As we stood in the car park of Jameos del Agua, trying to work out which of the small silver cars was ours, Commando said, “we could drive to Timanfaya while we have the car?”
Timanfaya National Park is where the Mountains del Fuego, or fire mountains erupted between 1730 and 1736, burying villages and turning the fertile lowlands into a sea of larva. It’s at the opposite end of the Island to Jameos del Agua, probably twenty or more miles away. In the normal course of things not a terribly long drive but on the wrong side of the road and the wrong side of the car in a strange country… “It’s a long drive,” I said.
“If we don’t do it today, when will we?” Commando countered.
“If you’re sure?” Continue reading