Story by María Garcia Juanes📍Utrecht
Two months ago, I was on the island of El Hierro sitting on a rocky cliff overlooking the sea. The place was Tacorón beach, on the southern coast. My mother sat next to me as we contemplated the line between ocean and sky, the sun shining above us unthreatened by the presence of clouds. I remember the temperature because it was perfect; balmy but not excessively hot.
It had been my idea to come here: a spot pointed at by a local on the wrinkled map we carried after I asked for nice places to take a swim. As soon as we found a parking spot, we took our snorkeling equipment from the trunk and headed towards the water. We had to tiptoe in flip-flops across sharp volcanic rocks to reach the low cliffs. Later, we learned that there was a beach with easy access in the surroundings, but I’m glad we didn’t know then.
I got into the water straight away and my mother followed behind. She descended the metal stairs attached to the rocks while she complained about my choice to jump instead. The surface undulated in a constant motion created by the flow of waves, making us sway slowly towards the rocks and away from them. I held my breath looking below the surface with my diving goggles, following the elegant movements of a bank of small fish. Happiness felt like a tangible object, waiting to be grasped. We floated for a while, our legs dangling over the calm abyss below.
The sun kept getting lower, and there was a schedule planned ahead of us — a paper full of landmarks and must-visit spots to cover during our time on the island. And yet here we were.
We climbed the stairs and sat under the sun with our sight lost somewhere on the other shore. Then, we began sharing stories and our favorite moments from the trip so far. And I knew, as my eyes set on a group of bright red crabs defying the strength of the waves, that this was going to be one of them.
It had been ten months since the last time I’d spent days by the ocean, and I had been feeling its absence like the loss of a vital organ. As summer holidays approached and a family reunion was due, my only condition had been to meet in a place on the coast. So, we ended up booking tickets to the Canary Islands.
La Gomera was the first island on our itinerary. On our first day there, we discovered that, within walking distance of the apartment we were renting, there was a beach full of endangered Butterfly Rays. It took every ounce of willpower not to grab my backpack and run to the beach right then and there. I got to see them a few hours later, resting below the sand and majestically flying by below boats and swimmers’ feet. I returned to that beach every day after that, even if it was simply to contemplate them from the harbor. It was quite a start for our trip.
Keeping me from the sea the first few days was a challenge. I would sit in restaurants with a sarong wrapped around my dripping wet bikini, leaving puddles of water at my feet as I savored the local gastronomy of the islands: papas with mojo picón, freshly caught fish, sweet wine, and barraquito, a drink made of condensed milk, coffee, 43 liquor, milk foam, and a slice of lemon.
All islands in the archipelago share a volcanic origin and, even so, the differences between them, their orography, and vegetation are considerable. The landscapes in La Gomera were striking. From long shores covered in black sand and volcanic rocks framed by imposing cliffs, to thick laurel forests, like the Garajonay National Park, where green finds its way into every surface, covering trees and rocks as far as the eye can see. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the sea, although colder than the Mediterranean, was so clear you could see through it as if it were glass.
Waterfalls, quaint towns, and frangipani flowers in the island of La Palma followed*. I’d read about Los Tilos, a waterfall in the north of the island, and since nature spots are usually my favorite part of a trip, I was excited about our visit. I had been warned that it was usually buzzing with people queuing, wanting to have their picture taken, so I didn’t want to set my expectations too high. We arrived in the late afternoon, when the sun was already hidden behind the cliffs and the weather cooler.
Unexpectedly, we came across the waterfall almost on our own. The few people that gathered in the surroundings weren’t looking forward to getting under the cold stream, so I hurriedly made my way into it. Pulverized drops reached me as I made my way across the shallow stream towards the opening between the two stone walls. I closed my eyes and put my head under the stream and, for a moment, all I could feel was its force against my skin, the drops forming a cloud around me, and the vibrant green suspended from the cliffs. ‘It’s for single moments like this, mere seconds’, I remember thinking, ‘that every bit of hassle and money spent in planning a trip is worth it’.
At night, my family and I would gather in a room to discuss daily highlights and tomorrow’s plans over a glass of local honey rum. The moments I cherished most were always those linked to outdoor spaces where I got to immerse myself more deeply: calm morning walks through the islands’ forests, impromptu swims in natural pools formed by sea water entering a parcel of rocks, capturing tropical flowers and distant volcanoes with my camera.
There were arguments, as is inevitable with every trip where different people with different ways of traveling converge. There was so much to explore within a given time that it seemed like there was always a choice to make between ticking places off our schedule or enjoying certain moments more profoundly. I’d complain about my longing for the latter, while they claimed that shorter times were necessary in order to avoid missing other plans. I could understand that point of view, but I also wondered how I could possibly make small moments special if there was not enough time to be present in them. I wanted to soak places in with all my senses, rather than observing from distant lookouts.
For me, traveling is not a checklist or a race. It is not just moving from one place to the next. It is hidden in the pause you make to enjoy your surroundings. Traveling happens when you arrive by chance at a lovely local store on your way somewhere else, or when you decide to take your clothes off in spite of the weather because the waterfall in front of you is just too beautiful. It is made of missing scheduled visits and arriving at wonderful places outside the travel guide instead.
Had we continued with the tight schedule ahead of us, my mother and I wouldn’t have got to bond like we did in those rocky cliffs in Tacorón beach. Our car would have continued driving past that calm, magical spot and onto the next place. There are important moments that you will inevitably miss when traveling at top speed. It is up to each of us to decide if the cost of it is worth being able to say that we set eyes upon every place on a list that somebody else made.
There may be occasions while traveling in which I feel the urge to rush. But for now, I choose to remind myself to slow down more often, and let go of expectations of what my travel itinerary should look like. To make a single moment worth a whole trip.
* I feel extremely lucky to have witnessed the wild beauty of La Palma before the Cumbre Vieja volcanic ridge erupted in September of this year. It had been less than a month after our visit, and I was shocked to hear that some places we had stopped by were now buried under several meters of volcanic rock. Since that day, many families have lost their homes and their way of life, with the subsequent pain of having to leave behind personal items and memories they have collected throughout their lives. The trauma is likely to accompany them for years, but what’s critical at the moment is to find solutions for the housing emergency they are facing. If you’re reading this, please keep La Palma and its people in your thoughts. If you’re interested in looking for ways to help, visit https://www.cabildodelapalma.es/en/. Right now, a message there reads that “thanks to the solidarity that has come from all over the country” the island has “covered the basic needs”. Let’s remember how it is in moments of hardship when the biggest acts of generosity take place.
