Our First Dinner in a Local Restaurant in Tenerife

After a few days in our small village, we decided it was finally time to try the local restaurant and pub. Practicing our Spanish, sampling the culture, and most importantly: people-watching. Donde Jona has nearly a five-star rating on Google, so we expected a lot, and we weren’t disappointed!

After walking the five minutes from our flat on Friday afternoon around five, we were already thirsty and tired from the hills. Luckily upon arrival we both already knew very well that one sentence that most of the world can say in Spanish: “Una cerveza, por favor!” One euro, but then again it’s only 25 centiliters. A decent light beer. The bar itself had a few locals seated along it, slowly nursing their beer in the late-afternoon 25-degree heat.

Tenerife menus are often priceless

One thing we’ve learned about Tenerife: unless you’re at a tourist trap by the sea, you’ll have a hard time finding prices, or even a menu. The locals just…know. We found a menu via a QR code on a table, but it was slow to load, we didn’t understand most of the menu items, and there were very few images to help us decide. The bartender, who was now our waiter, did exactly that—waited, while we fumbled through the menu, being tourists in every sense of the word. But now we…know.

By the time I’d given up trying to understand the menu and simply ordered a “Jona Grande”, whatever that might be, my beer was also empty. 25 centiliters is two swallows for someone who’s lived in Estonia for so long. I asked if they had a larger lager, and our waiter brought it to me almost immediately. Two euros, but it was only 40 centiliters, despite being described as a pint. Katrin ordered an arepa, on a whim.

Spanish bar music creates the perfect mood

The music playing in the bar was a style I’d heard frequently on the radio, in beachfront cafés, and elsewhere. While there is surely a term for it, I don’t know it yet, and I can only describe it as “proto-Mexican”. This means a lively rhythm, colorful melody, and that uniquely Spanish style that makes you want to move. To Spain. Fun party music! Katrin says it’s known as “Latin music”, but I know that style, and this is not it. It’s as if this music is what “Latin music” is based on, but we’re listening to the original, better-quality version.

It was at this moment when a group of teachers from the school across the street walked in. Only women, of all ages, and all talking loudly. They weren’t loud for Spanish people, or any nationality really, but they were loud for us, who are used to the near silence of Estonians when in public. The ten of them, along with the music, and the nearby crying baby, truly hit home with me that I was in a Southern European culture, despite being just off the coast of Western Sahara. See, when an Estonian baby cries, they’re born with the instinct to whisper that cry when they’re in public.

We watched the teachers standing by the bar, and we never saw them order anything. It’s too hot in the sun during the day to go outside and do anything, and I’d often wondered what the locals did for social contact. In the evening, during the few minutes before sunset, you can see what appears to be the entire village seated throughout the numerous small parks and shaded areas, catching up on the day’s eventless events. But teachers are a special class: after a hot day surrounded by children, they deserve all the time they want in a bar, even if they don’t order anything.

I look forward to the day when my Spanish is good enough so I can eavesdrop on these teachers. This is what I expect to hear:

“I think that white guy is listening to us.”

—Yes, and he seems to understand us now as well.

“Maybe, but he’ll never figure out the menu!”

And then they all laugh together, and the baby cries in support.

Arepas: an international food

Katrin’s arepa was served, apparently pulled beef in a homemade bun made of some sort of cornbread. While it was from the Venezuelan section of the menu (yes, the menu had a very lengthy selection of foods, and from various cultures, too!), it undoubtedly had a local flair to it. This arepa was, in all honesty, succulent. Not big enough for dinner, but not very expensive either, so we ordered more, after I’d devoured half of her dinner.

While we were waiting for the next arepas to arrive, I asked Katrin, “What exactly is an arepa, anyhow?” I shouldn’t have included “exactly” in my question. She replied, “The arepa is not a typical Spanish dish. It’s a type of flatbread made of ground corn dough stuffed with a filling, eaten in northern parts of South America since pre-Columbian times, and notable primarily in the cuisine of Colombia and Venezuela, but also present in Bolivia, Ecuador, and Central America. Arepas can be served with accompaniments, such as cheese, various types of meat, or avocado.”

She doesn’t actually talk like that. She’s sitting next to me laughing as I’m writing this.

My Jona Grande was also served. A plate of standard fries, but topped with a gigantic burger smothered in an orange, cheesy liquid. The stake in the burger I assumed was for my heart, if the burger didn’t do the trick. While Katrin’s arepa was fabulous, I was sorely unimpressed with my Jona Grande. Interestingly, it had an egg inside, but I’m not sure what sort of meat the patty was made of (it was sort of reddish, and processed), and the orange, cheesy liquid had absolutely no flavor, only moisture. But it was my own impatience and linguistic ignorance that led me to order that, and now I…know.'

Learning Spanish is useful

While we munched on our arepas, I couldn’t help but notice how thoughtful Katrin looked.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Just thinking,” she slowly began, “I’m so glad we came here.”

“Yeah me too, I like Tenerife,” I replied.

“Ha, no I meant this place, Donde Jona.”

“Where is he anyhow?” I asked.

“Who?”

“Jona.”

“Shut up,” Katrin flatly told me with a grin. “What I mean is that whenever we travel somewhere, it’s just so hard to get out of the touristy places. Even if we find out where locals go, I feel kind of scared to go in, or even unwelcome, even if there’s no reason to feel like that.”

“I can understand that,” I nodded. “Especially if you don’t speak the local language.”

Katrin’s eyebrows went up in excitement as she swallowed another bite. “Uh-huh! Exactly! So because we call our current flat home, we have to call this local bar our home bar as well. We sort of have the obligation to try and go through that door, and fit in here.”

I couldn’t resist adding, “That’s a pretty narrow door, and you have the balls to tell an American to try and fit through it?”

“I’m ignoring you,” Katrin retorted. “But seriously, when we first walked in, that was also the first time I’d really felt accepted here.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?” I asked.

“Because I spoke Spanish. Or at least tried. The waitress I talked to not only understood me, but I understood her question!”

“That’s great, of course,” I encouraged her.

“You were washing your hands, but when your burger was served, I jokingly said, ‘Muy grande!’ And then when she handed me my smallish arepa, I laughed and added, ‘Muy pequeño’, just like Duolingo had taught me.”

I asked, “How did she react?”

“Well, I thought she might take it as criticism, but she didn’t. She laughed when I told her in Spanish that I was hoping for something a little bigger, and I somehow…felt as if I had made my first local friend.”

We were almost finished with our arepas when Katrin said, “I should probably take one home to my son as well.”

She waved down the waitress and said without hesitation, “Una arepa para llevar, una cerveza pequeña, y la cuenta por favor.” The waitress winked and walked to the kitchen.

“What was that speech you just gave? I couldn’t understand half of it!” I asked in disbelief.

“Oh,” Katrin shrugged in that annoyingly humble way that only Estonians know how to. “Just that I’d like another arepa to go, another beer, and the bill.”

“Well, you’ve certainly earned your place among the locals,” I said with a sense of awe.

Katrin smiled and said thoughtfully, “Yeah, I guess I have.”

Tenerife village life

Just after sunset we walked by the school, which is on the side of the mountain, and heard a crowd of people in the school’s stadium area. When we got to the side where the entrance is, we could see that there was a softball game! On a mountainside! The teams had official uniforms, and there was also a crowd of people. We entered to watch the game, but couldn’t hear the crack! of the bat for three reasons: the music was loud, the teachers in the crowd were talking a lot, and the batters kept missing the ball. This was not a sports event, but a social event, perhaps the event of the week, and the locals had a lot to talk about! As you can see in the video, the pitch was too high for the batter to hit, and no one was watching the game.

Contented with our dinner at Donde Jona and having enjoyed a game of softball, we left to sit on the terrace atop the building we currently call home, and enjoy the cooler, night air.