I wrote this on a beach in Tenerife.

Don’t judge me. It wasn’t a beach where I could play ASDA bingo (2 points for a screaming brat, 5 for a mobility scooter, 15 for a face tattoo). It wasn’t a beach where pre-pubescent hormonal boys sit and drink Bacardi Breezers. Instead, there were 10 people there, they were all surfers, and they were all Spanish. Thanks to Avis car hire we managed to escape the chavvy masses and the identikit cafs serving up gammon and chips, and we found real authentic Tenerife. There, Spanglish is frowned upon and matching family football kits as good as banned.

I don’t know about you, but I go to foreign countries to feel like I’ve gone to a foreign country, not just a warmed-up version of Merseyside. Not like the couple we met, who go to the same hotel every year for two weeks and don’t leave the resort. I’d be poking my eyes out with tacky cocktail umbrellas after the 3rd day.

So, for those of you who find yourselves on a plane to Tenerife and are hoping to experience some culture beyond that of your local Lidl, may I recommend:

  • El Medana in the South East = surfer’s paradise
  • Las Terresitas in the North East = a pretty beach with imported white sand from the Sahara
  • Puerto de la Cruz in the North = the old town with more tapas and cocktail bars than you can shake your ‘I Love Tenerife’ beach towels at
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