An Ocean of Possibilities
Story by María García- Juanes📍Utrecht
The wind is as powerful as the motorbike rental salesman had warned it would be. It makes my scooter sway to the left side of the road. Cars occasionally appear in the horizon line coming from the opposite direction and it’s hard to correct the course. I sensed some hesitation from the staff about renting me the scooter when I told them that it would only be my third time riding one. But when I explained that my previous experiences had been in Southeast Asia, the owner, who had been in Thailand before, said I would be fine here. ‘You just need to be extra careful on the rocky path to Papagayo beach, and with the strong winds on your way to the north’, he informed.
It’s a clear morning and I’m heading to Caleta de Famara from my apartment in Playa Blanca, in the south of Lanzarote. My heart leaps every time I feel like I’m losing control of the 100kg vehicle, making me tighten the grip of the handles and clench my shoulders. But I notice that this tension is also keeping me in the present moment, aware of myself and my situation in the world. Despite the aggressive whip of the wind against my helmet, I can hear the music coming from the single earphone I have on. Loose strands of hair dance wildly around my face as I look in the rearview mirror to check if there are cars behind me: none as far as I can see coming from any direction.
I am riding at maximum speed on a stretch of road that runs along a mostly flat volcanic landscape, with several high peaks ahead, and nothing but sun above. A new song starts to play and I sing aloud along to it. My body suddenly remembers to let go of tension and I allow the weight of my body to rest on the seat, not a care in the world.
I am still twenty minutes away from the town of Famara, where I’ll be meeting a friend from France that I haven’t seen in two years. We met in the city of Shanghai five years ago and have managed to keep in touch ever since. It brings to my mind a quote from Albert Einstein that goes: “There are two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.” I made a point to live my life the second way. This reunion, on this random island, our third encounter in a corner of the world, feels like one of those miracle occasions to me. And the fact that we will be surfing in late November when it is already freezing cold back home is another one, too.
We meet while she is walking from her surf camp accommodation and I am heading towards the beach. It’s not a dramatic encounter, but one of those that leaves a feeling of familiarity as if time hadn’t passed.
“Today is not the best day for surfing”, the guy that rents us the surfboards warns. The wind is too strong and that creates row after row of closeout waves. But the moment we are paddling towards them, even when we’re doing so just a meter deep in water due to their strength, it doesn’t matter anymore. As I go over the foamy crest of a wave and little drops splash all over my face, the decision to come and try has already been worth it. In the rare moments when the sea seems calmer I like to sit on the surfboard in between waves and look down at my feet swaying beneath the water. We spend two more hours and then head back to the sand for a rest before going to lunch.
I decide to set off an hour before sunset to do the drive back to Playa Blanca with some light. I take an alternative road this time, one that runs along the Timanfaya National Park and is called the route of the volcanoes. Midway, I stop in one of the few available sidings to watch the orange light bathing the road ahead, hypnotized. The fact that I need to go to bed early to rest for my scuba diving trip tomorrow is the only thought that keeps me from sitting right here on the asphalt to watch the sun disappear behind the distant cones.
A new day arrives. And although the excitement has barely let me sleep, energy travels like electricity through my body. Diving is the main reason why I asked for days off at work to come to Lanzarote in the first place. I flow from one task to the next around the apartment and leave it in a hurry. There’s a sandy parking area close to the harbor, in front of the dive center ‘Pura Vida’, and I leave the scooter there.
The instructor introduces herself and my diving partner enthusiastically. She is young and, from her accent, I reckon that she is from the archipelago; my partner is an easygoing thirty-something man from Wales who dived for the last time two years ago. The dive briefing contains a set of slides with all the species we are expected to spot on the dive, and I can barely contain my excitement. We quickly prepare the equipment in the diving center and set off together in a van towards the spot of our first immersion. On the way, we chat animatedly as they ask questions about my job and life back in the Netherlands, but my mind couldn’t be furthest from there right now.
The plan is to swim all the way from the shore of a narrow beach whose name I can’t remember towards Flamingo beach, along a volcanic rock wall that is home to local species of fish, octopus, and the critically endangered angel sharks. “We’ll be lucky if we spot one”, the instructor announces.
Carrying the equipment towards the water down a rocky slope is no easy task for me. The cylinder looks innocent while sitting on the floor attached to the BCD, but when I strap it around my back it seems like the full strength of gravity is dragging me towards the center of Earth. I stumble towards the water until it goes past my waist and I finally feel all the weights I carry disappear.
We swim to a spot 5 meters deep to begin our descent. The moment I’ve been craving since I got my diving certification a month ago is here: the steady sound of my breath coming in and out of the regulator and sapphire-blue all around. We progressively go deeper down the underwater slope, but even though I do my best to equalize, I notice that I’m having trouble with my right ear this time. Instead of making the usual popping sound when I blow air into it, it sounds like the blast of a whistle.
I finally manage to get it right and follow the instructor grazing the underwater volcanic landscape, swimming among hundreds of curious fish. We make a stop to feast our eyes on an octopus that has just let go of a rock and now starts to make its way upward. I have never seen movements like this and I am caught up in the moment. I don’t think I would take my eyes off of it if the instructor, barely a meter away, wasn’t repeatedly pointing at something on the sand. At first, I don’t see anything. Then, a shape starts to form from beneath. And as if it knew we were watching, an angel shark unearths itself and calmly swims away.
By the time we arrive at Flamingo beach, I have many emotions playing out in my body. I’m thrilled, grateful, happy, mainly. But I’m also painfully aware that there is something wrong with my ear that’s making me feel dizzy and nauseous, and this time the immersion will be slightly deeper. I consider postponing the immersion to the next day, but one look at the water to my right convinces me I must try.
We drink some water before replacing our cylinders with full ones and going back in. It’s a funny sight: us covered in 7mm wetsuits while tourists and locals bask in the sun close by in their swimsuits.
Despite my persistent trouble equalizing, the dive is well worth it. We do not see one angel shark or “angelote”, the way the locals call it, but five of them. It’s exhilarating to discover their shapes hiding shily under the sand or swimming peacefully close to the ocean floor. I think of the possibility that these beautiful animals may not exist in a few years.
One hour and a refreshing shower later, my friend comes to pick me up from my apartment in her rental car to grab lunch. It’s easy for us to pick a restaurant since she is a vegetarian and I do my best to be one. Later, we drive around the route of the volcanoes to discover that the actual Timanfaya National Park, the reason for our visit, has already closed. We decide to spend the rest of the day back in Playa Blanca, wandering along its cobblestone streets and watching the sunset from a pedestrian walk overlooking the sea. We savor ice creams and decide that the road was great anyway, with its extensive volcanic fields that made us feel like we were on Mars rather than Earth.
There are no plans for the next day, but I know that I don’t feel like driving all the way to Caleta de Famara again, so I decide to play it by ear. I take a look at the map of the island on my phone the next morning and locate Puerto del Carmen, a town that the bus I took from the airport went through on its way to Playa Blanca. It looked quite charming with its white houses and long stretches of beaches from what I could see through the window, so I give it a try.
Puerto del Carmen turns out to be a very touristy area. I can’t seem to be able to locate a restaurant that serves local food near the beach, and all I hear around me is English, German, and the occasional Dutch. When I finally pick a restaurant to sit in, the waiter is surprised to hear me speak Spanish. He sits next to me at the table after I order a glass of wine and two starters and tells me stories about his experiences as a waiter in Madrid, the city I was born in.
Despite its steep slopes, which are a nightmare to navigate with the scooter, and its touristy nature, I greatly enjoy my time in Puerto del Carmen. I leave the scooter in Playa Chica and walk to the main beach, which is named Playa Blanca. The beach is an endless expanse of white sand and shimmering blue water, and I’m pleasantly surprised to see there’s not much waste lying around. At the other end of it, I find a spot next to the rocks where the wind is less strong, so I sit there and read for a while. There’s no other sound than that of laughter coming from the pedestrian walk and the breaking waves ahead.
At some point, I look in front of me to the water and forget about the book resting on my thighs. I am wearing an oversized sweatshirt to protect me from the wind and it’s not entirely warm, but not cold either. I get to my feet and put them underwater, and after a while, I cannot feel them anymore. The water is definitely cold. I consider the option of swimming for about a second, hesitating at the prospect of having to wear a wet bikini around all day. Then I decide I don’t have to if I just take it off and wear nothing underneath the shorts instead. So I hurriedly take my clothes off, tossing them with the rest of my stuff. Cold water has always had a way of making me aware I am alive, so I keep my head under the surface for as long as I can hold my breath and let myself float.
On my last day on the island, I wake up and there are no signs of light outside. The sun isn’t yet ready to come out. Items of clothing lay messy on a shelf inside the wardrobe and the bathroom is full of scattered toiletries. The dishes from last night’s dinner are still waiting to be washed in the sink. I leave my bed as soon as the alarm goes off, open the Spotify list I am listening to at the moment, and take the remains of a papaya from the fridge. Then, before I get to eat it, an energy I can only describe as pure joy takes hold of me and I start dancing around the spacious living room. I feel silly, but wonderfully so. It is 7 am and I have to leave the apartment by 10, so I eat the papaya in three bites, do the washing, and put on the same sweatshirt and shorts that I have been wearing for the past few days. Then I hurriedly drive towards Papagayo beach to look at the ocean one last time.
When I get there, slightly later than planned because of a mild scooter accident on the way, I feel like the only human on Earth. There are a couple of vans parked some distance away, but its occupants must be inside because only me and a pair of early swimmers are in sight along the wide stretch of sand. I take my shoes off and walk along the shoreline, the sun up in the sky illuminating the crest of waves. When I reach the rocky cliff at the end, I climb onto its edge to cross to the next beach. Some boats drift in the distance from where I am, sitting in the wet sand. They’re the only trace of human presence. I close my eyes and smile, making an effort to believe my luck. I wonder if anyone has ever felt the way I feel now, but decide it’s not possible. I leave my backpack behind and begin to do yoga, stretching my arms up as if greeting the sea in front of me. I can feel the ocean saluting in return, inviting me to come back.
‘I will’, I whisper to it. But it already knows. The universe always knows when new beginnings are brewing.
Note: The week right after I returned from my trip to Lanzarote was hard for me for several personal reasons. I had to force myself to look back at every bit of happiness described above in days when I was at my lowest. It is a humbling lesson, to acknowledge how a life is made up of moments of immense joy, but also moments of grief, and that choosing to live means embracing both. Since most of what you can see in social media accounts are the good times, here is a reminder that there are sucky, not-so-beautiful parts, too. And that it is ok for them to be there.
