A lesson in the art of campervanning
The sky is turning the shade of octopus ink by the time Vicente finishes running us through the idiosyncrasies of his army-green VW campervan. It is a T3 model - in other words old - and it will be our home for the next four days. Before we venture out into the Puerto del Rosario night, Vicente directs our gaze to the wall where a large white map of the island is pinned, strips of purple post-it notes stuck on various points to indicate desirable parking spots. I take three pictures of the map on my phone and we climb into the van. Jorge is driving; I am too nervous to go first and besides, he is more accustomed to driving on the right-hand side of the road. It is a bumpy first ride (the darkness doesn't help) and we’re too flustered to venture far. We’re also hungry, the energy from our airport sandwiches dwindling. We park up on an empty road and venture into the city to find food. We’re not fussed about fine dining - the thought of securing a suitable place to park for the nigh...