The back is filled with entries for hotels, including this one. Below a hand-drawn sketch of the hotel’s terrace, it tells me that it is “installed with electric light”, is “surrounded by its own beautiful palm groves” and is “near the English church”.

The hotel was the grandest of many hotels and guesthouses built in the capital city of Gran Canaria around the turn of the 20^th century to accommodate the ever-increasing numbers of tourists lured here by the supposed healing waters, temperate climate, and the relatively cheap ticket prices (if you were wealthy). Back in 1900, more than 450 Brits were registered as living in the city, in no small part due to the capital’s port being the last fuelling point for steam ships travelling to the Americas.

Puerto de la Luz was built by the British company Swanston, who won the contract, and subsequently, Las Palmas de Gran Canaria became something of a go-to destination, a place to see and be seen, long before the tourist waves started to arrive on the island’s southern costas in the 1960s.

“O knight, thou lackest a cup of Canary,” says Sir Toby Belch in Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night. That’s because before Brits were quaffing port or Madeira, they were sipping Canary sack – wine produced from Malvasía (Malmsey) grapes on the islands. It’s said that the Bard even had a barrel of the stuff written into all his work contracts.

It had a major decline over the next 400 years, but thankfully Canarian wine is back in a big way with producers regrowing native varieties, which were never plagued by the phylloxera blight that wiped out almost all of Europe’s vines in the late 19th Century. There’s now a self-guided wine route, Ruta del Vino de Gran Canaria, that allows you to visit wineries, vineyards, bars and restaurants that champion local wines.

In the bright morning sunshine, I wander to the aforementioned English church, standing a few streets away. Built in 1891, the Holy Trinity Church of Las Palmas still conducts services in English every Sunday. On the way, I pass the British Club, a sort of cultural association and members’ club founded in 1908 that has welcomed many dignitaries including the then Duke and Duchess of York, later King George VI and Queen Elizabeth.

The handsome building painted in deep red was once on the front line of the bracing Atlantic Ocean but now sits back from the water, after land was reclaimed from the sea for a main road and pedestrian promenade that runs the length of the city.

A plaque outside tells me that this was where Agatha Christie stayed when visiting the island and where she took inspiration for The Companion.

I continue down Calle León y Castillo, the main artery of the city that connects the port and old town and I end up in the grand streets of Triana. Halfway down the main shopping thoroughfare, I cross a section of old railway tracks, a remnant of La Pepa, a tram that once ferried passengers from this high-end neighbourhood to the port, and I get visions of Panama-hatted men and parasol-shaded women enjoying the warm weather.

Fashions might have changed but there are still plenty of tourists excitedly hopping in and out of the chic shops, and dining on late breakfasts at the many cafes that line the side streets. I can’t help but join the locals eating wedges of tortilla de papas (Spanish omelette) and supping café con leche y leche (café with milk and a drop of condensed milk) at Cafeteria Midway.

The Guiniguada riverbed is a main road these days, but it’s from here that the city took its name, as when the Spanish arrived to colonise the island, this area was full of lush palm groves.

I veer off to the left towards an orange-pink building. It’s the municipal market that was opened in 1858 and has provided the capital’s residents with fresh fruit, vegetables, fish, meat and provisions ever since. Due to the island’s climate and soils, all sorts of produce is grown here, from avocados to papayas, and the sweet scent of tropical fruit is intoxicating as I wander the aisles.