John Searancke - Dog Days In The Fortunate Islands: A new life in hidden Tenerife

I peered out through the cabin window as the plane eased down below 20,000 feet, nearly four and a half hours almost due south from our starting point, ever rainy Manchester.

I could clearly see one of my favourite sights, one that I had yet to tire of seeing; that stunning volcano, El Teide. It formed an almost perfect cone, jutting out above a circle of clouds which looked just like pink candy floss in the evening light as the earth slowly tilted on its axis and the sun began to sink below the horizon. And topping the cone was the usual dusting of winter snow. Truly, it was a sight for sore eyes.

We were cruising at what seemed like a snails pace along the northern side of the island, the captain no doubt twiddling his knobs and dials, and talking with the control tower at the airport further along the coast. By craning my neck, I could just see down to my new home town. But all too soon, the jagged green contoured cliffs passed from view behind puffy balls of cloud.

In almost the blink of an eye we had passed by my hidden Tenerife, the countryside all lush and verdant, with the banana plantations seen from high above, formed up like serried ranks of green soldiers marching downwards from the high valleys towards the sea, descending, in strict battalion formation, from one terrace to the next. All too soon, my view altered again back to rock and crag, and then to a semi-desert landscape, with the occasional wizened and spindly cactus reaching for the sky, hoping to be the first to attract any drop of rain. Here was the best known region of Tenerife, favoured by the mass of package tourists who, for the most part, would only see the wall to wall hotels and beaches of the holiday resorts so beloved by the majority of the visitors to this island.

A bumpy landing in a light, feathery cross-wind prompted some of the passengers to offer up a slow hand-clap as if to suggest they could have done the job a great deal better. Bearing in mind how much the majority of them had enjoyed the bar facilities on board the flight, it was an unlikely thought.

Doors were cranked open and the first blast of hot air, heavily laden with the smell of dry earth, dust, aviation kerosene and all those complex and heady scents that are the essence of Spain blew in through the cabin. While people pushed and shoved to get down the steps, tempers frayed. I sniffed deeply and sat back in my seat, savouring the moment. I was home!

I was the advance guard for my family: Sally, my wife, and Freddie, our dog. Today was the culmination of months of military style planning to ensure that we would all arrive safely in our new home to start a new life, well off the beaten track in northern Tenerife.

Bienvenidos a Tenerife, la isla de la eterna primavera!

Welcome to Tenerife, the island of eternal spring!

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Our dear friend Peter was at Tenerifes Reina Sofia southern airport to meet me.

Laden down with two large suitcases and as much other stuff as I could secrete around my person without the authorities believing me to be the reincarnation of the original Michelin man, I must have looked a strange sight as I waddled out towards him, into the arrivals area.