The local website Lo Que Pasa En Tenerife is a good place to check up on the daily complaints of Tenerife’s residents.

Today one of the topics is the proliferation of shopping carts that are left in the streets of Santa Cruz.

The citizen reporter who scooped this story gripes that this is becoming so common it’s almost fashionable and why won’t people just return the effing  things. Well, okay maybe she didn’t say that exactly but I bet she was thinking it.

The comments on the original page are funny.

One person opines that it is obviously the fault of the South Americans and globalisation. Boy, is that a leap or what?

I don’t think the invasion of the shopping trolleys is a new thing at all. I seem to remember my hometown being festooned with the things when I was growing up (in fact I am sure most people reading this blog must have trolley-jousted at last once when they were small) and I don’t remember one Peruvian or Brazilian living in Cumbernauld at the time.

Where I live in Tenerife there is a bit of community spirit. We swap dishes and gossip at garden bbqs, attend each others kids’ birthdays parties and share two communal shopping trolleys. They are used to ferry shopping from the car park to the houses. As the driver parks the kids scamper off along the path to retrieve the trolleys from the gate of whoever had them last.

Strictly speaking only one of the trolleys is communal. My neighbour (yes, she of the poo-slinging scandal) got so fed up of having her shopping trolley purloined by the vecinos that she wrote her house number and family name on it in big black felt pen. Quite bold of her, I thought, considering she must have half-inched it herself from somewhere. It’s not like you can stop off at the €1 shop and buy yourself a Mercadona or Netto trolley, is it?

Despite being a hard-working travel writer and co-author of both  Real Tenerife Island Drives and Going Native in Tenerife, Jack Montgomery stills finds time to write to please himself. His blog Living Beneath the Volcano about life in Puerto de la Cruz with his wife and writing partner Andy (that is living in PDLA with Andy who is his writing partner and his wife, not his wife AND a separate writing partner. Jeez!), is an entertaining testament to doing what you love.

From musing about the general uselessness of cats to a helpful guide on how to read between the rules in Tenerife, Jack shares his slightly mad outlook on life in the north of Tenerife. Seeing as I know nada about living in the north of Tenerife,  Jack kindly agreed to donate one of his ponderings about the laid back lifestyle in Puerto de la Cruz.

Puerto de la Cruz – Cool, but not Cold

Sometimes I wonder why I live in Puerto de la Cruz. It’s cloudy all the time and its streets are populated by geriatrics who think of the town as an ideal holiday location because life here is so sedate and quiet. Well that’s what I keep reading on travel watchdog sites; usually written by someone who knows Puerto as well as I know the inside of the local bingo hall (I’ve never been but my neighbour, Jesús, insists it’s popular with young Canarios).

I pondered this on Saturday night as Andy and I were sitting on the harbour wall opposite the old custom house listening to an enthusiastic young band, clearly influenced by Radiohead and the Kings of Leon, giving it all they were worth at the last gig of the Canaries Alternative Music Festival.

We were surrounded by a mix of mainly trendy young Canarios and a handful of neo hippies. It was pretty much a crowd of the same ilk which had filled the streets at the street art festival a couple of weeks previously and the ‘Battle of the Bands’ in Plaza Charco a couple of weeks before that.

I absently scratched at some minor sunburn on my stomach; a result of a rare excursion to the beach last week and the effects of a fierce sun zapping my abdomen with its 27 degree strength rays.

Cloudy and sedate…hmmm.

As I kind of shuffled on the spot, more or less in time with the music, a girl tapped my arm.

“¿Como se llama?”

“No se,” I shrugged my shoulders, but her quizzical expression at my answer had me doubting myself. Maybe she wasn’t asking the group’s name, maybe she was asking mine. I thought I’d better clarify.

“¿El nombre del grupo?” I asked her.

“Si, claro,” she confirmed.

“No se,” I replied again. This time there was no mistaking her expression; it said ‘well why did you speak to me again, you already told me you didn’t know their name.’

The reason I mention this discourse is because it dawned on me immediately afterwards that all the fiestas and concerts which take place in Puerto aren’t put on for the benefit of the tourists; they’re staged for the benefit of the locals. On a Saturday, or any other night for that matter, many British visitors tend to head to a British bar where they can enjoy the company of people they understand.

The only thing is that the British bars are not where it’s happening in Puerto. Ergo, stick to them and the impression you get of Puerto is one of relatively quiet bars filled with a mature clientele.

The garage group were replaced by a modern punk band who, as far as I could see, just sang the same song over and over again (god, how old does that sound) and seemed to have an obsession with shouting ‘REDCAR’ every few seconds (well that’s what it sounded like to me). Still it was good fun and everybody was enjoying themselves. I leant against a post to watch the rest of the performance and passively breathed in a lungful of air that was thick with the unmistakeable scent of illicit substances. Sedate Puerto? Aaah…that’s what they meant.