I sling my camera strap over my left shoulder and step ashore, leaving the Arctic Sunrise tied up amongst the fishing boats of Las Palmas harbour. For years I have visited this port, but now is my first time ashore. Frankly, I feel like reading a novel this afternoon, but knowing it will be two months before I set foot on shore again – I push myself down the gangway.
I set off across tarmac roads and along cement side-walks. Traffic whirrs past in both directions. There are islands of bare soil with either a palm tree or succulent standing sentry in a cigarette butt mulch. Tanned men with skins like red leather regard me through red-eyes from their staked out benches. There are paper bags with bottle necks extending from their cuffs. A hodgepodge of faded cubes and tower blocks show exposed mortar and rubble at their base. It all clouds my vision, ‘What have we done to the Earth?’
There is a corridor across the isthmus that leads through the melange of mortar and in the distance I see beach umbrellas and sea – my course changes towards the west to emerge onto Las Canteras Beach Avenue. It is like chalk and cheese. The avenue is immaculate and beach pristine, manicured. There are precise sand sculptures, orderly deck chairs and a bank of signs that read no running, no balls, no cellphones, no dogs – the only two ticks are for drinking and smoking. It is an overcast afternoon.
The Beach Avenue is near empty of people, but I recognise a sailor reading a book outside one of the many cafés that line the avenue. He joins me and we walk briskly the 3km to reach the far end of beach avenue. Perhaps it is low season or siesta, but most businesses lining the pedestrian walk are shut. Only one curiosity shop is open, it sells Tibetan bowls and bells, American tomahawks, Russian dolls, fossils, collectors coins and stamps…
I return to the ship, camera unused. It is good to be back on board the Arctic Sunrise and wonderful to be back at sea – a world unto its own.
