One of the reasons for selecting Callor Millor  was that it is fairly close to the Dragon Caves (Cuaveas Drac) with it’s underground lake. It got quite a right up in the travel guides and despite my inbuilt skepticism kicking in I thought it ought to be worth a look while we were here.  The local tour rep tried to flog us a €30 trip including a ride up some hills that I could live without and as we had already been told by the chap at the Sunset bar we could get a local bus for around €3 it was little contest.

So after breakfast we found ourselves at the bus stop waiting in some confusion for the appropriate bus to arrive. Rather optimistically we hoped it would be labeled up Cuaveas  Drac as it was almost impossible to select the correct bus from the Spanish timetable, especially as they appeared to be running at least ten minutes late. After two buses had been and gone without the slightest hint of the destination we wanted, I decided I would have to bight the bullet and ask the driver of the next bus. Not such a daunting task as we had once seen a cabaret act in La Cuaveas bar on Tenerife, so I had a pretty good idea on pronunciation and could handle ‘por favor’ well enough to throw  an inflection of questioning into the short sentence.

Two buses later we were on board and I have to say they were pretty comfortable by public transport standards. The bus driver made out he didn’t understand English but, I would guess being on this route he would have heard enough bad Spanish to at least tell people where the caves were. He did however kick up enough of a fuss when half the Brits got off at the wrong stop because they saw a sign pointing to the caves. Give him full marks for waiting for them to get back on again too.  It was only a short five minutes further along the route but, it was up quite a steep hill and the bus actually stopped right outside the entrance.

We were there early enough to miss the tourist coaches and we got allocated a tour with only a twenty minute wait, which wasn’t very long as it was about a ten minute walk to the entrance although the exit was only a few yards away from the ticket office.  The main attractions were the mass formations of stalagmites and stalactites and of course, the lake. The highlight was to have been a trip on the lake and a show of classical music played on the lake.  I have to say the limestone displays were impressive    and it was an easy walk round on the concreted paths. You were not supposed to take any photos and there were ‘camera guards’ every few yards trying to deter people from using the flashes but, it was an unequal task and most people were ignorant enough to take the pictures right in front of them.  I have to say that I could not see how a bit of flash photography was going to cause any more light pollution than the flood lights used to light the cavern or indeed the sound pollution from the quartet in the boat.

It was about an hours steady walk round down to the lakes and then we had a ten minute wait for the show to start. There was a further delay of about ten minutes while they gave a brief history of the caves and explained about the string quartet that would be playing on the lake in five different languages.  Once the show started it was impressive enough, with the lights being orchestrated to match the progress of the string quartet on a small gondola.  I have know idea what the classical music was but, it was on the dull side for my taste even though it was, as far as I can tell, well performed. we had about twenty minutes of music and lights and then we were given the chance of riding in a gondola if we waited in the biggest queue I have  ever seen outside a disaster movie.  We were intending to have a go on the lake but, it soon became apparent that this side of the tour was a bit of a con. They only had six gondolas and we could see they were only going about 20 yards along the edge of the lake and I had thought they might have gone round the back of the centre supports but, this was not to be. Even Annette couldn’t be bothered to wait that long for five minutes in a boat and so we continued round on the path and off to the exit.

As the place the bus had stopped was on the sea front again and a dock, Annette decided it would be good to have a look round before we went back to the hotel. As far as I could see we had about twenty minutes to wait for the bus so it seemed like a plan and we had a slow stroll down to the town for a cold beer.  I cannot remember the name of the town but, it was once again quiet enough and pleasant enough with it’s own cycle path and touristy shops. Bit of adventure on the bus back to the hotel as this bus was more in par with the WMPTE class and as the driver hurtled over a pot hole the air conditioning cover in front of Annette fell out of the roof just missing her head.

Back at the hotel Annette switched on the overhead fan and went to get some wine from the bidet (I had filled it with cold water as there was no fridge) and as she stood up one of the blades fell off the fan and landed on the bed where she had been sitting.  The rest of the fan was vibrating like mad and I was laughing so much I could hardly turn it off. Annette was not so amused. On the way back down to the poolside, I dropped the fan blade off at reception and was surprised to find they repaired it the next day. As it was roughly 35 degrees again and the pool felt like it had been filled with ice. However, as previously stated, this meant there was plenty of room for swimming without interruptions.  Then it was simply a matter of lounging in the sun, drinking a cold beer that was rapidly warming and reading.

The evening entertainment was billed as flamingo dancing and we thought that would be worth a punt so we hung around the hotel but, what a let down. Compared to the ‘Highland fling’ show at Dingwall it was poor second and decidedly amateurish although the hotel owner and his wife definitely loved it, in fact we got the impression it was more for their benefit than the guests that the show was put on. Not one dance came anything like the foot stamping castanet banging dances we had come to expect, yet we were informed that the dancers were champions on the island. I guess it is a small island 😉

Bored by the dances we ended up back at the Sunset bar and there was a drunken Brit sitting on his suitcase waiting for his morning flight. The bar owner explained that the local police arrest all vagrants and he would then certainly miss his flight. He told the chap where there was a hostel he could crash in for the night and last we saw of him he was staggering along the front dragging and often, falling over his suitcase. we left not long after and called it a night. It was turning out to be a pretty relaxing last four days.