Spain, through the back door

Before returning home to Begur this week, I took a trip that I’d always dreamed of – to the Canary Islands. It was both more and less than I had imagined. I really had few preconceived notions of the islands. I just thought they sounded exotic and unique. They definitely lived up to that. I have not been to Africa, except to the northern part of Morocco many years ago, so I cannot make many meaningful comparisons, but the four islands I visited (Gran Canaria, Fuerteventura, Lanzarote, and Tenerife) seemed very much like I would envision Africa to be. The words “barren” and “stark” seem invented to describe the terrain. The acres of lava that cover these islands precludes much growth of vegetation. The lunar-like landscapes are stunning, especially in contrast to the acres of golden sand dunes and the vast expanse of the turquoise-blue sea of the Atlantic that is always within close range.

The beauty of the landscape lived up to my expectations. Yet it seemed strange that these islands, so far from mainland Spain, are still a part of that culture, and yet not. The language is the same and many of the customs, but there are differences which are beyond the scope of this post and also beyond my understanding from such a short visit. Some of the foods were different from food on the mainland and some of the words, just as regional dialects exist in all countries. I tried the native wrinkled potatoes with mojo, but I passed up some of the local goat cheese offerings, because I really can’t do goat cheese.

The tourism trade here reminded me again of how lucky I am to have chosen the northern Costa Brava. Elsewhere in Spain – in Mallorca, in the southern part of the Costa Brava, or on the coasts near, between, and beyond Valencia and Alicante, and on the Costa del Sol especially, there are literally hordes of tourists, overwhelmingly Brits, who invade ginormous hotels for weeks at a time. Most do not speak Spanish or try to, and they book at all-inclusive resorts where they can have ·English style breakfast, eat fish and chips and have the comforts of home.

Though it makes me feel like a snob, I admit to in this instance. These tourist destinations are sort of horrific. The food is not good. It’s not local and probably not even acceptable as English fare. So, I’m happy to have had the experience, and now I’m glad to be back to appreciate my chosen plot of paradise.

Each year, as I get older and I acquire more things, it takes me longer and longer to settle back into my apartment – organizing and putting things away. My landlady surprised me by making some small upgrades, so I can’t complain: an electric awning and new lounge chairs on the terrace, a ceiling fan in the living room, a new showerhead (yeah!!) and best of all, screens on my bedroom windows. In the summer and really year round, I like to sleep with the windows open to hear the sounds of the wind and the waves, but waking up scratching because of mosquito bites is a drag!

So I’m very happy, and I’ll always have the sunrise…