Over the years, much about Tenerife's Carnaval has changed; the traditional masks have virtually disappeared and costumes have become more elaborate, covering a wider spectrum of disguises and in some cases, not covering very much at all.

However, the election of Carnaval Queens still heralds the start of the festivities and the Opening Parade sees them, their Maids of Honour and entourages, being driven through the main streets of Puerto accompanied by the traditional ‘murgas’ in clown costume and assorted groups and individuals in fancy dress.

The ‘Burial of the Sardine’ used to denote the demise of Carnaval but nowadays marks the half way point on Ash Wednesday; hordes of weeping ‘widows’ follow a funeral cortège for a giant papier mâché sardine down to the harbour where the ‘corpse’ is set alight amidst an extravaganza of fireworks and a cacophony of banshee wailing.

The ‘Gran Cosa Apoteosis’ or closing parade of Carnaval used to involve the throwing of huevos tacos which were eggshell and cloth balls held together by paste and thrown onto the passing parade from windows and balconies. In 1906 they were banned on health and safety grounds as some people were apparently being over zealous in their use, to be replaced by the confetti and streamers that we see today; the expression “have somebody’s eye out” must surely have come into the discussions.

But Carnaval hasn’t just lost some of its old traditions; it’s also re-discovered some and invented entirely new ones.

El Mataculebra or ‘Killing the Snake’ is a recently revived tradition that initially came to Puerto de la Cruz from Cuba by returning emigrants at the end of the nineteenth century.

The allegorical act represents a sarcastic sideswipe at the oppression of slavery. A group of plantation workers and their foreman, the only fair skinned one in the group, try to kill the snake which symbolises evil and domination.

 Rapidly becoming the highlight of Puerto’s Carnaval and attracting over 10,000 spectators in 2005, registration for the High Heels Marathon takes place in Plaza del Charco where contestants have their heels measured for regulation minimum height by the event’s compère; a Lily Savage lookalike in bouffant wig, false eyelashes that cause a draft when she blinks and heels that would induce vertigo in a lesser mortal.

Outrageous and convoluted costumes are de riguer; amongst them a troupe of bathing beauties totter into the arena, shower rails and curtains threaded through a turban head towel with matching towel pinned around the torso and loofahs in hand. They’re followed by a dozen devils clad in fireman red synthetic leather hot pants, horns and capes and then by three crabs whose bright red pincers catch in everything. Contestants avail themselves of free beer from the side of the stage; not for these insouciant athletes the isotonic properties of a high energy drink, what’s needed here is the bolstering benefits of a beer or two to oil the heels, although, watching the bathing beauties negotiate their towel rails into the narrow doorway of the portaloos forty minutes later, shoes were clearly no longer the issue.

Obstacles are then placed at various intervals along the route; eight tyres laid together in two rows, a stepladder onto a platform, a seesaw and the first ‘sprinters’ appear, stumbling precariously up ladders, helped by teams of assistants on hand to ensure no-one actually breaks an ankle, or worse, a nail during the proceedings. After the first two or three pass, an endless wait as the main body of the race amble and perform to the crowds; obstacles are negotiated with pantomime difficulty and underwear and assorted ‘accessories’ are brandished and flaunted.

When all the contestants have finally made it back to the Plaza, prizes are awarded in a multitude of categories, each winner ascending the stage to the booming strains of It’s Raining Men and the whole affair melts imperceptibly into another night of partying til dawn, and not a pancake in sight.