Las Canarias...

Ready for some fun in the sun, Julie and I set out merrily to the airport that morning and were soon landing on what looked like Gran Canaria's Martian surface. The island looked dry and barren from the air, far from the paradise that I was expecting, and I could see the look of doubt creeping over Julie's face as well as she was likely thinking the same. Our first impression of the island was much different than we were expecting, as it lacked the pristine beaches and palm trees that we had heard so much about. It's safe to say we were a bit perplexed as we headed north to Las Palmas, where we would be staying. We had found a pretty nice hotel for the same price as we would have paid for a hostel, so at least we had that as we took a look around our somewhat sketchy neighborhood. We did, however, find a pretty nice beach with a beautiful coastal view just a few blocks from our hotel, and we literally didn't see another tourist during the many hours we spent there. They were all locals, and we quite enjoyed the sound of the crashing waves and the sun that made some short appearances on what was a fairly overcast day. That night we walked all over Las Palmas, getting lost and finding our way a few separate times, and collapsed into our beds early that night after what had been a fairly busy day.
Waking up to more overcast skies, and sure that there were nicer places to see on the island, we decided to head to the southern side of the Gran Canaria, to the famous Playa del Ingles. We caught a short cab ride to the bus station, where we were able to take advantage of the very friendly driver who answered all of our questions, and assured us that we were guaranteed to find sunny skies on the south side. The north, where we were staying, was often covered with clouds, but the south was sunny nearly every day of the year, and was covered with some of the best beaches in the world. We both grinned eagerly as we realized our trip was about to improve tenfold. About a half hour later, after a nice bus ride along the coast, we arrived at La Playa del Ingles, which was packed with happy vacation-goers, nearly all Spanish, German, and English. It was the perfect day, hot, not a cloud in the sky, and the ocean was just the right temperature. We piled on the sunscreen and stayed there all day, enjoying the perfect routine of reading our books, chatting, napping, and bathing long enough to cool down and start all over again. As the sun drew lower in the sky, and I had had enough of El Alquemista, we took a long walk along the beach, nearly everyone else having left for the day. Just as we were about to turn around, we came across a nearly endless desert, covered with huge sand dunes, and not another person in sight. The sand was soft and deep, and had just cooled enough by that time to allow us to walk comfortably across it. I had never seen anything like it before, and it felt like a scene right out of the book I had been reading that day, like we were lost somewhere in the Sahara. As low as the sun fell, we still couldn't manage to leave that place, which for both of us was something of a different world. We finally began our walk back as the sun began to set, two good friends reflecting on what had been a ten month adventure nearly at its completion.
As we headed back in search of the bus to take us north, we had a hard time finding the stop, so we walked by a group of seaside restaurants where we were solicited in English by a friendly guy in his twenties to have dinner in one of the restaurants. As we had planned to eat something once we got closer to the hotel, Julie responded naturally in Spanish by saying no thank you but asked if he could point us to the bus stop. What followed was perhaps one of the most memorable moments I have of Spain, when he looked completely dumbfounded at the two tall blonds in front of him and responded, "Joder, que sois espanoles!", (Damn, you guys are Spanish!). We eventually did find the bus stop, and were soon cutting out way through the darkness on our way back to the northern side of the island, where we found some dinner and retired to the hotel feeling a bit like fried tomatoes despite our best efforts to constantly apply sunscreen during the day.
The next morning after a slow breakfast we decided to again head south to find sunnier skies, this time journeying ever further to the southwestern coast. Upon arriving there, we found the truly luxurious side of the island, with five star resorts, even more gorgeous beaches, and all sorts of palm trees and flowers that made me feel like we were somewhere in Hawaii. We had again found paradise, and after talking to a nice man down by a sparsely occupied beach, he pointed us in the direction of the finest beach on the island, which was close by, and at first view appeared to be privately owned by the luxury resort that stood behind it. Amazingly, we found our way down to the beach and realized that it was indeed public, but its location allowed it an enormous degree of exclusivity. It was the nicest beach on the island. Perfectly soft sand, turquoise water, and palm trees everywhere. We even found a shady spot under a few palm trees growing out of the sand, offering us day-long protection from the sun between dips in the ocean. We were enjoying nearly the same vacation as those who had paid thousands of dollars to say in the rooms above, the only difference being we had to find the bus at the end of the day rather than walk upstairs to an immaculate room. It was a perfect way to spend our last day on Gran Canaria.
The next morning, we were begrudgingly awoken by the alarm at four thirty so we could make it in time for the discount flight we had booked to Lanzarote, another of the Canary Islands to the east. We took off in the dark, and a half an hour later were descending majestically onto the volcanic island as the rising sun bled a deep red over the lunar-like landscape which sat peacefully in an endless sea of deep blue. After asking around a bit, we figured out how to travel to our hotel using public buses, and soon enough were left with our jaws dropping once again at the incredible luck we had. The place was spectacular for our standards, and as we opened the blinds in the living room of what was more like a condo, Julie and I both flipped when we realized we had a perfect ocean view from our balcony. Neither of us had had any idea. It turns out we ended up paying about a third of the room’s normal price by booking it though another obscure website.

We were both exhausted after such a long morning, and after the initial shock of everything wore off, we collapsed into our beds for a few hours of blissful, much needed sleep. While the weather in Lanzarote proved to be much cooler over the next few days, we were still able to take advantage of the beautiful beaches, and most interestingly, spent a morning on a guided tour through the island’s volcanic national park, where NASA actually does some of its training for lunar landings. The eruption that occurred on the island in the 1700s is one of the largest and most famous in history and the shear amount of molten rock that way released was hard to fathom as it stretched into the distance, homes buried deep below. The camel ride we took over the rough terrain was a once in a lifetime experience.

While I loved Lanzarote for its beauty, it is hard to imagine a place more geared towards tourism. Like Gran Canaria, it basically looks like an English/German colony, and the locals seemed shocked when we spoke to them in Spanish. Still, my trip to the Canary Islands with Julie was very near the top of my list of favorite trips during my year abroad, if not my favorite outright. We had the best possible time together, in a true paradise, just a few short weeks from the end of our year in Spain and our return to the United States. As we sat on the rocky coast at sunset, peering unsuccessfully off to the invisible coast of West Africa, it was hard to imagine that we were sitting where we were, hard to imagine us somewhere on a map, so far away from all that we had known our entire lives. We spent a long time talking about how impossible this whole year would have seemed just a few years earlier, or really, just 10 months before, when we were preparing to leave to Spain for the first time. That we would be sitting there, so far away from everything, ten months later, with a true friend that we didn’t even know existed at that time. My year abroad was full of moments of reflection such as this, when the world seemed to stop just long enough to allow me realize exactly where I was and what I was doing, and just how ludicrous it all would have seemed just a year ago, when my heart and mind were invested in a different life and a different future.

The pictures from this trip might be the best of any, but I'm still waiting to get them from Julie. They should be up soon, so check back...