“IT'S 1am”, said Jack. “Way past the midnight hour and time we went for our dip.”
We stripped down to our swimwear, left the relative sanctity of our palm tree and picked our way through the hordes of people, lit candles, beach towels and small fires until we reached the water’s edge.
At that moment the band struck up Queen’s anthem ‘We Will Rock You’ and all around us the chant was taken up.
We waded into the water and stood waist deep in the temperate sea. “We will, we will, rock you!” we sang as the waves and current rocked us. Rainbow laser lights from the stage scanned the water revealing fifty or sixty other people who had chosen that moment to bathe in the moonlit midsummer sea and sing out loud with double handclaps and both arms raised into the night sky in salute.
We were following a tradition which dates back as far as the history of the Canary Islands goes, to a time when the primitive first inhabitants of the islands, the Guanche, bathed themselves and their livestock in the sea on midsummer morning in the belief that the mystical powers of San Juan would grant them health and prosperity in the coming year. Of course, they didn’t have Queen anthems to accompany them so presumably theirs was a much less enjoyable affair.
The Fiesta of San Juan is our favourite local fiesta. Arriving late afternoon at the town’s main beach of Playa Jardín we chose our spot carefully. Backs to a palm tree was perfect, giving a natural barrier on one side and somewhere to hang a rubbish bag and wet swimwear.
Laying our beach mats in a ‘v’ shape from the base of the tree we then dug a hole in the sand between the mats, bolstered the edges with pebbles and decorated it with bougainvillea, geraniums and hibiscus cut from the garden, red candles and incense sticks. Then we cracked a cold can of beer and sat back to watch as the beach slowly began to fill.
Marking out their territory with stones gathered from the edge of the beach, groups of friends and extended families spread their towels, dug holes in the sand and filled them with flowers and candles. Pretty soon there was barely any sand to be seen and attempting to walk anywhere involved running a gauntlet of potential stubbed toes and twisted ankles.
When the sun began to set the food came out and everyone tucked into hampers and cool boxes stuffed with picnic goodies, cold beers, bottles of wine and rum. Fragrant smoke drifted across the beach from the stalls grilling sausages and savoury pork kebabs and as darkness fell, 20,000 people lit their candles transforming the beach into a fairyland of twinkling flames as far as the eye could see.
On the stage by the castle above the beach, traditional Canarian bands filled the night with song to accompany the party which was now in full swing all around us. A huge bonfire on the water’s edge was lit and on the hillside behind us we could see a multitude of other bonfires like beacons against the black sky.
And when midnight came fireworks split the night’s canvas and sent sparkling rainbows over the sea. That’s when the band changed, rock music raised the temperature on the party and people began to make their way to the sea to bathe in the midsummer water.
The next morning, bleary eyed and breakfast-less, Jack and I headed back into town, this time to the harbour where it was the turn of the livestock to celebrate their Fiesta of San Juan. Unfortunately, clearly not fuelled by grilled sausages and copious amounts of rum, the prospect of a midsummer dip was not on the top of the wish list of the couple of thousand goats who filled the small beach.
Their cries of dismay and indignation rang out across the harbour as one by one they were dragged, carried and generally cajoled into the sea, dipped and then released to run back up the beach like condemned prisoners who’ve made a miraculous last minute escape.
To the casual observer it looked like mayhem as individual herds scattered in panic whenever a goatherd approached to gather the next victim. ‘Just-dipped’ goats mingled with ‘not-yet-dipped’ ones and the goatherds’ dogs looked on with the same bemused expression as the hundreds of observers who lined the harbour wall to witness the spectacle.
Much cooler by far were the many beautiful horses who had been ridden down to the harbour, stripped of their saddles and then ridden bareback into the sea.
So that’s that; San Juan is over for another year and presumably me, Jack, a couple of thousand goats and several horses are now pretty much guaranteed good health and prosperity for the next twelve months.
I confess to having some doubts about the authenticity of all this stuff but one thing’s certain; it was definitely magic.
You can see more images of the fiesta by clicking here.
Andrea Montgomery – Author Going Native in Tenerife and Real Tenerife Island Drives . Photos by Jack Montgomery at http://www.flickr.com/photos/snapjacs/
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