In Spain, the association of Las Pueblos más Bonitos de España award towns with the label of ‘one of the most beautiful towns in Spain’ based on whether they meet certain criteria – the population must be under 15,000; it must be certified as a site of architectural or natural heritage; buildings must be well preserved and there must be pedestrianised areas; and there has to be green zones. Towns can be added and removed from the list. Currently there are five in the Canary Islands. Which, in theory, makes them…

The prettiest towns in the Canary Islands

Agulo, La Gomera

Despite being a natural stunner of an island, La Gomera’s small towns aren’t particularly pretty. Even the historic capital, San Sebastián, isn’t a great looker. It has some nice pockets, but overall it’s a workaday Canarian town. In that respect, Agulo does stand out from the Gomeran crowd. But it’s not the narrow streets lined by colonial buildings which earns it a place on the list, it is the location. Agulo sits on a shelf between towering cliffs, a natural viewpoint with Mount Teide on Tenerife being the spectacular focus point. Tourism is small scale – there are a handful of restaurants, pensions, and a couple of small hotels. In all the times I’ve visited Agulo, I’ve never been when it’s sunny, hence the dull photo.

Betancuria, Fuerteventura

Small in size, big in historic stature, Fuerteventura was founded in 1404, making it one of the earliest post-conquest settlements in the Canary Islands and, as such, it was once considered the capital of all the islands – the ones that were settled at that time at least. The former capital of Fuerteventura is postcard pretty – or maybe that should be ‘Instagram pretty’ these days – with immaculate whitewashed traditional Canarian buildings and bursts of vibrant bougainvillea cascading over walls. During the day, its shops and restaurants bustle with day-trippers. During the night it is, well, shut. We’ve stayed there overnight and were shocked to see just how much everything closes up when the day trade vanishes. Lovely for a visit though … when the sun’s still up.

Garachico, Tenerife

My favourite of the bunch, Garachico in the north west of Tenerife has traditional Canarian architecture, grand churches, pretty plazas, swimming pools made from lava, and lots of very good restaurants. It also has two of the best boutique hotels in the Canaries. As the town sits on a semi-circular peninsula hemmed in by steep cliffs, there’s been no room for expansion, which means it hasn’t changed much in hundreds of years. Like Betancuria, Garachico also welcomes coach excursions during the day. Unlike Betancuria, there’s a thriving local population which means it maintains its traditional Canarian town vibe 24 hours a day. For me, Garachico is the prettiest town in the Canary Islands.

Teguise, Lanzarote

Indisputably picturesque, Teguise in the north east of Lanzarote is possibly the second prettiest town in the Canary Islands. Another one of the oldest conquistador settlements in the Canary Islands, it was the island’s capital for over four hundred years. Like most places on Lanzarote, its buildings are blindingly white, contrasting sharply and pleasingly with the surrounding volcanic landscape. The town is immaculately maintained and home to artisan shops, intriguing small museums – including a pirate one in the Santa Barbara Fort overlooking the town – and restaurants and cafes tucked away in historic buildings. What’s interesting is, each of the towns on the list have a very different personality. Teguise’s is arty and slightly Bohemian, its residents a mix of Canarian and more recent settlers.

Tejeda, Gran Canaria

Whilst I go along with the inclusion of the other Canarian towns on the list, Tejeda in the centre of Gran Canaria is where I part company with Las Pueblos más Bonitos de España. My measure for whether a town is pretty or not is how photogenic it is. There are places I could go back to time after time and still find plenty to photograph. Tejeda isn’t one of them. The setting is spectacular, the town facing out over Gran Canaria’s mountainous hinterland. Some of the architecture is pleasant enough, but nothing special. I think the biggest problem for me is Tejeda caters more for day-trippers (lots of establishments close when the day visitors leave) and people with second homes and therefore doesn’t feel as authentic as others on the list. But it does occupy a breath-taking position.

Whether anyone agrees with all of the towns on the list or not, there is one thing that is certain, this is not one of those randomly and quickly compiled lists. It is that increasingly rare creature – a considered travel list that is useful when travellers are seeking somewhere picturesque in Spain to visit.

Try to answer without Googling, and I’m willing to bet few will get it spot on.

That’s partly because there are different ways of approaching this question. And it’s partly because the answer is liable to change. A few years ago, the generally accepted number of main Canary Islands was seven. Now it’s eight. In a way neither are right and yet, in another way, both are.

For a start, what is an island?

This is National Geographic’s definition: “An island is a body of land surrounded by water. Continents are also surrounded by water, but because they are so big, they are not considered islands.”

National Geographic also go on to say – “Many islands are quite small, covering less than half a hectare (one acre). These tiny islands are often called islets.”

There’s nothing about whether they are inhabited or not. And that makes those subtropical waters very murky.

So, how many Canary Islands are there?

The Canaries are made up of large islands, small islands (islets), and lumps of land protruding from the sea that ambiguously lie somewhere between being tiny islets and big rocks. Wikipedia states there are eight main islands, five islets, and eight ‘roques.’

The main Canary Islands

Up until a few years ago it was generally accepted there were seven main islands. Tenerife, Fuerteventura, Gran Canaria, Lanzarote, La Palma, La Gomera, and El Hierro. In 2018, Spain’s Comisión General de las Comunidades Autónomas officially recognised La Graciosa as the eighth inhabited Canary Island. Until then, it had been classed as an islet.

Subsequently, La Graciosa is now classed as one of the main Canary Islands … but it isn’t the same as the others, and it isn’t the eighth island, but I’ll come back to the latter later.

The reason it isn’t the same is the others all have their own island governments, independent of each other. La Graciosa, with a population that hovers around the 700 mark, administratively belongs to Lanzarote. That makes it different. Having lived in the Canary Islands, that not insignificant fact makes it difficult to treat La Graciosa on quite the same level as the other seven. Then there’s the next level down.

Canary Island islets

The five islets consist of Islote de Lobos (Fuerteventura), Montaña Clara, Alegranza, Roque del Este and Roque del Oeste. The last four, along with La Graciosa, also make up the Chinijo Archipelago, one of the largest marine reserves in the European Union. Although not inhabited, a couple of the islets have had inhabitants and Los Lobos still has buildings which are occupied at certain times of the year.

Canary Island ‘roques’

Finally, there are the ‘roques,’ big chunks of land rising from the ocean. They are not big enough to be considered an islet, yet too big to be simply classed as a rock. Wikipedia lists eight of these, but one of these is connected to the land and, offhand, I can think of at least three ‘roques’ that aren’t included. But these lumps of rock are just a distraction from the main question.

I previously mentioned that I didn’t consider La Graciosa as the eighth island. That’s because in all the years I lived in the Canaries, I regularly saw references to an eighth island, and it wasn’t La Graciosa. Every week, in a Spanish newspaper, I would read news from all seven main islands followed by reports from a place historically considered the eighth island, Venezuela. Admittedly, that’s a bit of a curve ball, but I wasn’t the one who named it the eighth island.

Anyway, there’s another eighth island, a proper Canary Island. Canarios know what it is and so do others who know the Canaries well. It makes an appearance in my upcoming book set on the islands. If you want to know more about it, keep an eye on my website and Facebook page for more information.

Quite a few agreed Tenerife was better for weather. But when it came to history, culture, gastronomy, and scenery, Madeira won hands down. However, many views were influenced by inaccurate and misinformed perceptions. To take a more considered view on which offers the more rounded and satisfactory travel experience, it’s essential to compare various factors using facts combined with first-hand knowledge.

Weather

The weather site holiday-weather.com lists the average high on Madeira as 22.5C in Aug, while on Tenerife it’s 24C. The average lowest temperature on Madeira is 16C in January. On Tenerife it’s 16.5. Madeira’s sunniest month is September, with 8 hrs of sunshine a day. On Tenerife, it’s August, when there’s 10 hrs daily. When it comes to rainfall, December is Tenerife’s wettest month, with an average 56mm of rain falling. In Madeira, it’s January when 108mm is the average. While stats don’t tell the whole story, the world map shows you all you need to know; Tenerife is 500km further south.

History

Historically, Madeira is more of a lightweight. It was an uninhabited island which, after its discovery in 1419, grew relatively rich on the trade of sugar cane and wine. Tenerife was already inhabited by a primitive race by the time conquistadors settled it. The island lay at the crossroads with the New World, leading to a strong South American connection. Battles at Tenerife are said to have led to the establishment of the Royal Navy as a leading sea force, and the independence of Portugal. Franco orchestrated the start of the Spanish Civil War from Tenerife. There are historical towns and cities whose architecture reflects the influence of numerous nations. So much so, La Laguna on Tenerife is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and was the blueprint for some South American cities.

Culture

Riches in history lead to riches in culture. Madeira reminds me more of the north of Portugal, whereas Tenerife has more in common with South America than it does with mainland Spain. But there is an interesting overlap. At traditional fiestas on Tenerife, people dress in a similar way to revellers at Madeiran festas. You can see similarities in themes as well, the reason being that there were many Portuguese settlers on Tenerife. But where Madeiran culture reflects mainly Portuguese traditions and customs, Tenerife’s incorporates a broader mix, one that even includes the influence of its pre-conquest settlers, and that makes it more unique.

Gastronomy

Generally speaking, gastronomy on Madeira is on the basic side outside of its resorts and main city – consisting of simple meat and fish dishes. I’d go as far as saying we were disappointed most of all in its cuisine. Compare traditional menus on both islands and, thanks to the wider influences, you’ll find a far greater range on Tenerife. Where choice is limited outside of Funchal and the resort towns on Madeira, some of the best culinary centres are located away from the resort areas on Tenerife. In towns where you encounter few tourists, you’ll find contemporary Canarian food close to Michelin standard. Talking of Michelin, Madeira has two Michelin-starred restaurants. Tenerife boasts five.

Beaches

Madeira isn’t renowned for its beaches. Tenerife’s have mass tourist market appeal. Tenerife’s beaches – a mix of black sand, pale golden crescents, and golden imports – don’t hold a candle to those of the eastern Canary Islands, but they are more of a draw than Madeira’s.

Tourism

Tourism on Madeira feels low key compared to Tenerife. There are no sprawling, purpose-built resorts populated by boozy Brits. In general, it’s a laid-back affair which appeals to travellers seeking a serene location. Tenerife’s mass tourism face can be gauche and boisterous, attracting reams of bad press. As I write, videos of English and Welsh football fans brawling in Playa de las Américas are trending. But that’s only one area. Most of Tenerife remains ignored by sun, sand, and booze cruise-seeking tourists.

Natural Beauty

Madeira’s ancient laurisilva forest is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and the area around Santana is a UNESCO Biosphere Reserve. It is a stunning island with dramatic scenery softened by extravagant floral displays, great swathes of agapanthus and hydrangeas. Madeira’s natural beauty is a breath stealer. Tenerife also has an incredible UNESCO World Heritage Site in Teide National Park, and a UNESCO Biosphere Reserve in the verdant Anaga region. Its scenery ranges from volcanic to pine and ancient laurisilva forests. Both are going to delight lovers of natural beauty.

Towns and cities

The meatier the history, the more likely you are to find picturesque towns and villages. I particularly like the colonial centre of Funchal on Madeira, and places like Câmara de Lobos. But, apart from a few pockets, there’s a lack of a historical architecture. There is a far greater selection of historical centres on Tenerife. I’ve mentioned La Laguna previously, La Orotava’s old town oozes nobility, and Garachico is one of the prettiest towns in the Canarian Archipelago. But there are many others which rarely get a mention in travel articles.

Hiking

These are two excellent destinations for hiking. Both offer great variety; although, Tenerife shades it for me. Having created walking holidays across Europe, I still rate it as one of the best places for diverse hiking experiences. Another factor which places Tenerife ahead is that some of Madeira’s best hikes have become victims of their own success. We aborted two due to the sheer volume of other walkers. We still enjoyed superb walking, not meeting many other hikers, but at second choice locations. There are a couple of hikes on Tenerife which also attract an off-putting number of walkers; although, these are now regulated. Ironically, they are not the best walks on the island as those tend to be so far from the main resorts they deter the masses.

Summary

Whether Tenerife or Madeira is better is mostly subjective. I lived on Tenerife for 14 years, so I’m naturally going to lean toward the Spanish island. But the history of each island is well documented, and that also feeds architecture, culture, and gastronomy. These are my opinions, but they are based on facts rather than perceptions, unlike the views of some people who commented on The Telegraph article, many of whom revealed their experience of Tenerife was limited to its purpose-built resorts, one of the reasons so many get it wrong.

Ultimately, comparing Tenerife with Madeira isn’t fair. One has a population of nearly a million, the other is quarter of a million, and those facts influence many of the categories above. A more relevant comparison would be to compare Madeira with the likes of La Palma. But even then, why bother? Each of the islands, whether Madeiran or Canarian have qualities which make them all worth visiting … unless anyone is planning simply to flop on the sand for a fortnight.

Since 2004, we’ve written reams about the largest of the Canary Islands, both on our own sites and in newspapers, magazines, and online for others.

Even before 2017, when we swapped the north of Tenerife for Portugal, the articles we wrote about Tenerife dwindled as our attention became more focussed on Slow Travel around Europe. By the time the pandemic hit, and we couldn’t travel to Tenerife for our annual visit to make sure all our guides were still up to date, we virtually stopped writing articles about our former home. It felt false to continue to continue to do so, especially when we were unable to visit.

However, that hasn’t stopped some other writers mining the wealth of material we have on our Real Tenerife website.

Who is writing about the real Tenerife?

This week, a number of articles relating to Tenerife, produced by a respected travel publication, popped up in my Google Alerts. From details in the articles, I knew some of the content had come from our website.

How can I know for sure?

It’s quite simple. Our content comes from experiences, many of which are quite unique and personal. And this was the case here.

It’s something that happens on a regular basis. On one occasion, the writer of a piece would have had to be sitting on Andy’s knee to be able to write what they did.

Using information from specialist websites isn’t uncommon in travel writing, in fact it’s daft if writers don’t utilise available information about a destination they’re writing about. Whenever we’re planning on visiting somewhere, we check out articles, blogs, official websites etc. for tips.

But ‘tips’ is the key word here. Once we get some pointers, the experiences we chalk up are ours.

Increasingly, there are writers/content creators using other people’s knowledge to pass themselves off as specialists. And that’s what happened in the case of the articles on my Google alerts.

It’s both ironic and irritating that, even though we’re not writing about Tenerife, there are other writers using our articles to create their own ‘fresh’ material, without spending much, or even any, time on the island.

For years, we’ve questioned the amount of information we put on the website. There’s a balance between sharing useful, and hopefully interesting, information and basically lining someone else’s pocket.

A few years ago, I would try little experiments. I’d think of something relating to Tenerife I hadn’t seen referenced in any English language travel articles, then write about it. Then I’d wait to see how long it took before it turned up in another travel article/blog. Mostly, it didn’t take long.

Off the top of my head, I can think of 10 things relating to Tenerife we’ve never written about. And have I ever seen mention of these 10 things in any other English language publication?

Nope.

This year, it’s our intention to pull the walking guides from our Tenerife websites. But we’re also contemplating taking the Real Tenerife website offline altogether. Our writing focus has changed in the past few years, and its increasingly difficult to maintain five websites.

Whatever we decide, from now, we’ll publish a more selective series of Tenerife posts on this website.

With the years of knowledge and experience we have, it makes no sense to stop writing about the real Tenerife, especially when others are doing so using our experiences.

When I mentioned this to my sister, one of the things she said in reply was “you’ll find Britain has changed a lot since you left.”
It’s not the first time someone has said this to us. Then Andy said something which got me thinking: “But so have we. We’re not the same people who left in 2003.”
And she’s right. Living in other countries has changed us in a number of ways.

We don’t take basic home comforts for granted

When your water comes from a bore hole and heavy rain causes the electricity to go off, you soon learn to appreciate having uninterrupted access to basic utilities. When water pressure drops, I head out on a circuit of the farm to see if a pipe has come loose, or a connection has split. When the electricity goes off, so does the water because no electricity means no pump. Many repair jobs are done by knowledgeable amateurs rather than professionals, so repairs can be hit and miss, which leads to the next category.

We’re more self-sufficient

When houses don’t have central heating keeping warm becomes a more time-consuming job. On both Tenerife and Portugal this has involved wood management; chain-sawing and chopping logs for firewood and planning wood supplies for the following winter. If you want to stay warm, you have to create your own heat. There isn’t always a ‘man’ to call to come and fix things when they stop working, even if there is there can be a concern he’s going to make things worse rather than better, subsequently doing-it-ourselves has become the norm. This might involve tackling jobs like replacing the chimney after a storm blew it off, fitting a new flush system in the toilet, dealing with invasions of ants, or preventing the beams which hold the roof up from being devoured by woodworm.

A change of drinking habits

We drink less alcohol. It took some time, but we gradually slipped into the local groove when it came to drinking patterns. We’d go out later, stay out longer, and drink less. This was no conscious decision, we simply started to mirror the habits of those around us – On Tenerife that was Canarians who simply didn’t hammer the booze with the same ‘enthusiasm’ as many Brits. Consumption of alcohol has become a case of quality over quantity.

And eating patterns

In Britain I always preferred the later lunch spot at work (between 1 and 2 p.m.), and by the time both of us got home from work and cooked dinner it was around 8.30p.m. So fitting in with Spanish dining times only required a slight shift. What has changed more is the length of time we spend over lunch and dinner, especially when eating out. Lunches last the whole afternoon, whereas dinner is the evening’s entertainment. Thirty years ago I’d have wolfed done my food to get to the pub quicker. Now if a restaurant meal is over in under an hour I feel cheated and consider the place to be a fast food joint.

Appreciating local produce

Thanks to regularly writing about regional culinary specialities we’ve developed a greater appreciation of products which are sourced locally. Our wine rack on Tenerife was full of Canarian wines, some from the valley we lived in. In Portugal, it’s Portuguese wines, some from the vineyards around us. Most days Portuguese chestnut honey will feature in our food at some point; one of our favourite cheeses is made a few kilometres away; and the meal I’ve missed most during COVID lockdowns is choco frito (fried cuttlefish), a speciality of the nearest town. We still shop at supermarkets, but picking up goodies from specialist producers is one of the things which excites me about a return to Blighty.

Explore our surroundings

I come from a tiny Sottish island. Recently, as a birthday present, my sister sent me a calender featuring photos from around the island. As I browsed through the photos I kept repeating “I’ve never been there.” I was never that interested in the place where I grew up. How I regret that.
Our first writing commission after we moved abroad completely changed how we viewed our surroundings. It was called In Deep and involved getting under the skin of specific towns and villages on Tenerife – finding out about history, culture, gastronomy, traditional activities, fiestas etc. We loved it, uncovering all sorts of things we found interesting. That first experience still acts as a blueprint for how we approach visiting anywhere new to us.

Treasure communication

When you stumble around speaking a language you’re not fully fluent in, your personality is stripped away and even the most basic transaction can be frustratingly difficult. Whenever I return to Britain it rams home how much trying to communicate in another language fills my subconsciousness. When doing something like queueing to buy tickets, I find myself automatically thinking ‘how am I going to say this?’ before the penny drops I’ll be asking in English. Most of our transactions in the north of Tenerife were carried out in Spanish; it’s become our default foreign language. The area where we live in Portugal is about as Portuguese as you can get. I have far more empathy with people in Britain for whom English is not their first language.

Less materialistic

Two things changed how we view material goods in general. One was going from having a good income to having virtually none. Having no money soon dampens the urge for whimsical shopping sprees. But the main reason has been living in places where people don’t have much spare cash, and haven’t succumbed to materialism. Whenever we return to Britain we instantly notice the marked difference in spending power. As a result, material goods aren’t as important as they once were. We don’t crave the newest version of this or that. As long as things work well that’s good enough. Other aspects of life have simply taken on more value.

Europe has misshapen fruit

Finally, we know bananas in Europe can have wonky shapes. For 17 years our veg rack has been filled with oddly-shaped fruit and veg. But then, you don’t have to live in a country that isn’t Britain to know that European supermarkets/markets aren’t filled with perfectly-shaped food. All anyone on holiday in Europe has to do confirm some papers had blatantly lied to them back in 2016, and beyond, is wander into a local market.

For anyone who wants to take a more in-depth look at what it’s like to live in another country, take a look at my book Camel Spit & Cork Trees; a Year of Slow Travel Around Portugal.

The answer, when it eventually came, proved even more simple than that.

We had a couple of days to show film-maker Bob Crampton some of Tenerife’s most photogenic and interesting faces for a short, Slow Travel film, and thought Anaga with its stop-you-in-your-tracks scenery and cave houses might add something people didn’t expect from an island known more for its mass tourist and beach resorts.

The plan was to show Bob the inside of a cave building in Chinamada, a hamlet tucked into one of Anaga’s many folds, but only at La Cueva restaurant rather than any of the inhabited cave houses. Lunch at La Cueva also provided the opportunity for Bob to film some traditional Canarian dishes – papas arrugadas con mojos (wrinkled potatoes with spicy sauces), fried rabbit, and escaldòn, a filling splodge of a dish made from stock mixed with gofio (toasted cereal flour that dates back to the pre-conquest of the Canary Islands). The one at La Cueva is made with vegetable stock with shredded meat mixed in, and they claim it is the best on the island. It is an acquired taste is all I’ll say about escaldòn.

Following lunch, we took Bob and his equipment along a narrow trail to a vertiginous viewpoint overlooking Anaga’s lush abysses, passing the cave houses on the way. On hearing what they were, Bob set up his camera to shoot some footage of a row of buildings which, on the face of it, looked like any other typical Canarian cottages; typical, except their interiors lie wholly inside the rock. As Bob fiddled with his camera settings, I spotted a man watching us from the terrace in front of one of the cave houses. As it seemed rude to film without asking permission, I asked in Spanish if it was okay to take some photos.

“Si, claro,” the man shouted back, before indicating we should join him on his whitewashed stone terrace.
We introduced ourselves and told him what we were doing. He told us his name was Segundo to which Andy asked him if he had an older brother.
“Yes, how did you know that?” Segundo replied, impressed.
“Just a guess,” Andy responded, smiling.

Segundo was a potato farmer, something we might have guessed as he was cutting seed potatoes and dropping them into a huge plastic bin. We chatted casually as Bob started the camera rolling, letting Segundo do most of the talking. He spoke about potatoes, the weather, his family, and the cave houses. The one we were outside wasn’t a house at all, it was his workshop and store. Inside was stark and dark, just a table with four chairs around it.

“My house is much nicer than this,” he told us. “Do you want to see it?”

Bingo. For years we’d yearned for that moment.

Segundo led us along a path to another cave house further up the hillside. It was virtually hidden from the track below and his family had lived there for generations. He opened the door and invited us inside to have a good look around.

So what is the inside of a cave house like?

It’s much the same as the inside of any traditional house on Tenerife – homely and immaculately clean and with many of the creature comforts of modern living, including a television.
In all honesty, I was disappointed; although, I don’t really know what I’d expected – something which looked like the Fred and Wilma Flintstones’ abode maybe? Even though I obviously knew that was a ridiculous notion.

It was such a normal home, apart from the fact the walls being rock, I didn’t take any photos and Bob didn’t shoot any film. There wouldn’t have been any point as there was no visual impact.

But it did finally satisfy our curiosity about what the inside of Chinamada’s cave houses looked like and, even though his house didn’t make it into the final cut, Segundo did end up in the finished film.

At this point Andy rolls her eyes and says “you say that, but you always wolf it down when we have a pud.”

That’s true as well. I love good puddings. The thing about dessert menus is in some countries they can swing from the divine to the deadly dull, especially in traditional restaurants. You never know which is going to show up. Portugal is a classic example of what I mean. This is a country whose dessert menus are dominated by puddings made from left over egg yolks after nuns have used the whites to starch their wimples. Conventual desserts have novelty value when first encountered, but after numerous occasions discovering all those desserts with odd little names (nun’s belly, lard from heaven etc.) consist of the holy trio of egg yolks, sugar, and cinnamon, it all gets a bit samey. But then, deliciously fruity crumbles, and dreamy, creamy cheesecakes can turn up on a lot of Portuguese menus as well, just to confound expectations.

My least favourite part of a meal is dessert… unless there is something which awakens the sweet-toothed child that slumbers within. And there regularly is, no matter where we travel around Europe.

White chocolate egg, Italy and Portugal
The dessert menu at Mundet, located in the non-touristy town of Seixal on the other side of the Tagus from Lisbon, is inspired by Alice Through the Looking Glass, and does feature goodies suitable for a wonderland setting. Humpty Dumpty involved a white chocolate egg enclosing Mundet’s take on a traditional sponge cake called pão de ló. It was fun, lip-licking tasty, and reminded us of another white chocolate egg dessert which caused a WOW moment, as it was dropped from above diners’ heads to smash into pieces on their plates. That one was at the two star Michelin restaurant Piccolo Lago on the banks of Lake Mergozzo in Italy. All night we wondered why there were sudden outbursts of laughter at tables around the restaurant, until a huge,white chocolate egg whizzed past Andy’s head to explode on her plate, revealing an anarchic splodge of raspberries with banana and caramel ice cream.

Deep-fried ice cream, Glasgow
It is true, the west of Scotland is deep-fried Nirvana – a land of battered sausages and hardened arteries. As teenagers we never thought twice about ordering deep-fried pizzas and Scotch pies from the local chippie after a night on the Tennents. But deep-fried ice cream at Oriental fusion restaurant Opium on Hope Street was a first for me. It consisted of a large ball of vanilla ice cream enclosed in melt-in-the-mouth golden, crispy, batter, drizzled with chocolate sauce and honey; the epitome of sinful dining.

Salt and caramel, La Palma
The first time we knowingly tasted salted caramel was at Jardín de la Sal on the volcanic badlands at fiery Fuencaliente, the site of a brace of volcanic eruptions, the last being in 1971. The restaurant specialises in giving traditional dishes a contemporary reboot. The signature dessert dish (literary as the chef actually signed it using caramel) was as wildly surreal as the surrounding terrain – featuring an eruption of chocolate mousse; chocolate cake; almond ice cream; broken Oreos; dried banana; toasted almonds; passion fruit syrup; yoghurt, and goat’s cheese foam. The salt used to elevate the caramel to the culinary heavens was from the salt pans outside the restaurant. Caramel desserts without salt just don’t make the grade now.

Mountain of cream, Bavaria
There’s no split personality issues with desserts in Germany. This is the country which gave the world the Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte – Black Forest gateau. The problem in Germany is trying to not eat too many delicious desserts. Sometimes a mission impossible. We don’t like to eat a hefty lunch mid-hike, but the desserts at Windbeutelbaron (a mountain lodge en route to the infamous Eagle’s Nest above Berchtesgaden) tempted us right off that path. Their speciality is a puff pastry, fresh cream concoction known as Der Windbeutel which is inspired by the various peaks of the Watzmann Mountains forming the panoramic view from the lodge’s terrace. Each cake is gigantic. We showed some restraint by sharing one, whereas most other customers devoured a mountain to themselves.

Spanish toast in Extremadura
If you like French toast, you’ll love torrijas, the improved Spanish version. The really good ones are as light as air, despite some looking the size of a brick. I could mention a few places where we’ve eaten outstanding examples, but the torrija cacereña at El 13 de San Anton in historic Cáceres gets pride of place as we enjoyed such a good evening there, plus the torrija was accompanied by English cream, coffee ice cream, and Licor de bellota.

Deconstructed classic in Drôme Provençale
According to some online sources, the USA is responsible for the gift that is lemon meringue pie. I’m afraid I’m not buying that story. Other sources attribute it to Victorian England; although nearly everybody accepts a form of lemon tart has been around since way before Columbus crossed the ocean blue. Meringue is a French word, so there’s definitely some French influence. It’s one of my favourite desserts, and when spotted on a menu every other option becomes a blur. The most memorable in recent years was a deconstructed version served in the leafy courtyard of L’entre2, a charmer of a restaurant in a typically Provençal stone house just outside the old centre of Saint-Paul-Trois-Châteaux.

Pure pantomime, Tenerife
It takes some talent when a chef can please the taste-buds and put a smile on your face when you’re suffering from the flu. We’d booked Michelin star El Rincón de Juan Carlos in Los Gigantes months in advance and had spent all day in bed, sleeping, sweating, and shivering etc. after succumbing to some bug picked up thanks to the poor hygienic habits of too many of the guests at a resort hotel we’d stayed at. But there was no way we were going to miss a meal at our favourite restaurant in the Canary Islands. One of the things we enjoy about avant-garde dining is the sense of theatre and fun (see white egg previously). Chef Juan Carlos ended another triumph of a taster menu with a flight of pure whimsy in the shape of a bonsai-sized candyfloss tree. Magical.

Awesome apples, Austria
It’s unfair to pick out one restaurant when it comes to apple strudel as I don’t remember having a bad one anywhere in Germany, Austria, Croatia, or Slovenia; all countries where the dish crops up all the time on dessert menus. We’ve flaked their pastries in roadside cafes, alpine lodges, farmhouses, and bustling city centres. Purely to choose one to illustrate, I’ve opted for Gasthaus Zum Kranz in Freiburg. It was a cosy, convivial, traditional restaurant in the Altstadt whose apple strudel in custard rounded off a tasty introduction this environmentally friendly city’s gastronomy.

Hot and cold in Venice
We expected the gastronomic offerings in Venice to have suffered due to overtourism, just like we’d previously experienced in places like Dubrovnik. We ended up pleasantly surprised both by the quality of the food we ate and the fact that after dark there were nowhere near as many tourists filling the streets. On sultry summer nights good restaurants were far easier to get into than some other popular European cities. Our visit was topped off by a delight of a dessert at Impronta Cafe (not a cafe at all) in the arty Dorsoduro district – mascarpone cheese custard on a meringue waffle with lashings of hot liquorice and star anise sauce. The Italians simply do good food like nobody else.

Hard to beat puds, England
I’m biased, but nowhere in Europe does puds quite as good as Britain. And yet I struggled to come up with a standout one from England. Not England’s fault, it’s just that we don’t spend much time there and when we do it’s usually with family, so desserts don’t often figure. Then I remembered a December day a couple of years ago, sitting by the fire in Yo Olde Nags Head in Castleton with snowy scenes outside the window, good company at my side, a craft ale in my hand, and a bowl with sticky toffee pudding in caramel sauce on the table in front of me. These are the sort of ingredients that make hearty, British desserts difficult to top.

Reading a Tripdavisor forum thread reminded me of Marcia and Preston. During the course of a neverending monologue from Marcia, with an “aye, that’s right” thrown in by Preston every now and again, she mentioned their suitcase was half-filled with tins of Spam. It snapped me out of the self-induced coma I’d retreated into. What sort of strange person would pack Spam?

It was our introduction to the weird world of holidaymakers who take food products from home on holiday with them.

The Tripadvisor thread was about finding decent bacon on Tenerife. It’s not like you can’t find bacon on Tenerife, even British style; however, it was a task seemingly so difficult that some people took bacon with them on holiday.

A couple of years ago a Barclaycard consumers’ report revealed a third of Brit holidaymakers pack home comfort foods to take on holiday. The surprising top ten list included ketchup, vinegar, Marmite, jam, chocolate spread, long life milk, butter, stuffing mix, Cadbury’s Flake, and gravy granules.

Another survey by Sunshine back in 2013 also came up with a third of holidaymakers packing fave foods, including crisps, chocolate bars, cereals and tea-bags.

I’m guessing most of those surveyed weren’t heading to Outer Mongolia or Doctor Congo (I know before anyone points it out). In which case they are THE most bizarre lists for the simple reason you can pick up nearly every one of these items, including familiar brands, in just about any decent-sized supermarket in most European countries. Nutella is even an Italian brand for heaven’s sake.
There are no Brit tourists where we shop in Portugal and we can easily get most of the items on these lists. It was the same on Tenerife where our ‘go to’ supermarket was also stocked to suit the local population.

The lists make no sense on any level… unless this condiment-packing crew never, ever venture into local supermarkets in destinations they visit. That might explain why so many bought the ‘EU dictating the shape of bananas’ nonsense in the gutter press – they don’t know what fruit and veg actually look like in supermarkets around Europe.

Just imagine, Brexit might have been avoided if more of the British holidaymakers who stick like glue to their hotels had simply popped into local supermarkets.

Finding one item on those lists, stuffing mix, has proved an issue for us over the years. Knowing we usually have to make our own stuffing at Christmas, a friend supplied us with Paxo a couple of times.
“Aha,” the eagle-eyed might say. “So it’s okay for you to have British foods brought to you?”
Yes it is. My mum always brings us square slice sausages and tattie scones when she visits, and we normally return with a couple of edible goodies after a visit to Britain. I don’t see any hypocrisy in that. We live abroad and eat local food products for the majority of the year. Returning with a booty of mini pork pies and a couple of blocks of tablet is a rare treat. The key difference is, it’s a change from what we normally eat rather than a continuation of.
If anyone was spending a prolonged period in one location I wouldn’t raise an eyebrow at them packing favourite foodie items they might not be able to pick up wherever they’re staying. Not being able to go a week or two in another country without having their favourite brand of ketchup is the thing I can’t get my head around.

The Tripadvisor bacon debate showed some holidaymakers don’t just toss jars or packets of food into their suitcases, some take elaborate measures. Here’s a gem of a tip from the thread.

“… buy in UK, deep freeze, wrap in layers of newspaper, (a good insulator ) pack in your hold luggage last minute. It will still be frozen when you get here.”

Seriously? Why bother? Apart from being an enjoyable part of travel, eating local is just so much easier.