There is nothing wrong with dreaming. Without dreaming, there is no ambition. Without ambition nothing happens. If nothing happens, there is no history. His story and her story becomes history. Our history. By studying history, we hope to avoid situations that have happened before, as in, we learn from our mistakes. We all know that this doesn’t always happen though.
I spent a little winter break in Tenerife recently. I got a itch for a bike ride and so I rented a Kawasaki Vulcan from my buddies in White Arrow, and rode a two day tour of this magnificent, Canary island.
A few years ago, I had glimpsed what I took to be an abandoned village in Abades on the island. I was with my buddy Shashi and, unfortunately, the true nature of this abandoned village was lost on me.
This was, in fact, an abandoned leper colony. This had been built in 1943. The village was built on the orders of General Franco and had a hospital, crematorium, schools, hosptal wards, bungalows and a large concrete church. The colony was eventually abandoned as leprosy lessened in strength with modern medicine, and was not as contagious as previously. The area was used for army manoeuvres in the seventies, but is now a place where are graffiti artists flock to, for visitors to admire their work they leave behind.
The place looks like a prison. Some horrible reminder of what monstrosities we can create to hide what we don’t want to see.
I very nearly didn’t get to see it. I was tired after riding and didn’t really fancy dragging my creaking pins up the hill. But I was convinced to do so by another Vulcan rider at a cafe by the beach.
My new friend had moved to Tenerife from Hungary a few years ago, for the better weather. She was a fantastic ally, a lovely person and I am so glad that she persuaded me to walk to the village. Some describe it as an eyesore. I think it is a vital part of the story, the history of this fantastic island.
The rest of my tavelling was up North, South and the banana plantations. I saw imported sand and learned that Rosario Miranda was really a farmer called Domingo Regaldo who was deeply connected to his surroundings but also experienced moments of fame beyond the Canary Islands as a drag peformer. He offered wise counsel and was generally respected, despite the challenging relationships he has faced since childhood with a society that largely refused to accept his sexual identity.
His story forms part of the history of the island.
I have to admit that I didn’t do that well in history at school. In fact I failed my GCSE. But now I am fairly obsessive about it.
Every day is a school day.
