22nd November 2024

We were both wide awake well before Google’s alarm sounded at 1:30 am. Quickly dressing, we snatched a hasty coffee and loaded the car with our suitcases, ready for the dash to Birmingham Airport and our flight to Tenerife. There, the P&O cruise ship Azura awaited, ready to whisk us around the Canary Islands.

A few snowflakes drifted silently from the pitch-black sky as we pulled away from Willow Bank. Surprisingly, the roads were quite busy for such a wintry 2 am, with several gritting lorries scattering salt in anticipation of a hard frost.

By 3:30 am, we were parked and wheeling our suitcases across the airport concourse. To our surprise and relief, we found a well-organised queue of Azura passengers being efficiently checked in at half a dozen desks, with plenty of P&O staff on hand offering helpful guidance. Unfortunately, the conveyor belt normally responsible for whisking luggage away to some distant airport carousel was out of action. Instead of waving goodbye to our bags, we had to wheel them several hundred metres to Security, where more friendly P&O staff promised they would be reunited with us in Tenerife.

The flight took off half an hour late, still under the cover of darkness, but landed on time after a four-hour journey. We managed to catch a bit of sleep en route. True to their word, our suitcases reappeared on the carousel at Tenerife South Airport and were promptly loaded into the hold of our transfer coach for the hour-long journey to Puerto de Tenerife. On arrival, P&O staff once again assured us our cases would be delivered to our cabin later.

The temperature was a balmy 28°C, and still layered for the -1°C of a British winter, we were eager to shed a few clothes. We made our way to Deck 10, cabin C228. After a brief introduction to our cabin steward, we headed to one of the buffet restaurants for a light lunch. On our return, our cases had magically arrived, and their contents were soon neatly arranged in drawers and hung in the wardrobe.

Disappointingly, an excursion we had booked for the following day, a trip to Mount Teide and its Astronomical Centre, had been cancelled due to insufficient numbers. A visit to Reception to enquire about connecting to the ship’s Wi-Fi was followed by a stop at the Excursions Desk, where we were fortunate to secure two places on an alternative tour, recently made available due to cancellations. How lucky was that?

Later, while exploring the ship, we located the main restaurants and asked a waiter for advice on the best time for dinner. He recommended dining at 6 pm to avoid the queues later in the evening, which could stretch to 45 minutes. Dressed in smart-casual attire, we arrived at 6:30 pm and were seated immediately with two other couples. They had already spent a week on board and were due to disembark the following morning, but they kindly shared helpful suggestions for the various ports we were about to visit.

After dinner, we wandered along the upper decks, enjoying the twinkling lights of nearby ships and the town beyond. The warm breeze was a welcome contrast to the heat of the wood burner back home, though the comparisons ended there! Having been awake since 1 am, we called it a night by 9 pm, ready for a much-needed sleep.

23rd November 2024

Azura was still in port, dutifully offloading passengers reluctantly returning to the UK and replacing them with sun-seeking holidaymakers keen to escape the snow and storm “Bert” (an ordeal now generously bequeathed to their friends and relatives). Eager to begin our Tenerife adventure, we were up for breakfast by 7 am and down at the dockside by 9:30 am, joining a small group of like-minded explorers for a visit to Garachico village and the nearby “Wind Cave.”

Garachico, around an hour’s scenic drive along the coast, is nestled in a deep valley flanked by forested slopes and a rugged, rocky shoreline. Once a humble fishing village, it now caters to the whims of tourists and thrives as the banana-growing heartland of the region. Since its founding in 1496, Garachico has endured more than its fair share of calamities: disease, locusts, pirates, you name it. But all of that pales in comparison to the events of 1706, when the Montana Negra volcano erupted in a dramatic nine-day tantrum, burying much of the village beneath a river of molten lava. Only a small section of the town gate survived, as if to mutter, “Well, that was rude.”

Our one-hour stop allowed for a leisurely wander through this quaint, if not particularly dazzling, village. For those in our group unacquainted with small Canarian settlements, it was likely quite captivating; for Sue and me, seasoned connoisseurs of such places, it was charming but unremarkable. Like so many Spanish villages, Garachico is spotless, serene, and ever-so-slightly too laid-back, a picture-perfect haven for retirement. Excitement did spike briefly when our driver, while attempting to reverse the minibus around a tight corner, managed to shatter the rear window. A smashing end to our visit, quite literally.

Next on the agenda was the “Wind Cave”, or Cueva del Viento, the largest lava tube in Europe and the sixth largest in the world, stretching an impressive 17 kilometres. Formed by eruptions from Pico Viejo, a volcano near Mount Teide, this natural wonder is essentially a subterranean motorway of frozen fire. As the lava flowed downhill, the surface began to cool and harden, forming a crust. Beneath this, the remaining lava continued to surge forward until it drained away, leaving behind a vast and fascinating hollow tube.

Having explored many volcanoes in the past, Sue and I were intrigued to experience this less fiery, more stable side of volcanic life. After a 20-minute drive up the seaward slope of the volcano, we arrived in Icod de los Vinos, where a briefing awaited us. Safety helmets firmly in place, we exchanged our minibus for an even smaller vehicle capable of negotiating the rock-strewn track leading to the lava tube’s entrance.

The surrounding landscape, once a patchwork of terraced farms, has long since been reclaimed by dense forest, nature’s green blanket quietly concealing the fiery history that lies just metres beneath the surface. Armed with head torches, our group of fifteen descended a metal staircase into the tube’s inky depths. Though the entire lava system stretches for 17 kilometres, our exploration was limited to a 300-metre section.

Progress was slow and cautious. The floor was a treacherous mosaic of jagged lava fragments, ready to catch out even the most sure-footed among us. Helmets quickly proved their worth whenever the ceiling dipped unexpectedly, as our attention remained fixed on the small pool of light cast by our torches, illuminating the circular patch of uneven ground ahead.

This lava tube was unlike any cave system we’d encountered before. Although it featured stalactites and stalagmites, erosion had played little part in shaping its contours. Our guide, a charming blend of Spanish, Portuguese, and British heritage, brought the cave to life with vivid storytelling, transforming mysterious rock formations into awe-inspiring evidence of nature’s raw power. Miraculously, we all emerged unscathed, despite the floor’s best attempts to bring us down.

Back on the surface, a different trail led us to the visitor centre, where we returned our helmets and began the journey back to the Azura. Though it hadn’t been our original plan (we had hoped to visit the Astronomical Observatory on Mount Teide), we returned thoroughly impressed. This unexpected adventure now holds a firm place on our “must-do” list for the rest of the family.

Back aboard, we freshened up before dinner. A mix-up at the restaurant’s entrance landed us a quiet side table for two, pleasant enough, though it lacked the lively buzz we enjoy when sharing tales with fellow guests. Still, we salvaged the evening by arriving early at the theatre, where the ship’s dance crew delivered a stellar performance. Seated beside us was the proud (and disabled) mother of one of the singers, enjoying both her first cruise and her daughter’s debut. A truly heartwarming moment.

Afterwards, we dashed to the Malabar lounge to catch a comedian’s set. He delivered 45 minutes of solid entertainment, finishing just in time for us to almost go for a moonlit stroll on deck. But the pull of cabin pillows proved stronger than the sea breeze.

24th November 202: A Sea Day

The sun had barely crept over the horizon when we stirred, lazily noting the calm sea through bleary eyes. Breakfast at 8 am was a quiet affair in a nearly deserted restaurant, and we hurried off to catch an island presentation in the theatre. Attendance was sparse; either the audience was still snoozing, uninterested, or lingering over coffee and pastries.

Sue, having second thoughts about a planned volcano hike in La Palma later in the voyage, popped over to the Tour Desk to cancel. I returned to the cabin to freshen up, and we reconvened in the theatre, hoping for an enlightening lecture on the Canary Islands. Alas, it turned out to be more of a meandering chat about everything but the islands. Oh well.

Lunch was far more satisfying, a table for eight in the Peninsular Restaurant, where pleasant conversation flowed as easily as the coffee. With full stomachs, we retired to our cabin for a well-earned rest.

Eventually, we stirred from our blissful inertia and tackled the stairs to the coffee station on Deck 15. It was a dual mission: a caffeine kick and a thirst quencher. With cups in hand, we gazed out of the window, contemplating the mildly restless sea. How deep could it be? Deep enough, we agreed, to justify another cuppa. But alas, Formal Night loomed, so we trudged back to the cabin to don our finery.

On the way to the restaurant, a small diversion presented itself. Outside one of the lifts, a young couple, clearly new to the quirks of cruising, flagged me down in desperation. Their crisis? A dickie bow that refused to cooperate. After an hour of trying, they were ready to abandon ship (or at least the formalwear). Recalling my own early battles with tuxedos, I stepped in and tied the elusive knot with all the flair of a seasoned cruise-goer.

Dinner was a new experience at a Deck 5 restaurant we hadn’t yet tried. Seated at a table for six, we kicked off the evening with a glass of champagne, courtesy of the ship’s captain. What followed was another sumptuous feast: three indulgent courses, rounded off with coffee and chocolates.

The day’s finale came courtesy of a singer in the theatre, her voice so glorious it could have made a siren jealous. Her Barbra Streisand tribute was flawless, and we later learned she’d been discovered on a TV talent show eight years ago. As she hit her final note, we agreed it had been the perfect end to a thoroughly delightful day.

Tomorrow, we dock in Madeira, and another adventure awaits.