Kaleidscope landscapes and a fishy canine meal

After my memorable sixtieth birthday on Saturday, marked with a Volcanic grill, it was my son Michael’s turn to celebrate his thirtieth yesterday.

We went to a place that rejoiced in the name of ‘El Golfo’, here on the spectacular island of Lanazarote. 

El Golfo makes up by its striking appearance for its lack of originality in naming (it lies on a bit of a bay which could I suppose, if viewed in the right light and through narrowed eyelids, pass for a gulf). The guidebooks directed us to the nearby lagoon, and I suppose lagoons aren’t that common, so it made sense to make a bit of a feature of this one. As it happened, it wasn’t half as impressive as what was on its landward side (a sandstone cliff that glowed increasingly golden as the sun set) or on its seaward side (a strip of black sand on which blue sea was crashing in white foam).

Green lagoon and golden cliffs near El Golfo

Since the lagoon water was green and the sky was turning pink, we were plunged into a kaleidoscope of colours that sounds garish to describe but was much more harmonious when we were in it.

Black sand between the lagoon just visible to the right and the sea.
With my shadow to show it was sunset

Just rubbing in the point about the sunset

Once the sun had set, we headed off to one of the thirty or so fish restaurants which seemed to make up the bulk of El Golfo village. There we were presented with our choice of fish, including one that was livid red with a mouthful of teeth.

‘Dog fish’, the waiter told us, and pointed to some vicious looking incisors to make the point. It turned out that its bark was a lot worse than our bite, and the poor creature disappeared inside us rapidly and to the pleasure of all present, bar the vegetarians (who had to make do with peppers and mushrooms and such like).

A good evening which none of us will forget in a hurry.

It was also the occasion, and this may come as a surprise to anyone reading this, for me to discover that my phone includes a function to take panoramic pictures. Magic, isn’t it? And it’s only taken me eighteen months to find out.


P.S. After the dogfish, two of us shared a local dessert known as ‘Bien me sabe’. I think the name means something like ‘knows me well’ and whoever invented the dish had certainly read me like a book. Both of us, actually. We raced to the bottom of the bowl and then wished there’d been more. Outstanding.