pure & good

I want to start this post by acknowledging how incredibly privileged I am to be living in my little island bubble, roughly 3500 miles away from troubled US soil. This (and my status as the only American in town) affords me a distance and remove from the relentless bad news, and dulls the ache we feel when somehow, once again, things get even worse. I will never forget being in Panamá for the 2016 election. Though it was incredibly strange and disorienting to watch a national disaster happen from the outside, my cohort and I were so lucky to be able to grieve together and then move forward, distracted and sheltered by our host country 20° to the south. My host dad, Irvin De La Rosa, greeted me that night with a big hug, and told me I would always have a home in Panamá. Meanwhile, people who were on Bowdoin's campus that week told me the dining halls were silent and the atmosphere was funereal, and that I was lucky to miss it. I imagine things have been somewhat similar this week, as survivors and allies on campus grapple with the baffling decision of one of their (female) senators. I feel for everyone currently hurting in the United States, and wish I could bring you all here to find peace.

The best I can do for now is to convert my moments of peace into words and pictures. I've had predictable fluctuations in emotion thus far, though I've experienced far more ups than downs. I've only had a few days where I've felt forlorn/frustrated/truly lonesome, which has surprised me given my penchant for emotional volatility. There have even been several moments where things have just clicked, and I feel more and more that I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. I think my first click came one night a couple of weeks ago as I was eating dinner on the roof of the house where I'm staying. I had made it up the stairs with my meal just in time to catch the sunset, and was thoroughly enjoying my food in the gloaming. Scanning the horizon, a faint shape caught my eye and made me sit up straight. At first I thought I was seeing clouds, but I quickly realized that I was actually seeing a another island across the pond!! I confirmed my suspicion using the helpful little directional pointer on Google Maps. Sure enough, I was looking at El Hierro, roughly 40 miles away! It's the smallest of the 7 major islands, and current home to my Fulbright friend Sadie.

Though I'd been on La Gomera for about 2 weeks at that point, it was the first time I'd seen another island from Valle Gran Rey. I suddenly felt so grounded and somehow less alone. Staring at El Hierro, I picked up one of the smooth basalt stones used to weight down the couch cover and held it in my lap, still hot to the touch from a day of absorbing solar radiation. The breeze was gentle and nightfall was slow. I felt so happy.

Since that night, El Hierro has made an appearance on the horizon a few more times, but almost exclusively at sundown and only when the air is very clear. Once, I was even lucky enough to see La Palma, which lies 40 miles to the north. My host Tanja has told me that occasionally you can even see the roads and lights on El Hierro. I look forward to it!

Other major good moments have come--unsurprisingly--when I've been in the ocean. When I arrived on La Gomera, I wasn't really in any hurry to get to the beach. There were too many things to attend to and not enough time. Plus, the main beach in town didn't seem to have any fun waves due to its semi-sheltered location. But when I finally went at the end of a hot and busy day, I was hooked.

On my first visit, I was a little apprehensive as I always am when wading into the ocean for the first time in a while. Though I've studied it for years now and have lived within close proximity for the last 4 years of my life, it always takes me a few minutes to relax and trust a new setting. I have to get to know how the floor feels under my feet, identify the wave patterns, and adjust to the temperature. I'd never been swimming atop black sand before, and it's definitely a little unsettling to look down and just see a dark void! Luckily, the water is typically quite clear, so I can always see my feet moving beneath me.

Now that my number of visits has reached double digits, the water greets me like an old friend. I've even started to drop my embarrassing dependence on plugging my nose when going underwater! There is no feeling like the first dive under a wave; nothing like popping up, refreshed, to see the horizon stretching out in front of me. Barring the occasional smooth stone wedged in the sand, the floor is even beneath my feet, and the slope is gentle. When the tide is low, pale striped fish swim around my legs. My students have told me there are large mantas, but I try not to worry about that!

Turns out the waves vary greatly at this beach. Some days, they're no more than slight changes in sea surface height that timidly break and retreat. Other days, sets roll in so tall and fast that all the kids scream with excitement. There's also some interesting resonance going on that I haven't seen before: waves roll in and break, but then pull back with such force that they often crash into the incoming line as reformed waves. It's not really an undertow (as I said, this beach is too sheltered for crazy rip currents, etc), but instead probably has to do with the slope of the beach and the tide. It's especially fun to stand at the node where the inbound and outbound waves meet.

After jumping waves, floating around, and attempting a few handstands during the lulls, I like to haul out and air dry on the warm black sand. Most of the conversations taking place at the beach are in German, so I zone out as the foreign words mix with the sound of the waves. The energy of the water hums inside me, and I still feel the push and pull despite my position on the sand. I can never fall asleep in public places, but I do reach the outskirts of consciousness occasionally, letting my thoughts trail off as my brain zooms out.

I always leave the beach feeling relaxed and renewed, dotted with a few more freckles (yes, I wear sunscreen!!!!!!). I often wonder if I'll ever be able to part from the ocean after this. For now, I'll just enjoy my lucky moment.