By RUDY!
Arrecife, Spain — The small island of Lanzarote lies in a chain of islands called the Canary Islands, or to emphasize their nationality (Spanish) Islas Canarias. Las Canarias, as I will hereafter refer to the island group, lie off the northwestern coast of Africa, a short hop to Morocco, and a 3-4 hour flight to mainland Spain.
The islands emerged from the Atlantic ocean via a series of fissures in the Earth’s crust that formed volcanoes which then formed the islands. One is constantly reminded of this origin by the abundance of black sand beaches and polished volcanic rocks that pave the small streets and sidewalks, accent houses and innudate the souvenir shops. A friend related a story about the non-volcanic sand beaches that dot Las Canarias. These beaches are artificially created to appease the European tourists who are accustomed to white sand beaches. The sand is brought over from the Sahara and in an early instance the sand came with a large number of African scorpions!
After tourism and beaches–sans scorpions these days–Las Canarias boast a strong affinity for the islands’ darks skies and have a few of the premier European telescopes. These telescopes are ultimately the reason I am here, however twice removed. The telescopes mean astronomers live here and often host conferences, one of which I have just attended. Of course, with the work all done, for the next few days I am on vacation, starting on the island called Lanzarote. Over the next few days I will travel across this island and report the things I come across or the things that come across my mind.
Today I have spent the day and evening in the seaside town of Arrecife. The city center is a maze of narrow and winding streets lined with houses and shops, many of the buildings are painted white with green window frames and doors and inlays of those ubiquitous black stones of lava. Today I set out on these streets during the local siesta. Hence the streets were completely empty. Nothing is open and, save for a howling wind, nothing is making a sound. The city has become a ghost town.
Occassionally the wind rattles the metal gates covering the shop windows giving the temporary expectation that the siesta has ended and the city is opening for afternoon business. It is this wind that has driven me into the city center and it’s winding streets. Previously, I was walking along the coast but the wind was too violent, changing directions at will and blasting my face and eyes with sand. Through the city streets I am searching for a laundromat. I know it won’t be open now or today, but I will make note of it’s location for tomorrow. I cannot see very far down these winding streets so I am blindly led by my somewhat randomly selected path. When I come upon cross-streets, they offer an appealing and immediate alternative to my current direction, but it only takes a moment to see it will be more of the same, so I stick to my chosen path.
Even here, seemingly sheltered by the winding roads and abundance of buildings, the wind manages to find me. One moment it is at my back, driving me forward on my path, and the next it slows me down, pushing on me from ahead. On one cross-street, the wind seems to encourage a turn. Fickle this wind is not, determined perhaps, or maybe even confused, but not fickle. Definitely stubborn! A property which we both share, it with it’s strength and I with my aimless but pointed direction.