Blogs and Other Things

Tuesday, February 11, 2025 –

Welcome back.

I’ll jump right into this one now that I’ve got the formalities out of the way.

This past weekend, I went to Gran Canaria, an island in the Canaries, which I learned (after booking the flight) is actually right off the coast of Africa, and not in Spain’s Balearic Islands like I’d assumed.

So I basically went to Africa.

If Africans spoke Spanish.

I flew down on the Thursday night to maximize my time there, which basically gave me three full days to survive on a diet of apples and protein bars. Luckily though, there were some great gluten-free options in Las Palmas (which you’ll see soon), so that made my life easy.

But first, here are 2 things that convinced me the trip was going to rule:

1) As I walked through Plaça Catalunya to catch my bus to the airport, there were about a million pigeons in the square, and while that may be an exaggeration, I’ll let you be the judge.

So that ruled.

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2) Then, at the airport, I ate McDonalds with a gluten-free bun for the first time in my life.

If we’re being honest, this is the real reason I came.

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Friday

Fast forward to Friday morning: I woke up in my Airbnb, ate a protein bar, and started walking. I didn’t really have a destination in mind; frankly, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I didn’t research the island much before going (or at all), but that weekend, it was supposed to rain in Barcelona for the first time in 78 years, so I didn’t plan on sticking around.

Yes, I’m kidding.

But you’d be surprised.

About a 2 minute walk from my place was Playa de Las Canteras, a beach that stretched along the city’s coastline giving me the perfect opportunity to assess which mountains to climb (and more importantly, which not to).

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I say mountains, but it was really just one.

I took these when I was halfway up:

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Then I quickly stopped to go to the washroom.

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And when I reached the top, I could see it all.

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At this point, my body was telling me two things: 1) I should really get off the couch more (don’t ask where I am right now), and 2) I went at the perfect time of year. I can’t imagine how anyone would do this hike in the summer; it was only 20 degrees when I did it, but it felt like 35 by the time I reached the summit.

Or at least, what I thought was the summit.

As my mind wandered through its simultaneous self-deprecation and appreciation, I saw a village in the distance, positioned higher than where I was standing; clearly, what I had initially thought was the peak was merely a stepping stone.

So I ate a protein bar.

When I reached the village, it was more modern-looking than I expected, and it also felt like a ghost town; curtains were drawn and cars were parked with not a person in sight.

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But as I climbed the town’s main street, I started to hear chickens, and while I could never actually see them as they were hiding behind a bushy fence, their presence was all I needed. With newfound strength from my primal ancestors, I made my way to the top and reached the actual summit.

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And then I went back down.

Which was much less exciting.

Until I got food.

Shoutout RESTAURANTE 18 Grados sin gluten, which (you guessed it!) made some incredible gluten-free food.

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If you’re ever in the (Can)area and also experience the daily struggle of a privileged Celiac, I highly recommend.

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You may also notice I took a bite out of both entrées before thinking to take a photo, which will be a recurring theme throughout the trip (I forgot literally every time).

Contrary to popular belief, I did not do this intentionally; let’s just say it adds a personal touch.

I spent the rest of the day walking off the meal I’d just devoured (and admiring the views) before collapsing into bed and watching football until my brain shut off.

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Saturday

The next day, I took it a bit slower in the morning, eating a pair of protein bars before heading out, which lasted me about 10 minutes (as exemplified below).

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Shoutout to the waitress from Berto’s Restaurante Pizzeria for not laughing at me as I struggled mightily in my attempt to say “reservation” in Spanish.

(The pizza was also phenomenal)

I proceeded to then walk off another meal as I made my way to Estadio de Gran Canaria to watch Canadian footballer Tajon Buchanan in his Villarreal – and La Liga – debut. He wasn’t in the starting lineup as he had just recently been signed by the club, but he subbed on in the second half and made a few key defensive tackles in his limited minutes. Regardless of how his career in La Liga pans out, I know I’ll look back on this moment fondly with Canadian pride.

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Villarreal won 2-1, for anyone wondering.

Also, a fun tidbit: at around the 20 minute mark, the game completely stopped and everyone in the stands got up and started clapping as the photo of a Las Palmas player appeared on the big screen.

I still don’t know the reason, but apparently everyone else did, which made me feel the way other races probably do when white people start clapping on planes.

Okay, maybe it’s not the same.

Anyway.

A friend of mine likes details, so I figured I’d leave this one in. Anyone who knows me knows I have an emotional support water bottle that I take with me everywhere I go (until it inevitably leaks and I buy a new one of the exact same model).

So, when I got to the stadium, I emptied it (don’t ask me why I equated football stadium security to airport security), and walked up to the gates to go inside.

But I got stopped.

The guy checking my bag spoke zero English which boded really well for me, so when he pointed at my water bottle, I told him it was empty (ignorantly assuming that that was the issue).

But that wasn’t it.

He then took it out and showed it to me, to which I again said it was empty, opening the cap and showing him (again ignorantly thinking that would make a difference).

Thankfully, someone behind me had watched this all unfold, and (after probably laughing to themselves) told me the bottle was too big.

Right.

That makes more sense.

So, I was left at a crossroads.

I was an hour away from my place. I couldn’t go into the stadium with the bottle, but I would also be incredibly rattled if I had to throw it out.

So I did what any sane person would do: walked far enough away that no security guard would see, and stuck it down my pants.

Well, not all the way down.

Just enough that it would still be covered by my sweater.

And it worked.

They didn’t pat me down, and it was smooth sailing from there.

While it’s probably not a great look for the general security of the building, we don’t need to worry about that.

Instead, let’s appreciate how those with vices have an incredible ability to problem-solve.

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I should also mention that on my walk over, I stopped at Parque Juan Pablo II just down the road from the stadium, which was one of the most surreal experiences from the trip.

Hopefully these can give you a glimpse of where it took me.

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Yes, that’s a climbing wall.

Anyway.

Once the game ended, I got out of the stadium around 7:38pm. I checked Google Maps, which told me that it would be a 57 minute walk back to my Airbnb.

But Real Madrid and Atlético de Madrid were playing at 8.

For what it’s worth, I hate both teams, but unfortunately, they’re both really good.

So I ran home.

At 8:03 (I’ll let you do the math), I took off all my clothes (sorry), grabbed my laptop, and fell into bed. I’m no Joel Klassen, but I gave it my all.

And then I slept.

(After the game, obviously)

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Sunday

I don’t have much to discuss from Sunday other than shouting out the third and final restaurant of Eric’s Gluten-Free Tour of Las Palmas (come back soon!).

This one goes to Guirlache Guanarteme (don’t ask me how to pronounce that) who make great gluten-free cakes, pastries, and other things that probably give you cancer (it was heaven).

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After that, I headed home.

Well, not home.

Not yet.

When my flight landed, I (accidentally) spent 90 dollars on a taxi to make it back in time for the Barcelona game.

It might be an addiction.

But it’s one I’m willing to accept.

See you next week.