Arrival in a roundabout way

In order to be able to start the planned sailing trip, I had to somehow get to the small port on the Canary Islands, from where it should go into the blue expanses. And this at a time, mind you, when there was no Google Maps or other helpful apps. Yes, that was a long time ago and yes, the world was much bigger back then.

So pretty haphazardly the plan went off!

In an Internet café, I had already been able to find out the name of the bus station where I had to get off - or rather, how it was spelled, because my Spanish, apart from "Hasta la Vista," only included a few food-related terms that were essential for survival.

Then to get to the boat, I even found the right bus in the right direction. This already excluded some possible sources of error - which wanted to be made by me at another time.

However, there were no displays or announcements and no signage at the stops themselves. I couldn't even count the stops because the bus only stopped when needed.

In general, the line network and the bus volume on Tenerife seemed to be quite flexible. Probably this is understood by the relaxed, southern mentality - which did not let me relax so at all.

Shortly before a panic attack, I finally explained to the bus driver with hands, feet and eyes that he should please let me out at the desired stop. He seemed to have understood and I calmly looked for a nice window seat to enjoy the view while driving over the island.

It really was a beautiful view and a heck of a big island!

However, as the sea became more and more distant and the number of passengers steadily decreased without any signal from the bus driver, I started to feel a bit strange again. It went high into the mountains, from a remote village to an even more remote one.

And suddenly the travel vehicle stopped at a lonely bus parking lot in the middle of nowhere with me as the only passenger.

The bus driver's puzzled look when he finally discovered me still in my window seat when he got up was pretty much in line with my own feelings.

He had actually just forgotten me on the way! And I had made a beautiful, but still unnecessary round trip over half the island - while the yacht was waiting somewhere down there in the turquoise blue water for his quota of women.

To apologize, the somewhat pale Spaniard invited me for a coffee in the little house next door: break room for all the bus drivers and their forgotten guests. There was an exuberant atmosphere and even though I didn't understand a word, the hearty laughter of the bystanders was contagious.

On the way back on the same line, about an hour later, however, my driver was visibly relieved when I now left the bus at the correct place and disappeared from his responsibility. So was I!

So in the winter of 2008 I got a free tour including an insight into the lively Canarian bus driver mentality. The unexpected experiences are often the most beautiful ones! But my heart beat faster when I finally arrived at the harbor and saw the “Arehucas” bobbing on the mirror-like water.

I wrote a detailed sailing trip diary about the actual adventure that was still to come. Here you can read it:



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