Summary: Where Dom is and what he thinks of living in Las Palmas, Gran Canaria.
Of my friends and former colleagues, there seems to be two types when it comes to understanding where I am. The first group have no idea where the Canary Islands are; some even ventured a guess that they're in the Bahamas. The second group appears to envision an idyllic wonderland filled with golden sand, perfect weather and nothing to worry anyone.
I've seen bits of the latter, but I'd like to clear a few things up. First up, the Canary Islands reside off the Northwest coast of Africa.
The weather varies by the island and by part of the island. Where I live, on Gran
Canaria, the weather is almost always better in the South where the majority of the tourist traps are and cloudy up on what I call the bubble on the Northeast of the island. We live right at the skinniest part of that wart which, despite my cruel description, is 50 ft from one of the best beaches on the island. (
Map Here)
This was the feature I talked up the most prior to my departure. Being so close to the beach had to be grand, eh? Well, it certainly does allow us to take advantage of the great weather - but only when it shows itself. There are vastly more partly cloudy days than clear ones and days can start great and become nasty quite quickly or vice
versa. It's not quite as
temperamental as Boulder where if you don't like the weather you can just wait 5 minutes and it'll change, but it's something to consider.
Aside for the weather, the environment is much like any sizable city. We live on the 3rd floor of nice, if poorly planned building that is but a small part of the stone and concrete jungle that surrounds us. Its inhabitants include local Canary residents,
Godos (insult for
mainlanders), and a variety of Africans and Middle
Easteners. While the official language is Spanish, I'm likely to hear 3 or more languages on any given day. Gilberto and his sister, Mary, at the bread shop speak Spanish.
Mahamood at the
internet cabins/print shop speaks Spanish, Arabic and a sprinkle of French. The Chinese family who operate one of the only two places I've found peanut butter are at least bi-lingual. The Africans speak a variety of dialects and those selling sunglasses are more than willing to speak English with you.
Las Palmas is vibrant and full of history, yet people still urinate in the streets. It boasts art and film festivals as well as infamous drunks who get in the way of the telly when you're trying to watch the match. The girls seem keen to strip off on the beach, but nearly all of them smoke which, aside from its obvious implications, also leaves them with raspy voices. The stunning beach front is littered with cheap all-you-can eat Chinese buffets filled with overweight British, German, and Nordic tourists. Every local or mainland beer we've tried has been worse than Budweiser...and we still drink it. Everything is locked, shuttered and bolted down and there is very little greenery to be seen aside from a fair amount of palm trees.
Las Palmas is no paradise most of the time, but it certainly beats TPS reports, meetings and late nights at the office. Now that you know a bit about where I am, read on about some of the more colorful things I've done here.
