I walk round with my big camera taking photos of trees cacti and old buildings. At the furthest point from both Los Cristianos and Playa de Los Americas I find ‘Hobo Point’; an isolated spit of land invisible to the snacking masses at either end. Here, moored up against the wind with stones were people’s possessions and things to make fires. I felt a bit nervous walking here but no-one was about. Behind the makeshift homes was a grand house fenced thickly behind reeds and trees so that you couldn’t see in. I saw sand birds – turnstones or sandpipers or knots; almost invisible against the dark rocks. Jim was around the corner in a cafe with avocados. I had beer then we went to find out how you get a reed umbrella and sun beds. You just lie on them and soon a man comes to take €10 and give you a yellow ticket. Wonderful. Palm trees flapping in the breeze, the sky a deep deep blue, the dark grey brown of thatched umbrellas. We lie, chasing the shadow round the heated sand almost too hot to stand in. We stay for ages, relaxing with the sound of the waves and the wind and watching clouds go by. During a cloudy spell we go for lunch at our café at the end near Hobo Point. Later we stroll back via the funky cocktail bar where ice cocktails are consumed whilst looking out over the bright sea.