The sand takes me by surprise. It seems a strange thing to say, but my first reaction on stepping onto Playa del Duque, one of the most upmarket beaches on Tenerife, is one of confused surprise. The pale golden sand doesn’t feel like…well sand.

This is a new one on me. Tenerife’s black volcanic sands can burn like a branding iron and some man-made beaches such as Playa de las Teresitas feel like being at the centre of a Saharan sand storm at the first suggestion of a breeze, but they are usually soft on the soles. With every step, Del Duque’s harsh pale grains nip at my feet with the ferocity of miniscule terriers.

After being mugged by the sand, the next objective is to find a spot to lay out my beach mat. In front of me is a wall of straw umbrellas and beyond that, hugging the shoreline, is another wall of rainbow coloured parasols. It’s a sizzling hot Saturday morning in August and Spanish mainlanders are on the beach en masse occupying their favourite playa position right beside the water’s edge. They seem to instinctively know the surf’s limitations, their towels inches from where the waves teasingly lap the sand.

As a sufferer of beach claustrophobia, I stretch out on the empty expanse just behind the sunloungers and soak up the surroundings.

Lying at the western end of Costa Adeje, Playa del Duque is separated from the rest of the resort by a large rock formation jutting far out into the sea which acts as a natural curtain lending the beach an air of detached exclusivity. The Gran Hotel Bahía del Duque dominates the backdrop to the beach. Its palatial main buildings and mock Canarian beach-side architecture makes the area feel like one giant film set. Del Duque’s  St Tropez style beach huts and a white restaurant on stilts, straight out of the Caribbean add to the Hollywood feel of the place. With its movie star looks, golden sand and powder blue seas, it’s a beautiful looking beach for sure.

The feeling of being on a film set is enhanced by the fascinating beach opera being performed all around me – a beach opera starring Del Duque’s colourful hawkers. The score is provided by fruit vendors carrying baskets filled with melons, pineapples and coconuts who sing ‘Tooty fruiteee, veetameen, cocos-nuts’ as they parade between the bronzed audience.

The dancing comes courtesy of a couple of svelte, sarong sellers demonstrating their wares by weaving amongst the sun beds, swirling and twirling bright sarongs with the grace and sensuality of harem dancers. Finally, preparing the extras for the shoot, are the South East Asian masseurs; gently kneading sunbathers’ muscles that are, let’s face already pretty damned relaxed.

Then the villains of the piece appear in the form of a police car at the back of the beach; the singers fall quiet and the dancers, with practiced perfection, drop their sarongs to reveal bikinis. As the sarongs fall to the ground covering the rest of their stock the two girls follow suit, lying atop the bright cloths like any other sunbather…and Act 1 of ‘Scene at Playa del Duque’ comes to a close.

After broiling nicely for an hour and a half in 30C+ temperatures, my flesh feels cooked enough to slide easily onto a kebab skewer. Common sense dictates a change of scene. I make my way across the harsh sand to the cool shade and even cooler décor of the stylish beachfront bars at the rear of the playa, order a frosty beer and settle back to see what Act 2 brings.

I spread my towel midway between waves which resemble stampeding white horses and the pale blue shack of a beach bar nestling below the cliffs. There’s another cave bar at the back of the beach, but I haven’t figured out yet whether it’s open to everyone and the mean looking hound standing over the entrance to the cave deters me from wandering over to find out.

Bollullo’s waves are usually tsunami-sized and although great fun to battle with I need some R&R time before I try anything remotely resembling energetic. Getting to Playa Bollullo involves either negotiating a single track road, or walking in the heat through the banana plantations for about thirty minutes from La Paz in Puerto de la Cruz – which is the way I’ve come. The beach lies sheltered, almost completely hidden from view from north Tenerife’s main tourist resort a few kilometres away, in a large horseshoe shaped cove in the cliffs. A twisting path links the Bollullo Restaurant on the cliff top with the black beauty of a beach below and halfway down is a curio of a cave filled with hundreds of effigies tied with twine and placed in crevasses in the rock for good luck. They lend the cave a magical, slightly spooky air.

Bollullo’s ‘off the beaten track’ location and limited access keeps it out of bounds to the masses. It’s too far for any tourist who doesn’t like to have to trek any distance to a beach, so most of the people around me are groups of young Canarios. They sit cross legged in circles chattering excitedly, usually all at the same time, or frolic in the surf with a confidence found in those who grow up beside the sea.

A large rock which looks as though it has simply melted into the sea breaks up the shoreline. As wild waves crash around it, a guy in his sixties squeezes onto a narrow ledge. A Bollullo special batters the rock, knocking him from his perch. You’d think he’d take the hint and sound a retreat, but instead he tries to sit on the ledge again proving the old adage ‘there’s no fool like an old fool’. Another wave sweeps him from his stone seat; this time his head narrowly misses a rocky outcrop and he finally gets the message.

I become aware of a presence to my left. A bleached blond lifeguard who looks as though he should be patrolling Bondi beach is doing sit-ups on the sand without even using his arms behind his head as leverage. He has a stomach which my mother could have done her washing on. I feel like a beached albino whale beside him, so I grab my clothes and amble up to the beach bar, order a beer and some octopus salad and plonk myself down at a table overlooking the beach. Fearless lizards scuttle around my feet whilst a caged canary provides a sing-song backdrop to this black paradise.

Nobody rushes here except the waves; it’s one of Tenerife’s most chilled out beaches and is all the better for its lack of manicured appearance and slightly wild feel. I take a refreshing sip of beer and consider exploring the path above the beach to the other two natural coves in the area. Or maybe that should be ‘au natural’ coves as etiquette demands that I should remove all clothes before joining the other beach bums. On second thoughts, maybe I’ll stick at Bollullo with my beer – for everyone’s sake.

Is Playa Las Teresitas Tenerife’s Perfect Beach?

Exotic. That’s the word that springs to mind as I put a frosty bottle of Dorada to my lips and survey the surroundings. In 30 plus degrees heat the cerveza is the only cool thing in the vicinity… excluding the three beautiful strangers with sickeningly good beach fashion sense lying next to me.

The palm trees lining the back of Las Teresitas waft in the light breeze making a sound which sounds like a sigh. I take a sip of my beer and involuntary make a similar noise. In front, soft golden sand spreads in a perfect crescent, merging with water tinted a vibrant aquamarine. If this was a photograph, I’d swear someone had worked some Photoshop magic on it.

A lumbering tanker shimmering on the horizon adds to the sensation of being on foreign shores in a far flung land. To complete the assault on the senses, the aroma of grilled sardines and calamari from the beach bar joins in with the mugging. I’m pretty sure the beautiful strangers can hear my stomach rumble in response. It’s a totally tropical setting apart from one thing… Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’ and other assorted 1980s hits belt out from the bar.

I finish my beer and plod to the water’s edge where tiny tropical fish dart amongst the feet of fellow paddlers. A man-made breakwater calms the lagoon and people float lazily in the warm, still waters while tiny fishing boats bob gently in the seductively sparkling sea.

The whitewashed fishermen’s cottages of San Andrés cling to the steep hillside on one side of Playa de Las Teresitas while the soaring Anaga Mountains add a heady dose of drama to the pretty backdrop.

Although most people indulge in traditional beach activities others are treating it as an open-air gym. Despite the heat, some masochistic souls jog along the water’s edge while others perform sweat-inducing callisthenics on the sand. Halfway along the beach a topless girl is doing ‘sit ups’. It’s a sight bordering on the bizarre.

Just when I’m convinced that Las Teresitas is the perfect beach, a gust of wind rushes across the sand creating a mini sandstorm. In seconds the hereto friendly grains have turned nasty, sandblasting exposed flesh. I’ve just discovered paradise’s one little flaw.

I head back up to the beach bar trying to rub rogue grains of sand from my eyes. A-Ha are singing ‘The Sun Always Shines on TV’. Maybe it does; however if you swapped ‘Playa de Las Teresitas’ for ‘TV’, that wouldn’t be far off the mark either.

Playa de Las Teresitas lies 8 kilometres outside Santa Cruz. The 910 bus service runs every 5 to 10 minutes from Santa Cruz to the beach. Las Teresitas has sun loungers, changing cubicles, toilets and plenty of parking spaces.