Chilly air doesn’t diminish warm welcome of La Gomera

The Valle Gran in La Gomera in the Canary Islands is much the same as ever, writes Damien Enright

For me, it has always been at its most enchanting in the evening light, and yesterday evening, although I have seen it a thousand times before, I had to stop and stare up at La Calera village, its terraces of many coloured houses climbing the hill in the yellowing light.

Calera is short for ‘escalera’, meaning ‘stairs’, and stairs, indeed, are the terraces of houses, reminiscent of the tiers of an over-the-top iced wedding cake dressed with greenery of giant palm trees, avocado and mango trees, and breaks of wild bougainvillea which, despite the crush of buildings, are left to occupy so much space.

The trees do the magic of producing fruit, and do more magic in maintaining the valley’s green soul. For both, they are respected. The valley without its trees would be without its romance. They paint the views in light and shadow.

This year, the valley is greener than we’ve ever seen it. The dry slopes of red and ochre rock soaring to 1,000m above the valley floor are dressed in billows of tabiba, a green succulent, and atunera, the cactus with plate-like leaves, and cardón, the cactus that is just one hexagonal stem, and small palms and ferns in legion. The mountain sides are green as Ireland.

There has been rain, copious rain, and its effect is seen in the barranco — the valley floor — greened over with dense bamboo, three and four metres tall, bamboo growing like grass in an Irish field, hectares of it, extending from high up in the valley in swathes a hundred metres across, down to the sparkling sea.

This February’s climate has been far colder that is usual. We little thought when, on Friday 9, waking early to go to Cork airport, we pulled the bedroom curtains and revealed our garden under a mantle of snow so lovely we almost regretted going, that that evening, on the ferry between the islands, the air temperature would be as chilly as at home.

It was not at all the springtime La Gomera we’d known, although we’d passed many a February here over the years. For the first five days, a cold north-east wind blew and we wore fleece-lined jackets or stayed indoors. February rain is normal, a few consecutive days twice or three times in the month, but such a cold wind we’d rarely felt, and never persisting so long. Then, of a sudden, the zephyrs that blew it ran out of breath. It is ‘our’ Valle Gran Rey again, of the enchanting evenings.

There are more Irish visitors here, now. I may be, in part, responsible. I’ve written columns from here, about here, over the years and, at home, I’ve been asked questions by neighbours, friends and people I don’t know, about the island. My brother says I should be charging the local Town Council a commission per visitor.

Now, the word has spread, holidaymakers tell their friends, and the internet is full of information. However, the last fortnight’s weather will have been a cautionary lesson for newcomers, cold rain and cold air following, unlike anything they expected — or we, the Enrights, expected, who’ve regularly holidayed here, lived here and worked here since 1981.

Today, the clouds are gone, the sky is deep, pristine blue, and the sea will soon warm and make swimming comfortable. Irish friends say it’s been like our Atlantic in July, “Okay, quite nice, in fact...” Yes, but they were expecting the Canary Islands Atlantic, not the Irish one.

At home, venturing to bathe in mid-June, I grit my teeth and dive, and submerging for minutes at a time, reach an accord with the water. Here, I’ve yet to take the plunge. It’s psychological. I can’t reconcile the sea at Playa Maria being as spine chilling as the sea at Dunworley. But today, the sun is strong, and I’ll go in.

Since arriving, we’ve made a foray up to the cloud forest that tops the island both to hear the laurel pigeons coo, and to see if we might find blewit mushrooms, albeit two months after season. We had no luck but did hear the deep, burbling coos of the pigeons and the shrill songs of blackbirds, all hidden in the misty canopy.

That’s the thing about Gomera. In other Canary resorts, there are swimming pools, beaches with sunbeds, bars and Irish breakfasts all available. Here, there’s wild beaches, cloud forests, green barrancos, the cooing of the pigeons, and the wedding cakes villages. One’s choice is a matter of taste.