist information office was, helpfully, closed.

Next step in these circumstances is usually to enter a bar and ask if they have rooms available; even if the answer is negative, they will normally have a “cousin” with rooms to let. Except, it seemed, in Santa Cruz, where all such enquiries met with blank faces and that all too recognisable shrug of Spanish shoulders.

And so our backpack laden trudge around the town began, seeking but not finding the breakthrough we needed, until eventually we ended up back at the seafront where a couple of beers seemed the only sensible next move. This time the guy at least had a suggestion, even though it entailed finding a convoluted route through the back streets and on up the steep hill. 

Following this route brought us not to any rooms but instead to a restaurant from which the street was filling with the most wonderful cooking aromas. 

“Ola?”

“Buenos dias senor”

“Rooms? Habitaciones?”

“English?”

“Si”.

“I have no rooms, but up here”, he came outside and pointed further up the hill, “is hotel, just around corner. Maybe we see you later to eat”.

“Yes, maybe, thank you”.

Up the hill and around the corner there was no hotel sign, no neon, nothing obvious. There was, though, an open door with a wheelbarrow, some bags of plaster, planks of wood and several tins of paint.

“Buenos dias”, we called to the guy in paint spattered overalls, “there is a hotel near here?”

“Yes. This is the hotel. It is not ready”.

Ah. Now that bit of extra information would have come in handy before we’d trudged up the hill. Just as we were about to ask the same question again, matters took an unexpected turn.

Paint man introduced himself as Pedro, the hotel was his cousin’s (see?, nearly right), and after months of refit it would be open next week. But, he explained, one room was finished and ready, and for 25 euros we could sleep there, in this deserted half finished building site, surrounded by rubble and with the responsibility of locking up, in the one habitable room in the entire building. What could be more ridiculous than sleeping here? 

We took it, of course…..

We headed back to that wonderful smelling restaurant later that evening and there, heading a table of about ten people banqueting on local delights, was Pedro. He greeted us like long lost friends, asked about our tastes in food and, on hearing our passion for local food, instructed the chef (his cousin, naturally) to prepare a whole range of local specialities for our own delicious version of that banquet.

As Pedro left, his whole family bade us farewell, one by one, all amused by the quantity of wine we’d polished off. Michaela seized the moment.

“Hey Pedro”, she called, “what time you serving breakfast?”

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